Devoted to the Moment: A Dream, a Breakdown, and a Song Called Del Fuego

Last night I had a dream—one of those rare ones that feel more like memory than imagination.

I was with my dad. He was walking—not frail or fading, but strong enough to move beside us. Andrea, Isaiah, Dad, and I were all headed to Tegucigalpa, the city that cradles so much of who I am. The car broke down. Two flat tires. Overheated. No plan B.

The pressure of getting there weighed on me like the sun overhead. So I did what I always do—I got out. I walked. Looking for help. Carrying the problem on my shoulders because that’s how I’ve survived: walk ahead, fix it, figure it out. I ended up in a hotel on the road, far from the car, far from Tegus. But somehow, they showed up. My dad, my people, found their way to me. The car was left behind, but we were together again.

That morning haze of the dream stayed with me. Then Del Fuego by Fat Freddy’s Drop played on my phone. And suddenly, the dream didn’t feel random—it felt like a soundtrack.


Longing makes the day seem twice as long,
Like an endless summer haze...
Hearts without home, searching for a place...

That is what grief feels like. A kind of roaming. A journey without a map. And like the lyrics say—“we can only watch and learn.” Sometimes the ash is cold. Sometimes we break down. Sometimes we do not make it all the way to the city or the closure or the finish line. But we’re still devoted to the moment. We’re still walking.

There was a line in the song that broke me:


Don’t let your pride feed the fire—
It was never within your control.

So much of this last year has felt like trying to hold the universe together with my bare hands. Caring for my dad across borders, carrying the emotional weight of being the oldest, the caretaker, the one who goes ahead to figure things out.

This dream was my dad showing up to remind me: you do not have to fix everything to be loved.

So maybe we never made it to Tegus in the dream. Maybe that is okay.
Maybe the car stays broken. Maybe the journey continues.

But I woke up knowing:
I am not lost. I am just roaming—with purpose. Devoted to the moment.