In life, I find that meaning comes not from the pursuit of happiness as a singular goal, but from the journey of seeking something greater than myself. I’ve come to understand that a quest; whether grand or humble; is what gives structure and intention to life. It’s not merely about what I achieve but about the way in which I push my boundaries and challenge my comfort. The richness of life is woven through this constant pursuit, where the process itself brings fulfillment, growth, and, ultimately, a deeper sense of purpose.

I’ve learned that quests are personal, and they vary from person to person. For some, it may be an exploration of the world, for others, an internal journey of self-mastery or spiritual enlightenment. What matters is not the specific nature of the journey but the fact that it demands something of me. A quest calls for sacrifice, resilience, and a willingness to embrace discomfort in the name of something meaningful. It teaches me to value perseverance and to cherish progress as much as the outcome.

In my experience as a divorced single father, I’ve found that even in failure or setback, there is an immense value in the effort. Each step forward, each obstacle, and each victory, no matter how small, brings clarity. I learn more about myself, about my limits, and about the world around me. This process has shown me that I am capable of more than I often imagine.

The most profound lesson I’ve come to understand is that life is more than the routine we fall into. It’s about actively choosing a path that resonates with who I am at my core. The choice to embark on a journey that allows me to live intentionally, to craft a story that is uniquely mine, and to pursue a legacy that matters; not necessarily to the world at large, but to my soul and for my daughter.

In seeking a quest, I’ve come to realize the importance of listening to the call of my heart and not the expectations of others. What is most true and beautiful in life is discovered through action, not merely contemplation. The quest is not about perfection; it is about daring greatly, facing fears, and allowing passion to guide me toward something meaningful. And through this pursuit, I find not just a fleeting sense of happiness, but a life that is rich in purpose.

——————

I walk the path, alone, not lost,
A father’s heart, the cost embossed.
With one eye gone, I see more clear,
The wounds of home, the quiet fear.

Through surgeries, through love undone,
The quest began when I was young.
Not in the joy, but in the pain,
I found my strength, I learned to reign.

A daughter’s light, my guiding star,
Through broken past, we’ve come so far.
This life, my journey, ever fast;
A quest for peace, for love that lasts.

— Sincerely, Boris

Years from now,
In a coffee shop downtown
Millions of miles between
Where I can't be seen

What I showed to the world before,
That wasn't true; I don't want it anymore
Why did my colors only get more blue,
When others get the whole rainbow.

So this is the night I let go
I'm okay for today, that's all I know
And I'll float this little red balloon to show
I'm not drowning anymore

It's sad to think,
The things that could've been
And the sights I could've seen
If this journey went a different way
Where would I have gone if I had
Taken a different train?

When you think you get the least you get the most
You have more than you could ever know
I know what you think you need right now is nowhere to be found
But have you thought you don't need it just yet, how does that sound?

The light I never had
Turned into flames
When shades of crimson
Painted the way.

He sought the truth in prayer,
In holy chants, in silence there,
But wisdom’s voice eluded still,
A deeper call, a higher will.

He walked with saints, their words like gold,
Yet none could make his spirit whole.
No teacher’s path, no master’s way,
Could light the truth he craved each day.

In pleasure’s arms, he sought to see,
The fleeting joys of ecstasy,
But wealth and wine could not fulfill
The endless thirst he carried still.

At the river’s edge, he came to know,
Life’s rhythm in its constant flow.
The world, a dance of joy and pain,
Of loss, of birth, and all the same.

In every drop, in every breath,
He learned that life defies all death.
The river taught what none could say:
That wisdom blooms when we give way.

No truth can live in words alone,
It lives in hearts, in paths unknown.
To seek, to fall, to rise once more;
This was the lesson at the core.

