We’re living in a time where the world feels sharply divided, black or white, right or wrong with very little space for nuance or warmth. The gray zone in between has become a fog of confusion and disillusionment, often muting our spirit. But where is the colour? Where is the warmth, the joy, the life? If we stay trapped in this monochrome mindset, we lose touch with the vibrancy of being. It’s essential that we bring colour back, into our conversations, our actions, our hearts. That means choosing joy, consciously. Whether it’s by dancing to music that lifts you, wrapping yourself in a scarf of bright hues, laughing with your grandkids, or simply stepping away from the heaviness and into a space that nurtures your soul.
Yes, we must care, we must be informed, and we must stand up where we can—but not at the cost of our own light. We cannot pour from an empty cup. We need to refill with beauty, laughter, and love. Wear color. Dance with scarves. Watch a movie. Read a book that takes you away. Sit in nature and let the trees speak to your spirit. Join the chorus of change, but let it be fueled by joy and not just anger. Be that vibrant note in the world’s orchestra. Because being colourful in a black and white world isn’t frivolous—it’s revolutionary.
We are the artists of our own lives. When we choose to add brushstrokes of compassion, tones of hope, and bursts of courage, we not only brighten our own path, we become a living mural for others to follow. In a world drowning in noise and judgment, your colour, your joy, and your radiant authenticity become an act of sacred defiance. So take up space, wear your truth, and let your spirit shine. It’s time to colour outside the lines and remind the world that life was never meant to be lived in grayscale.
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Sara’s View of Life with Sara Troy on air from July 15th
?? Welcome to the Conscious Rebellionwith Sara Troy
We are standing at a crossroads in human history—not just politically, but spiritually, emotionally, and consciously. This is a time of choice. A time of reckoning. A time to rise with soul-led intention.
This is not just rebellion, it is a conscious rebellion. A revolution of the awakened. We are no longer asleep to the pain of others, blind to injustice, or silent in the face of cruelty. We have been shaken. And now we must awaken. Not with fists in the air, but with our hearts wide open and our spirits grounded in truth.
No matter who you are or where you come from, ask yourself: Do I lead with compassion? Do I stand for kindness? Do I seek understanding? Because it starts with self-love—real, honest, grounded self-love. When we love ourselves, we cannot stand by and watch others be dehumanized, dictated to, or destroyed.
We don’t need more hate. We don’t need more violence. We need more self-love This isn’t about politics, it’s about people. It’s about holding those in power accountable, not with rage, but with a radiant resolve. Not with pitchforks, but with purpose.
There are systems built on greed, division, and fear, and yes, they’re trying to pull us back into darkness. But we, the conscious, the aware, the soulful, are the light they cannot dim.
We rise through community, through truth, through love in action. We hold the line for justice. We lift those who are being trampled. We show up, not because we are told to, but because we know we must.
Let us no longer turn a blind eye, for the moment we ignore another’s suffering is the moment we give away our power. You don’t have to save the world alone; just help one person rise. And if each of us does that, the ripple becomes a wave. A conscious wave. A soulful uprising. A global remembrance of what it means to be human.
So find your place, whether you’re the harmony or the melody, the drumbeat or the stillness between the notes, this orchestra of awakening needs you. Speak. Share. Support. Stand.
Let us rise together with compassion as our rebellion, and love as our revolution. The time is now. The moment is yours.
This is the Conscious Rebellion. Let’s lead it with soul.
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I wrote this article back in 2017, and rereading it now, its meaning resonates even more deeply. I’m living on my island of peace, love, and purpose, and I invite others to step into this space, to feel what I’m speaking of, and ignite their own heart and soul.
I was born in this place of tranquillity. I flew here on gentle winds, bathed in her soft, embracing waters, basked in her sun, and wandered her mysteries. She has always been my home, my resting place, my protection, my nourishment, and my warmth.
I have finally found the island—the place where we seek our spirit, our purpose, our truth. What I didn’t realize during my journey to fit in, to search, to find, was that I had been on this island all along. It is my home, my sanctuary, my peace. It’s where I find harmony and, above all, where I speak my truth.
I am never alone here. Others dwell on this island too, souls who know peace and purpose. Together, we live in this universe paradise, preparing for those yet to come. We are the elders—the ones who greet you at the entrance. You don’t need to arrive with knowledge, but you must come in truth, with an open heart and a willingness to learn. Entry requires a free spirit, wonderment, and an intent to pass on what you discover.
Unlike the TV show The Island, we’re not here to contain evil but to be a beacon of enlightenment and inspiration. This is a place of initiation—a gateway to inner truth, a sanctuary where you uncover your calling and embrace your knowingness.
What is knowingness? It is the unwavering truth that lives within, unshaken and uncorrupted. When you arrive at this place, knowledge flows without validation—it simply is. It’s powerful, but often lonely among those who can’t see or don’t wish to. Yet in this certainty, we find the conviction that needs no defence.
I flew freely as a child and soared as a young woman. My learning has never followed convention; I am a Now learner. My wisdom comes not from books but from deep feeling—from knowing what I need in the present moment.
