Author: stephsimply

Rustic wooden table with bowl of fruit and vase of pink and purple roses

We Live Inside What We Remember

by stephsimply, posted in Simple Observations and Musings

Sometimes the moments we almost decline become the memories we treasure most.

“Isn’t it funny how day by day nothing changes, but when you look back everything is different?”—C. S. Lewis

💌An Invitation I Almost Declined

As my husband and I drove to meet my daughter and her boyfriend for dinner, I could feel the dull headache just behind my eyes. My mind pinged through what I had already checked off on the administration’s end-of-the-year checklist. Tomorrow there would still be a few minor items to wrap up the school year and this year’s graduation. Saturday would still begin early with a long run, followed by household chores tucked in between loads of laundry. Ah, but I could look forward to putting my feet up Saturday evening!

“Do you mind if we come out Saturday? I was also thinking about bringing . . .”

My insides began to tighten. I am embarrassed to say that my first instinct was to protect my energy and say no because I was so dog-tired. My daughter is an educator too, and I knew she had to be exhausted. So if she was asking, it must really matter to her. 

Sensing my hesitation—she knows me so well—she quickly offered a compromise. 

“We can order pizza.” 

This would reduce my efforts, she added. 

Saying “yes” meant I would do some hosting prep, while still doing my usual Saturday routine. I would need to cut up fresh fruit and vegetables for hummus, toss a large green salad with more fresh toppings on the side, put together a few other snacks, and bake a homemade dessert. Surely I could manage that.

🏡The Business of Life

Once home from dinner, with Saturday’s plan fully established, I watched an episode of Downton Abbey. Mr. Carson observed, “The business of life is the acquisition of memories. In the end, that’s all there is.” 

That line struck a nerve. I had been trying to protect my rest when life was offering an opportunity for a memory. 

I looked over at our kitchen table. In the center of it sat a bouquet leftover from Mother’s Day, nearly two weeks earlier. Half of the flowers had already been tossed because they had faded and wilted. The rest looked as if they were hanging on to their last whisper of energy. 

In my mind, I sifted through memories. How strange it is to realize that my mind is filled with decades of unorganized snapshots: names half-remembered, a hodgepodge of family, friends, and former students—small moments and not-so-small moments that outlived many so-called major events. Strange, isn’t it, that we eventually live inside what we remember?

John and I have spent years investing time in the earliest stages of the lives of young people. There are many faces we remember whose names elude us. There have been countless students over whom we have worried and fretted, those who surprised us in ways we never expected, and untold small classroom moments that by some miracle remain in our hearts today. Looking back, it is stunning to realize that we are often so busy arranging the bouquets of life without fully knowing which flowers will last.

At this stage of life, it is hard not to measure. Some people have accumulated wealth. Others have attained status, square footage, or other visible markers of success. There is nothing inherently wrong with any of that. Hard work is hard work. 

But there is, perhaps, another type of good fortune: lunch dates with friends, graduation ceremonies, family gatherings, long conversations, children returning home, or even unexpected Saturday evening dinners. 

🚚Future Memories

My daughter and her boyfriend will soon be moving to Boston. Time with them will then become a precious commodity. Her young adult life will continue to bloom somewhere else—hundreds of miles away. Saturday night dinners will not always be available. And if my lived experience has taught me anything, it is this: we do not always recognize future memories while we are still living them. Yet later, we will live inside what we remember. 

On Saturday evening, plates were loaded and emptied. One story easily led to another. Laughter filled the rooms. We teased Maddie’s boyfriend far too much, but he was such a good sport about it. Our cat kept circling around our daughter, her boyfriend, and their friend—so happy “her girl” was home, if only for a short time. 

No matter how tired we are, or how carefully we guard our energy, love has a way of interrupting us. And in the end, if we are lucky, we live inside that love.

A person walking alone on a winding forest path with autumn leaves and sunlight filtering through the trees

A Prayer to Become Art

by stephsimply, posted in Simple Observations and Musings

Reflections on quiet lives, steady love, and the meaning we leave behind

Perhaps it is aging, or the fact that I read too many books. Perhaps it is because I am a sentimental fool. But lately, I’ve had a persistent thought—maybe more of a prayer. 

Let my life have meaning. Let it become art for someone.

Not headline art. Not museum-worthy art. 

Just something that helps another person survive a difficult season.

The Question That Stayed

I think this inner prayer began earlier this year while reading My Friends by Fredrik Backman. In it, I encountered a quote that gave me pause. I read and reread the words. 

 “Art is what we leave of ourselves in other people.”

It was one of those quotes I immediately wrote down. From that moment on, a question kept returning to me: “What am I leaving in other people?” 

I began thinking about the people who had shaped my life, as well as those I had witnessed quietly shaping the lives of others. As I mulled it over, my heart ached a little. I found myself wondering what I had truly offered the world.

Quiet Lives

One of the first people who came to mind was my husband, John. He is a relational magnet. People are naturally drawn to his easygoing personality. He thrives publicly—the more people, the better. His students tell me all the time, sometimes sheepishly since I am also an educator, that John is their favorite teacher. I have always admired that quality in him.

Meanwhile, I am quieter, sometimes even awkward when it comes to small talk. I am comfortable and competent within the classroom, but less so outside of those four walls. 

