The Ones Who Refuse to Look Away

Harvey lies in the grass, chest rising and falling, his favorite toy gripped tightly between his paws. His tongue hangs just slightly from his mouth. His legs are still, but his eyes—his eyes are locked on me.

That look.

You’ve seen it before, if you’ve ever loved something more than comfort.

It says,

“I’m catching my breath—but don’t count me out.”

It’s Monday.

Maybe for you, like for me, it started with that same look in the mirror.

The quiet kind. The kind that doesn’t say much.

But it asks everything.

Can I keep doing this?

Am I still in this?

Some days we wake up tired. Not body-tired. Soul-tired.

The kind of tired that comes from chasing something that keeps slipping just out of reach.

Maybe it’s a dream.

Maybe it’s healing.

Maybe it’s the version of you who used to believe again.

We talk about possibility like it’s a promise.

Like if we want it bad enough, it’ll show up gift-wrapped with our name on it.

But possibility is just the door.

Probability?

That’s the staircase.

Every step: another weight to carry.

Another whisper of doubt to silence.

Another reason to quit that you have to choose not to.

That’s what Harvey’s eyes reminded me of.

The quiet decision to keep reaching—even when the thing you want feels far away.

Even when you're laying in the grass, spent and uncertain.

Even when the world moves on and you’re still there, holding the pieces of hope you haven’t let fall.

He doesn’t know the odds.

He doesn’t care about the numbers.

He just knows what he wants.

And he’s not letting go of it.

So today, maybe you don’t need a miracle.

Maybe you just need to keep your eyes locked on whatever’s out there—waiting to be chased again.

And if you're asking if it’s worth it, maybe this is your answer:

The ones who end up holding what matters most…

are the ones who refused to look away.