Space—the final frontier—is also the beginning and everything in between. When I’m in flight, I connect to the universe at a molecular level. I am one piece of the all, always existing somewhere, doing something, even in stillness. We exist in a consciousness of unconsciousness. I live in presence and can only speak from the now. Cross-examination pulls me from it, I falter, because now is all I am.
I’ve struggled with embodiment—my spirit feels at home in consciousness, while the demands of the body distract and confuse. But I’ve learned to find balance, peace, and alignment between soul, spirit, and body. It requires conscious, earthly effort—but it’s worth it.
On this island, I am whole. I am one. Melded with my humanity, I now accept that I am an elder in body as well as spirit. It’s time to take my teachings to a new level and embrace the wisdom of this stage of life.
I love the youthful spirit—their dance with possibility, their thirst for truth, and their fearless curiosity. I rejoice in their flight. But as an elder, my role isn’t to journey beside them—it’s to steady the ground beneath their feet, offer perspective, and guide with grace as they pick up passengers on their own path.
I love being the elder. With age aligned to wisdom, I can simply be—a lighthouse, a source of balance, a gentle guide. The future belongs to them, and we must guide them wisely. As it was in the beginning, so it will be in the end, our legacy lives on through those who grow wiser with time.
So come to the island. Breathe in its knowledge, embrace its wisdom, and take it with you. Some come merely to look, not yet ready to walk the path—but their time will come, whether in this life or lifetimes ahead. We can only help those who are ready, guide those who seek passage, and offer light to those who choose to walk forward.
If we do our part well, they’ll find their spirit, embrace their purpose, and become beacons for others. We can show them the water, but they must choose to drink. The journey is theirs alone.
The most powerful force in the universe is knowingness—a truth that brings peace, love, and unity. Life is a feeling guided by touch, sound, and insight. When our senses align, we enter that sacred space of universal truth.
Take your head out of it. Listen with your eyes. Feel with your heart. Speak from your soul.
Your mind is the processor, but your soul is the source, your connection to the universe. Be open. Be still. Trust. You will receive what you’re ready to know. Store the rest for later. The universe speaks, will you hear it?
To the young spirits: I am here, waiting for you. Excited to feel your light and guide you into your greatness. You are the dance of the future, the harmony of what’s to come.
All of our shows/interviews are done by donation; if you enjoyed this show, please support us here with either a one-time donation or subscribe and support. Thank you. Please support Our Forgotten Seniorsanthology and help to bring this book to awareness.
Sara’s View of Life with Sara Troy, on air from June 24th
Last weekend, my daughter, her husband, and my two beautiful grandsons whisked me away to the stunning coastal gems of Ucluelet and Tofino on Vancouver Island, British Columbia. After nearly 45 years of living in Canada, I can hardly believe it’s taken me this long to get there. The landscape was nothing short of stunning — a winding road through lakes and forests, nature embracing you at every twist and turn. We stayed in a charming Airbnb in Ucluelet with an exceptional view, which I’ll be sharing in my show post.
Everything about the trip was relaxing and heartwarming. The house was easy to manage with the kids, although the toddler kept us on our toes, climbing stairs and exploring everything. We visited several beaches, including Long Beach, where even an overcast sky couldn’t dampen the spirit of my four-year-old. He was everywhere — chasing waves, digging in the sand, living his best beach life. At one point, we nestled between two large driftwood trees, and he snuggled up on my chest and fell asleep. Those are the moments that melt your heart.
We dined out at some lovely restaurants. One favourite was a Japanese spot in Ucluelet that had a gated playground inside the restaurant, spotless and well-equipped, a dream for any parent or grandparent. But no adventure is without surprises. While the waitress brought drinks to the table, my grandson gave his high chair tray a good whack, sending water and juice all over me! I sat through lunch, soaked but smiling. That’s grandparent life.
While the others visited the aquarium, I went back for a much-needed nap. Waking up at 5 or 6 a.m. every morning and sharing a bed with a moaning, groaning, tossing little sleeper meant sleep was more of a suggestion than a reality. But I wouldn’t trade those snuggles for the world.
We also explored the lighthouse trails, where wind-sculpted trees twist and bend in ways that tell stories of survival and resilience. And then we wandered through an ancient forest filled with 800-year-old giants, tall, thick trees surrounded by younger saplings reaching upward. What I love about forests is how even a fallen tree gives life — mosses grow, creatures find shelter, and new growth emerges from what once was. Nothing is wasted. Storm watchers would adore Tofino in the winter, where these trees dance with the wind in nature’s raw rhythm.
Just a few weekends ago, we also visited Mount Washington and stayed at a friend’s condo. I explored Courtney and Cumberland — two more parts of the island I hadn’t seen. In one month, I’ve checked two places off my bucket list. It’s wonderful — but it’s also exhausting. I’m 70 now, living with fibromyalgia, and my energy doesn’t stretch as far as it once did. I chased my own kids once, swung them on my shoulders, and rolled in the sand. These days, getting down is a challenge because getting back up is the real trick. It can be frustrating — I want to do it all — but I’ve learned to live within my energetic means and simply enjoy what I can do.
