For Will
“Be who you were created to be, and you will set the world on fire.” — St. Catherine of Siena
Today, I raise a glass
to the good ones who lead with heart—
teachers, artists, healers,
dog-savers, everyday peacemakers
who pour light into dark places
and prove that kindness
is the most revolutionary art of all.
Some people remind us
what it means to be human.
Wise, open, kind, awake—
sparks in every room,
with mischief, humor, grace—
the kind of light
you want to sit beside.
He’s the kind of man dogs trust first—
the kind who’s learned from them
what loyalty looks like,
how joy returns no matter the weather,
how love doesn’t need a reason.
Scrolling through the pages of Will I Am
feels like a litany of love—
justice, tenderness, courage, loss—
each post whispering:
human dignity belongs to everyone.
Each line reflects a world unravelling,
urging us to notice,
to keep the truth alive.
It’s often the luminous ones among us—
the sensitive souls who feel deeply,
speak truth sharply,
and still keep showing up,
holding the world together
in ways both quiet and profound.
We walk beside people
whose words shape us,
whose compassion teaches
how awareness means presence—
how a bar stool
can feel like a pew,
how music and laughter
become prayer,
and how kindness tastes
like a cold Lupita,
shared at the end
of a long, hot day.
Never underestimate their sacred powers—
to transform, to heal, to unite—
to ignite inspired, loving action
in a world so longing for grace.
Only angels can slay dragons,
and some of them
drink beer at Monzón.
I call him Schmetterling—
the butterfly with thunder in its wings.
Delicate souls need strong names
to survive this world.
No one knows his full story,
but everyone feels his truth.
He can walk into a room
with a little bark and swagger,
rearranging the air—
not with volume,
but with presence,
wit, and welcome.
He pours light
like others pour wine—
generously, without measure.
The kind of enthusiasm
that sweeps through a room
and says: Aquí brillas tú.
Before the first pour,
before names or causes,
I knew he was safe space
for everyone—
steadfast as a dog’s devotion,
gentle as a loyal friend’s gaze.
He listens with his whole face,
laughs with his shoulders,
and when pain enters the room
he meets it with grace.
Once he thought
he’d slip away
before the song was done—
but the music played on.
Now the loves of his life
rest on either side of the barstool—
one wagging, one watching—
his personal angels,
the real reason he never drinks alone.
In Vallarta—this place where mountains lean close
and dogs run free—
he found a rhythm
that fits his skin.
Beer in hand,
arms wide open,
part philosopher, part dogtrovert,
learning the fine art
of being beautifully uncomfortable,
holding space for others
on the same wild climb.
So here’s to that—
to living loud,
to turning pain into poetry,
to joy sustained,
and love pouring through
like Monzón rain.
Will I Am — Remains.
Feliz cumpleaños, ángel!
