Do You Carry Fire or Smoke?

“People carry more than what’s in their hands. Some carry fire, others only smoke.” — Marla Wynn

When I was about twelve, a woman in my neighborhood used to sit on her veranda every morning with a cracked mug of tea and a transistor radio that wheezed out gospel songs or political debates depending on the day. Her name was Miss Callie, and she wore the same blue robe most mornings, even when the heat blistered the air. She wasn’t poor, nor rich, but she always had peace — and in our neighborhood, that was more valuable than gold.

One morning, after a power cut and a sleepless night, I sat on her steps, cranky and silent. I was irritated by the constant bark of dogs, the dry taps, and the mosquito bites on my ankle. Miss Callie handed me her spare mug of tea. “You look like you carrying smoke today,” she said, eyes twinkling.

I stared at her. “Smoke?”

“Yes,” she nodded. “Some people carry fire — purpose, truth, light. Others carry smoke — confusion, complaints, noise. You’ve got to know what you carry, chile, or the world will hand you something you don’t want.”

That stuck with me. I didn’t understand it completely back then, but I do now.

Life is not only about the opportunities we chase, but the energy we bring to each moment. What we carry in our spirit spills into our words, our choices, our work, and our relationships. Some people walk into a room and light it up. Others bring a fog that makes everything feel heavier.

I have been both. There were years when poverty clung to my skin like dust, and I walked around angry at the world. I would enter conversations already armed with bitterness. I expected disappointment, and so I carried it everywhere like a curse in my pocket.

I was like my mother in that way. She too never expected good things, so she never prepared for them. I remember once, there was a job fair being held in town — rare for us — and she told me not to bother going. “They just want to make us feel hopeful and then slam the door again,” she said. I believed her. I didn’t go. Later I learned someone from our block who went landed a full-time clerk job.

That memory aches. Not because I didn’t go — but because I didn’t believe I was worth preparing for a better life.

Miss Callie always said, “Even if the world is on fire, you better carry clean water in your soul.” That means be ready for life. Know how it flows and bends. Life, she said, doesn’t wait for you to be ready. It rewards the prepared.

There are people, like the woman who lives behind me now, who always seem surprised by hardship — even when it has visited them dozens of times before. She has no emergency savings, no flashlight during blackouts, and never any extra rice in the cupboard. When she borrows, she borrows like it’s her first struggle, not her fiftieth.

“I didn’t think it would go bad again,” she tells me each time.

But why wouldn’t it? Life goes bad like weather goes stormy. It’s not personal — it’s just the nature of this world.

And yet, if you know the terrain of your world, you can move wiser through it.

My father used to say, “You don’t walk barefoot through thorn bush twice and call it adventure.” If life pricks you, it’s your job to learn, to equip yourself better the next time. If the water always goes, you store it. If the power always cuts, you light a candle and read a book instead of complaining.

That’s how you carry fire — you light your own way.

Carrying smoke, on the other hand, is easy. All you need is complaints, fear, and a belief that nothing ever changes. Smoke clouds your vision. It keeps you talking in circles. It makes you feel like a victim in a play you never wrote.

I don’t want to live like that anymore.

I now keep journals — not of what I hope, but of what I do. I measure my days by what I give, not just what I receive. I plan even when it feels pointless, because preparation is how you prove to life that you’re serious. I keep water stored, money tucked away, and hope close by. I keep love in reach, but I also keep boundaries like fences — firm and needed.

I am not better than those who don’t plan. I’ve just chosen to carry fire now, because I know what it feels like to live in the smoke.

So let me ask you — what are you carrying?

Because the world will hand you storms. It will test your roof, your will, your patience, your faith. And when that happens, your survival depends not on the storm — but on your preparation.

Don’t just walk through life reacting. Study it. Know it. Equip yourself. Carry light, even when the sky goes dark.

Thank you for reading. I hope this story lit something inside you.