Vancouver Island is a gem — serene, lush, and inviting. If you love green, you’ll love it here. There are trails, lakes, beaches, and quaint towns like Cumberland that have completely reinvented themselves. What once were sleepy places with nothing but a few pubs are now bustling communities filled with young families and creativity. It’s inspiring — a reminder that reinvention is always possible.
I see myself like one of those weathered trees — perhaps bent by life’s storms, but still standing strong, now providing shelter and wisdom to the young ones growing beside me. As I slow down, I notice more. I feel more deeply. I reflect on past oceans and waves I once danced through — from my childhood beach days in England to my young womanhood in South Africa. Big waves don’t scare me — I’ve seen them before. But now I appreciate them differently. I no longer chase the party. I chase connection, quiet dinners, heartfelt conversations.
This recent weekend reminded me of how precious these moments are. Watching my pregnant daughter walk along the shore, her dress flowing, hair dancing in the wind, holding her little one’s hand — it was like watching a living poem. My grandson and I chased waves, captured in a playful photo where a Kraken (thanks to my son-in-law’s photo edit!) seemed to be after us. The laughter, the snuggles, the tired arms holding little bodies — all etched into memory.
Babysitting the boys while their parents had a date night, watching them drift off to sleep in my arms — those are the treasures of grandparenthood. As a mother, many daily moments blurred in the hustle. But now, as a grandma, I savour them. I see them. I feel them more deeply.
Just like the forests and the beaches, life is a cycle. I’ve been the sapling, the growing tree, the mother nurturing young branches. Now I stand steady, offering shelter, love, and stories for the new trees rising beside me. We each have our time, our place, our rhythm. It’s not about what we can no longer do — it’s about embracing what we can, fully and joyfully.
So if you ever come to Vancouver Island, give yourself time. Two weeks at least. Wander through Victoria’s charm, see the murals of Chemainus, shop the Saturday market in Duncan, enjoy the lakes of Nanaimo, and drive the twisty, stunning road through Port Alberni to Ucluelet and Tofino.
Don’t rush. Be present. Let nature speak to you. Let the ocean wash away your worries, and the trees whisper reminders of your strength and your journey.
Until next time, dear friends — be well, and don’t forget to tune in to our shows at www.selfdiscoverywisdom.org. We’re on 16 audio platforms and 3 video channels, bringing you stories, voices, and soul food to nourish your spirit.
All of our shows/interviews are done by donation; if you enjoyed this show, please support us here with either a one-time donation or subscribe and support. Thank you. Please support Our Forgotten Seniorsanthology and help to bring this book to awareness.
Sara’s View of Life with Sara Troy, on air from June 17th
I had one hell of a weekend. Outside, the temperatures soared to 29 and 30 degrees, and inside, well, inside the double shed I hadn’t touched in a year, there was a mountain of stuff waiting for me. My daughter-in-law Jessica came over, looked me straight in the eye, and said, “We’re doing this.” Eight hours later, everything had been pulled out, sorted, and sifted through. For anyone who’s ever gone through old belongings, especially as we age, every item becomes a trip down memory lane.
It’s not just stuff. It’s the remnants of past lives and moments that tug on our hearts. Each object seemed to whisper a story—some joyful, others painful. Deciding what to keep and what to let go of wasn’t easy. Like my dad’s old smoking jacket—he passed when I was just eleven—and the idea of it ending up as a Halloween costume was too much. Letting go isn’t just about decluttering; it’s about honouring what once was.
Going through my old dinner party collection reminded me of another era—one filled with extravagant gatherings, antique plates from the 18th century, fine German porcelain, crystal glassware, and joyful chaos. I loved hosting these events, something passed down from my mother. While that chapter has ended, I realized it’s okay to mourn a lifestyle that once brought me so much joy. My current reality is more casual: smaller meals with friends, simpler gatherings, and different, but equally meaningful connections.
As we sorted through the shed, I found myself also sorting through memories of travels, of motherhood, of my twenties and thirties, of losses and rediscoveries. Letting go of items also meant releasing identities and expectations. Each decade brought with it a different version of me, and letting go meant embracing the now while honouring all that has been.
I live alone now for the first time in 43 years. And I love it. My children are nearby, I see my grandkids regularly, and this home is mine—a space filled with meaning, memories, and peace. Yet, there are still tears tucked away, still emotions that need space to breathe. I’m learning it’s okay to feel it all, to cry, to remember, and to carry the past gently as I walk into the future.
Sometimes, we let go because things no longer serve us. Other times, we keep them not out of clinging, but because they remind us of who we were and how far we’ve come. And there’s value in that. There’s some respect in that.
So yes, purge when needed. But also, hold close what warms your heart. Keep the memories that anchor you, the stories that shaped you, and the treasures that still make you smile. Because letting go isn’t about forgetting, it’s about making space for what still matters.
All of our shows/interviews are done by donation; if you enjoyed this show, please support us here with either a one-time donation or subscribe and support. Thank you. Please support Our Forgotten Seniorsanthology and help to bring this book to awareness.
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