It was two months before the world paused for the lockdown.
And Roxy—my Labrador Retriever, my heartbeat in dog form—had already been with me since January 2018.
She wasn’t just a pet. She was the reason I stayed alive.
She took my emptied heart and filled it with grace, joy, and the purest kind of love.
With her, I laughed like a child again.
We chased nothing and everything.
She brought me back to a version of myself I thought was gone.
It’s strange, isn’t it?
How an animal can pour life into you while draining away all the nonsense you’ve been clinging to for years.
Sparkles of hope started rising in me—quiet but steady.
That’s when I began to listen.
To words.
To voices.
To wisdom.
Evening walks became sacred.
Headphones in.
Heart wide open.
I let Alan Watts reframe my world.
Louise Hay taught me the power of my words.
Esther Hicks whispered, “You can’t get there from where you are.”
And I listened.
To Wayne Dyer.
To Jim Rohn.
To Osho.
To Babaji.
Night after night, I played meditations until I drifted into sleep.
Day after day, I walked and let those voices carry me.
And something began to shift.
The fog in my mind lifted.
My soul remembered its blueprint.
My plans became clear.
I could no longer stay where I was.
The place felt like a cage.
After two years of lockdown stillness—
the moment flights reopened,
I leapt.
I moved to a new land.
To a new rhythm.
To the place I now call home.
Because something in me had returned.
Not because of noise,
but because I had finally listened.