05/28/2026
Roadhouse Perspective:
The Hearts I Carry
I was looking through some photos today and came across a few of the heart-shaped rocks I've collected over the years.
I've always had a thing for them.
I find them everywhere. Along riverbanks, on mountain trails, in the middle of dirt roads, beside streams. Sometimes they're sitting right out in the open. Sometimes they're half buried in the dirt. I never go looking for them. Somehow I just notice them.
Over the years I've brought home more than I can count.
As I sat there looking at those pictures today, I found myself wondering why.
Maybe because I've been doing a lot of thinking lately.
The older I get, the more I realize how strange life can be. You can spend years trying to do the right thing, helping people, carrying responsibilities, fixing problems, showing up when you're needed, and still find yourself wondering if anybody really sees you at all.
I've worked dead bodies.
I've watched families fall apart.
I've buried people I loved.
I've picked up broken and battered people and tried to help put them back together.
My own heart has been broken more times than I care to count.
I've spent years carrying businesses, employees, relationships, and problems that weren't always mine to carry.
Somewhere along the way I've also learned that people usually see whatever version of you they've already decided exists. Some think you're kind. Some think you're difficult. Some think you're strong. Some think you're the problem. Most of the time they're judging a chapter when they don't know the whole book.
I suppose that's just part of being human.
The other night I was wiping down a table at the roadhouse and noticed a single grain of salt shaped like a heart.
One grain.
Tiny enough that most people would've wiped it away without ever seeing it.
I noticed it immediately.
The same way I notice the rocks.
The same way I've always noticed them.
And it made me laugh because after everything life has handed me, there I was again.
Bent over in the dirt picking up another heart.
There are days when I wonder if people really see me at all, or if they only see whatever version of me they've already decided exists.
Then I find another heart sitting in the dirt somewhere.
And for reasons I can’t fully explain, I bend over and pick it up.
As I sat by the river today writing this, looking through these pictures and thinking about all of this, I happened to look down at my feet.
Sitting right beside the rock I was sitting on was another heart.
The last picture in this post.
I picked it up and laughed.
Maybe life isn’t sending me messages. Maybe rocks are just rocks and salt is just salt.
But after everything that’s happened, after all the disappointments, losses, heartbreaks, responsibilities, and miles behind me, some stubborn part of me still notices hearts where other people only see stones.
Maybe that’s the part of me worth holding onto.
