🦪⚪ Playing for Pearls

Ever tried to get to the root cause of a disagreement or misunderstanding with another person? The more you dig, the more you feel ignored, discarded, or disrespected.

This happened to me recently.

Since I’d tried every approach I could think of on my own — direct communication, lightheartedness, and detachment — I finally asked a good friend to help me brainstorm a solution.

“You’ve done what you can, and now it’s time to let go of trying to control the outcome,” she said.

Some relationships are only meant to last for a moment in time. Others shift with the tides. Sometimes the people you love take different paths, and at certain phases of life, it can become even harder to relate to each other.

I still have hope that this relationship will come back around. But if it doesn’t, I know I’ve done my part to try and salvage it. I have to accept that that’s all I can do.

The other day, I woke up with a crick in my neck.
Naturally, I googled the spiritual meaning:

“From a spiritual perspective, neck pain is often associated with the burden of unspoken words or repressed expressions. It might suggest the need to forgive others or oneself, indicating a metaphorical ‘stiff neck’ or resistance to seeing other perspectives.”

Well, I’ll be damned.

I forgave myself then and there—for wanting this relationship to work. For trying to come to a mutual understanding, to find closure, or at least agree to disagree.

And I forgave this person—for not wanting to. For holding tight to their perspective.
The world is a shaky place, and we all cling to what’s familiar to feel safe in one way or another.

That day, I went to volleyball despite the crick. I needed to get out of my head and into my body.

The group I’d played with the week before wasn’t there yet, so I happily accepted an invite to join a family visiting from Florida. I was the only one on the team who wasn’t related, but they made me feel welcome.

We won our first game, and spirits were high. But when we started the match that would lead us to the championship, the energy shifted. The husband decided it would be best if he played both center AND served.

“You can’t play both,” I said, matter-of-factly, and got into my serving stance. He looked flabbergasted that I shut him down with such confidence.

Later, another teammate kept running into my zone and tried to hit a ball that was clearly mine. The result? Chaos. I couldn’t get to the ball, and neither could he. We lost the point.

“I feel like I’m being pushed out of the team,” I said. Lately, I’ve been surprising myself with the honesty that comes out of my mouth.

“You’re not being pushed out,” the same teammate replied. “You’re doing great.”

It was game point, and I could feel the nervous energy building. I was just there to have fun. Meet some people. Exercise. Enjoy life.

Then the ball came to me. I tried to knock it over, but my fingers slipped.
The ball hit the net. We lost.

I felt ashamed.
Like a loser.
Embarrassed that this family had welcomed me in—and then, maybe regretted it after realizing I had little in common with an Olympic gold medalist.

Except I wasn’t a loser

I chose to show up to that game—and to the game of life—because I want to have fun, laugh, connect with people, push my growth edges, experience new cultures, and make the most of my time in this body.

I’m genuinely grateful for these interactions—because as a solo traveler, matrix exiter, and digital nomad, I spend a lot of time alone or on a screen. Any chance to move my body and connect with others feels like a precious gift.

But not everyone has the same outlook on life. Some people are in it to win it—whatever “winning” means to them—and for the competitive family, maybe that intensity was fun. I couldn’t control their energy on the court, but I could choose how I responded.

I didn’t have to feel ashamed for missing that final play.
There were plenty of other moments when the family messed up. And plenty that I nailed.

I didn’t have to be a victim—here or anywhere.
I could hold my head high and be proud that I tried.
I could let go of the desire to “win” and just enjoy the lessons as they unfolded.

This morning, I was scrolling through Instagram when I came across a post that said clams only form pearls when they’re exposed to irritants—like a parasite entering their shell or damage to their fragile body.

Relatable? Yep.

In this case, my irritant was the quiet ache of being misunderstood.
The sting of silence.
The awkward tension of not knowing where I stand with someone I care about.

But just because something—or someone—hurts doesn’t mean we have to make ourselves a victim. I don’t have to chase closure, force understanding, or contort myself trying to be seen.

Sometimes, the work isn’t external.

Sometimes, the real work is inner—accepting what is, without needing to fix it.
Recognizing that people are shaped by their unique upbringing, trauma, worldview, and timing. And let that be okay.

Instead of trying to force the misunderstanding into something sonnet-worthy, Instagrammable, or perfectly tidy, I instead turn inward and ask myself:

Can I let this be?
Can I trust that everything is working out for me?
Can I live and let live?

As I loosen the grip, something shifts.
I soften.
Life feels lighter, and less sharp around the edges.
The ache dims. The need to be understood loses its urgency.
And slowly, I return to myself—anchored in love, steadied by gratitude.

There’s a kind of peace in knowing I keep showing up—on and off the court—with as much love and playfulness as I can muster. And a quiet freedom in no longer needing anyone else to validate that.

That’s my pearl.

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Does this resonate? Let me know in the comments below! And as always, thanks for being here and for being you.