On Tuesday morning, I sat on my chair to begin what I thought would be just another day’s writing session… It wasn’t.

It was everything but — because 8,000 miles away, the entirety of my home city collapsed from the shattering shockwave of what has now become the third-largest explosion in human history. 

In an instant, Beirut was destroyed. 

An estimated 300,000 people (nearly 5% of Lebanon’s population) were turned homeless. Over 150 deaths have been reported, 5,000 people are injured, and 500 people are still missing. In an instant, everything changed — and at the sight of the explosion, my heart broke in two.

The next twelve hours were a blur that was spent on the phone trying to contact everyone I know. Trying to reach my grandmother. Trying to reach my family and friends. Trying to understand what in the world is going on.

A very close friend almost lost her life; the broken glass rained down from the battered building and crushed her car. She managed to escape. My cousin’s trembling voice note drowned my heart into the depths of the ocean floor. She was wailing and screaming: “Our house is destroyed. Our house is destroyed. I don’t know what happened. What the fuck just happened?!”

The trauma. The fear. The agony.

The devastation.

Videos on social media began to emerge: Shattered broken glass covered the streets of the city. Bloodied bodies stumbled their way across the streets. Hospitals were over-flooding with the influx of injured people. Entire residential buildings were reduced to rubble. The most charming, artistic, and cultural part of the city immediately transformed into an apocalyptic war zone…

I’ve been trying to make sense of the past 48 hours. 

Of the shock and the horror. Of the nightmare that we’ve been living. Of the torture and sheer mental, emotional, and physical trauma it’s had on our people.

But what sense is there to make?

I’m half-way around the world sitting in the comfort of my home. I’m going to sleep in the warmth of my bed — but what about the thousands of people who have just lost their homes? I’m going to sleep knowing that my friends and family are safe — but what about the thousands of people who still don’t know the fate of their loved ones?

My heart aches for the people. 

It’s excruciating to see your own city collapse and the souls within its walls agonize and suffer such devastating losses. It’s incredibly painful to be so far away from home, incapable of aiding your family, friends, and the rest of the people.

Last night, as the dust began to settle, and the shock loosened its grip on me, I managed to find some much-needed solace in the words of Eckhart Tolle:

“Surrender is the simple but profound wisdom of yielding to rather than opposing the flow of life.”

Fighting ‘what is’ leads me nowhere. It creates more pain and suffering. Yielding to what is — the natural flow of life — leads me to salvation. 

I do what I can, with what I have, to help whomever I can, wherever I am.

That is the way of life.

My message today is simple: Your life can change in an instant. So don't take another minute of it, or the people in it, for granted.

Death hangs over us. It lingers in the space we cannot touch. And in the blink of an eye, in the flash of a second, it can capture us and strip us bare of the most precious blessing of all: The gift of being alive.

If there’s one thing you should be grateful for, right here, right now, be thankful you’re safe and alive. The breath that rests in your lungs, the blood that swims throughout your veins, the heart that throbs with all its might to carry you onward into another moment’s grace — that is the greatest gift you have.

You’re alive and you have no knowledge of when your air becomes thin. All that you know is that you’re still alive. You’re still here, safe on earth, breathing oxygen for a reason. You still have a purpose to serve. And your sole job is to yield to the flow of life, to honor that purpose passionately, and accept that your life can change in an instant; so don't take another minute of it for granted. 

The gigantic explosion in Beirut’s port ripped through the city. And yet, it does not compare to the explosion that continues to rip through our hearts.

P.S. If you wish to help and donate, you can do so here or here.