To the Whole Wide World, From a Man With a Simple Wish

No matter where you live — on a wind-blown steppe in Mongolia, a café-ridden street in Paris, a rust-red cabin in Alaska, or a concrete box stacked somewhere in Cairo — I wish you happiness. Good health. Wealth, too, if it comes honest and shared. I wish it not like a prayer tossed into a storm, but like a man handing you a warm cup of coffee in the cold. Take it. It’s yours. Drink it slow.

Now I know this will upset some people. Strange, isn’t it? The idea that someone could get angry because another man wishes the world well. That the thought of you, the reader — a stranger — living a good life, a real life, filled with laughter and rest and work you love… that this could boil someone’s blood.

But damn it, it does.

They want the world mean and uneven. They want fewer of us at the table because they’re afraid they won’t be at the head of it. They speak of overpopulation like people are pests, not potential. They hoard wealth like a child stuffing cookies under their pillow, afraid someone else might taste sweetness too.

Well, I don’t care.

I love seeing people happy. I love seeing them succeed. I love when a man or a woman or a child gets their first home, their first paycheck, their first hug that wasn’t followed by a slap. I love when a father comes home tired from work and smiles at the dinner table. I love when a mother opens the door and finds her child returned, safe. I love when people stand up straight because they no longer carry the weight of being told they are less.

They say there’s not enough. Not enough jobs. Not enough food. Not enough room.

That’s a lie.

There’s enough — if we build together, farm together, dream together, and stop trying to outshine each other like gods in cheap suits. You want to be a Big Dog? Fine. But stop pissing on everyone else’s tree. There’s nothing noble in winning alone.

We need more calloused hands and fewer pointing fingers. More inventors, builders, growers. Not just kings and bosses. We need to make caring for one another popular again — as popular as gold chains and big titles. We need to stop acting like lifting others dims our own light.

I’m not too good to get my hands dirty. Never have been. I’ll work on the world’s family farm. I’ll feed who’s hungry. I’ll listen to who’s lonely. And I’ll stand shoulder to shoulder with any man or woman who believes that life is meant to be lived together, not competed over like a game rigged from the start.

So here it is, plain and solid:

From wherever you are, from whatever soil you rise and whatever gods you pray to, I wish you happiness. I wish you strong legs, clean lungs, good love, and work that feeds your soul. I wish you a home where you can rest, a family — chosen or blood — who love you like the rising sun, and a world that no longer asks you to prove your worth.

You don’t owe me anything. Just pass it on.

And if this truth burns in the heart of someone who’d rather hoard than help, let it burn. Let it burn until the warmth of a shared world thaws them too.

Until then, I’ll keep writing. Keep working. Keep hoping.

For you.
For all of us.

Roy Dawson Earth Angel Master Magical Healer