The morning sun broke gently, casting a soft, golden glow across the room as Diwali arrived — the Festival of Lights. Outside, the world was preparing to ignite little flames to defeat the darkness, but inside the quiet of my home, my own celebration began in the most unscripted way imaginable. I sat with a generous slice of cake resting on a plate for breakfast — because why on earth not? It was on this morning of ancient metaphors, of Lord Rama returning to Ayodhya after fourteen long years of exile, that the deeper truth of the day settled into my bones. Diwali had never really been about external illumination; it was about the sacred, quiet act of kindling the inner light — tamaso mā jyotir gamaya (lead me from darkness to light) — and finally coming home to oneself after wandering through decades of societal demands, heavy expectations, and duties that were never meant to be mine to carry.
As crumbs lingering on my fork brought a small, quiet smile to my lips, my eyes caught a note shared by the lovely Joan Sotkin. Reading her final words written from hospice care, a stillness settled over the room so thick I could hear my own breathing. Joan wrote with such luminous clarity about reaching the end of an extraordinary life, leaving behind a simple, undeniable truth she had spent fifty years unearthing: Prosperity is an inside job. It was never simply about money or external accolades; it was about how we felt about ourselves, our willingness to listen to our Inner Guru in the quiet, and staying endlessly curious about who we were. Her words hit something so raw and deep within me that the world outside seemed to pause entirely.