— Sincerely, Boris

Sick of each blade of grass blurring into the next, trees becoming a series of bushes, streaks of green across the skyline. Was that a cow?
“Look — some sheep!
Oh, wait no, they were just wrapped haystacks — sheep without heads.”
Speeding past flurries of road signs: ‘turn off at the next junction’
“What? The one back there?” Driving on for a few more miles before being able to turn back again.
Stopping
at the services
to relieve natural needs.
Except for rest — you can sleep on the road.
Except your sickness will persist through the night and
you could miss some significant sights
which will be gone by the time you open your eyes.
Sick of driving in the fast lane; life on play ready to entertain.
“Pass the sweets” trying to **** the sugar from the bitterness of passing time.
Sick of help lines dotted sporadically across the sideline but never quite
in reach.
Sick of this constantly churning stomach which only stops when
asleep.
Sick of momentary flickers of other passengers
before they too go on their way.
A lack of individuality; a wave of sameness
Comforting. Sickening.

Life is a collection of small moments, and within them, we find the essence of our existence. I’ve learned that comfort comes not from a place of constant joy but from an understanding that emotions, like the tides, ebb and flow. The key is acceptance; of sadness, of anxiety, of the inevitable uncertainties that life throws our way.

I now realize that healing often comes from unexpected sources, in acts of stillness, in the appreciation of simplicity. A cup of coffee, a walk in nature, reading under a big willow tree; all these carry the power to ground us when the world feels overwhelming. I’ve learned that it’s okay to pause, to take a breath and acknowledge that being alive is itself a victory.

I’ve come to see that comparison is the thief of peace. Life’s paths are varied, and each of us moves at our own pace. By detaching from expectations and external validation, I find a more authentic form of contentment. Resilience doesn’t mean being unbreakable but understanding that we are allowed to be soft, allowed to lean on others when needed. There is strength in vulnerability, in admitting our fears and imperfections.

Ultimately, life isn’t about grand gestures but about how we treat ourselves in the quieter moments. It’s about nurturing our inner peace, about forgiving ourselves when we fall short, and about recognizing that we are enough as we are, in this moment. The journey toward peace is ongoing, but in each step, there is the possibility of grace.

In moments small, life shifts and flows,
With highs and lows, as each day goes.
Embrace what comes, both joy and pain,
For nothing stays, and change remains.

——————

In simple acts, in quiet rest,
We find the calm that serves us best.
The cracks we bear, the flaws we show,
Are where the seeds of growth can grow.

We walk our path at our own speed,
No need to rush, no urge to lead.
In softness, strength, in stillness, care,
We’re enough, just as we are, right here.

— Sincerely, Boris

"Will I make it?"
the heart cries.

A thousand tries,
yet still, I fall.

"Should I lower my expectations?"
it whispers.

"No, not over until you win,"
the mind insists,
like night cradles the sky;
light will come soon.

I was born into a world of fear,
Where i grew up to hide my tears.
No steady hands to guide my way,
Only scattered paths I learned to face.

In madness, I sought to comprehend
A life that shifted without end.
I grew too fast, too much to bear,
The weight of truths placed in my care.

Yet through the bruises, I made my stand,
A way to live beyond demand.
No longer tied to what was given,
I carved a path, my own, forgiven.

It wasn’t just to survive the fall,
But to rise and live beyond it all.


— Sincerely, Boris

I can't speak for the others.
I can only reflect on my own thoughts and the heat of my own discomfort.
I can't speak for the African woman who wept beside her oversized suitcases on the Piccadilly Line to Heathrow, I can only consider her tears and what they did to my own heartache.
I didn't speak, but I reached over after several minutes of communal silence and placed a man-sized tissue (clean and unused) on her lap.
Before I was back in my seat, she had taken it and covered her face in her grief and the tears came again.
The grandmother across from me got up next and placed a red stripped mint in a twist of cellophane on the woman's skirt.
The dad who stood in the doorway, like he was dressed for the beach, followed, leaving an offering of a capri-sun.
The child in the buggy looked up at his mother and she smiled encouragement to him as he offered his Spider-Man, pressing it to the woman's hand.
And as she unveiled her face and saw the offerings, she laughed, brief and wet, but with a smile that stayed. She hugged Spider-Man, nodded and then with a mother's sensibility to a child's needs, handed it back with thanks.
After a moment she found my eyes, and mimed a request for a fresh tissue and then in the silence she settled for her journey as we all looked away, dutifully silent.