I’ve spent the past few months taking the required steps to update my blog. Let’s just say: while it looks beautiful, its functionality? Not so much. To honor this insistent call within me to write and share, my website needed a serious overhaul. All of it—tedious, behind-the-scenes kind of stuff (still on-going)—is frustrating but necessary.
It turns out, for about four months, my blog updates weren’t even going out. That discovery was the little nudge that sent me spiraling into website troubleshooting mode. During that time, on a good day, I might have one or two views—usually just John, after I told him I’d posted. That humbling stretch was a strange mix of silence and self-discovery. It made me wonder: was this a test?
What I found in this reset wasn’t an answer, exactly. It was a feeling. Despite the digital block, I still felt pulled—compelled—to write. Not because someone was reading, but because something deep inside needed to be expressed, whether or not anyone ever saw it.
Like many of you, the past few years have brought waves of challenge. Writing became a small lantern in that darkness, turning what once felt formless into something whole, and giving purpose to what had seemed lost. It’s like the grief, the loss, the unraveling—all of it—could be gathered up like wildflowers and arranged into something laced with beauty. Something kind or supportive. Something someone might need to read.
Apparently, that someone is often me.
I’m endlessly grateful for the words that have found me—pieces of myself I’ve picked up like sea glass—shaped by the tides, made softer by the storms. These truths never feel like reprimands. They feel like a call home. They’re the kind of companions that can carry a tender heart through almost anything.
And so I’m here again, with a renewed commitment—to the words, and to you. But the mission is changing. It began the day I left social media and has only deepened. What’s shared here is meant to be personal. Meant for you. If something resonates, and you think it might offer comfort or insight to someone else in your life, I hope you’ll share it. Not for clicks or likes, but for connection. Maybe it opens a conversation. Maybe it’s the bridge to a heartfelt “I’m thinking of you.”
Meaning in the mess is always revealed in hindsight. But connection? Connection is the real-time miracle. And when that connection is personal—authentic—it becomes a gift. If I can spark even the tiniest flicker of hope in your heart, my dear and remarkable reader, that light grows brighter still when you pass it on.
This isn’t about building a platform. It’s about building a life that means something. One small offering at a time. One shared moment. One lantern lit in the dark.
