There are things in life you never expect. You can't say *Never*, because that's when *Never* sneaks up on you — lurking in a dark corner, waiting to pounce like a lion. It attacks and attaches like a leech; you think you're done with the *Never*, but every time you say *Never*, it appears again and again, leaving you breathless, wounded, staggering, unbalanced.

You retreat to lick your wounds. Slowly, you start to see sunshine in the rain. The clouds clear, the storm subsides — calm waters, comforting ambiance, Zen. Yet just as you whisper *Never again*, it whips you around, staggering you, flipping you inside out.

You know that, unfortunately, you have all the resources to manage this. This is your biggest *Never* yet — the one you said you'd never face. You keep stacking the *Nevers* until they become *Always*. *Everything Always happens to me.*

Your tenacity exists for this very purpose. Without it, you cease to exist. The *Nevers* stack into *Always*, forcing you to assess where your voice is directed — and that is **up**. Even if silent, it is still there.

We find our voice in the silence. Because if we don't, we get passed over a bump in the road, swept under the rug.