The subjects John and I teach are different too. My class is harder to love because fewer kids read, and even fewer enjoy it. In the world of education, John’s class is birthday cake, while mine is more like broccoli. On my best days, maybe it’s a clementine—sweet and tangy, but still has to be peeled.

I love that for John, but I also wonder: is it the subject, or is it me? I do not always feel that I impact my students—or coworkers, friends, and family—in the same visible way he does. Still, I am trying to grow into a better, more open version of myself, though it does not come easily. 

Even so, I continue to prefer a quieter life. But can quiet lives still create “art”?  

Does quietly going about my work within the classroom make a difference? Can my passion for my students and subject still be felt through my actions?  

I try to create a structured, reliable classroom—one that challenges students while also giving them opportunities to succeed. I don’t want my students to fail, and I try to teach in ways that help them believe they can learn.  

But does the unspoken care matter? Does consistency leave residue in people? Must impact always be loud? 

The Art We Leave Behind

If “art” is what we leave of ourselves in other people, then I pray I leave behind a sense of love and worth. I hope others feel emotionally safe around me. I hope they sense that I believe in their ability to learn, adapt, and overcome life’s challenges. 

Hope springs eternal in me when it comes to my students, my family, my friends, and humanity itself. I pray that hope is felt.

I am more turtle than hare—more slow and steady than flash and flare. Still, I want to model a different way of moving through the world. I hope to show that aging does not have to diminish us, that nourishing our bodies does not have to be restrictive, and that fitness can take many forms. 

I want others to understand that you do not have to be loud to make a difference. To me, it matters more to live quietly and with integrity, trusting that perhaps someone, somewhere, might find strength or courage in an example of an ordinary life lived faithfully.

Most of all, I want to be the best mom I can to my now-adult daughter. I want to offer her emotional support and steadiness when she needs it, while also giving her the freedom to become fully herself—whether she chooses to live loudly or quietly. 

I want to continue nurturing the love between my husband and me, to love my family well, and to deepen the friendships I already have.

Let me leave warmth and gentleness behind.

Let me leave laughter and joy behind.

Let someone feel less alone because I lived.

Let someone believe their goals are possible.

Let my life be useful art in some small way.

Not grand.

Not immortal.

Just meaningful. 

What Holds

by stephsimply, posted in Simple Observations and Musings

Marathon training changed what I thought was possible. It also taught me that some of life’s most important things aren’t meant to change.

“At the still point of the turning world. 

Neither flesh, nor fleshless; 

Neither from, nor towards; 

at the still point, there the dance is.” 

— T. S. Eliot

🌅 Morning Routine

It was still dark, cool but thankfully no longer the stinging cold of January. Reflective, fluorescent green straps and a chest lamp lit the road as I headed back to the car to meet my husband, John, finishing his workout at the gym. The first birds had begun, their harmonies promising the sun. I inhaled deeply and ran through the morning’s checklist.

Start the dishwasher once both showers were done. Finish herbal tea and refill my bottle with a hydration mix for work. Lunch was already packed—thankfully, my usual. Still left: pack my work bag, shower, and call my daughter. We typically chat most mornings while getting ready, fitting in conversation before the day takes over. Nothing unusual—just routine. 

By Thursday, fatigue would set in—work, early mornings, and daily workouts quietly draining both energy and focus. Routine wasn’t a matter of preference; it was, and still is, protection. Even then, something would likely slip through the cracks as the week wore on.

🧱 Building the Structure

I decided to run the Athens Marathon back in December, about a month after finishing the Marshall University Marathon. It felt like a way to give structure to the winter—to keep moving forward when it would have been easier not to. Paying the entry fee only strengthened that commitment.

It felt like stacking LEGO bricks into something precise. Each piece had to fit within the existing structure of life. Not everything is meant to change. Some things are meant to hold. 

Morning workouts were already the norm; they just needed to be retooled. Weekend runs grew longer. Laundry, errands, cleaning, and meal prep arranged themselves around them. The structure of the workweek held, so the miles moved earlier, stretching the edges of the day. At first, the fatigue of long runs was heavy. But the body adapted. Responsibilities did not. 

🕰️ What Changed—and What Didn’t

Brick-by-brick, I learned more about distance—and about myself. And still, there were only 24 hours in a day. Running became an integrated part of it, not the center. It provided energy for everything else. Life continued, steady as ever, carried by the constant presence and love of family and friends.

Beyond my own small routines, the world kept shifting—nationally and globally, in ways both loud and subtle. Change was constant, as it always is. And still, daily life asked the same things: to show up, to care for one another, and to keep going.

🫶 What Holds

In one sense, the training changed what I believed was possible. I stretched. I learned. I crossed the finish line. The goal was reached—but that was never the point.

Crossing that line was not about changing everything. It could not have occurred without what stayed constant—the steady and loving presence of family, the rhythm of daily life, the hope that carried me, the things that held when everything else was stretched.

The Professor Who Changed How I Think About Aging

by stephsimply, posted in Simple Observations and Musings

When a biology professor offered me an unexpected future, I turned it down—but the lesson he taught me about possibility has stayed with me for more than thirty years.

The early June sun warmed my skin. I sat quietly along the shores of the Outer Banks of North Carolina. The page corners of a biology textbook and spiral-bound notebook—filled with sand and smeared ink—riffled in the chilly ocean breeze. 

I had just earned a master’s degree in 14 months while working full-time as a special education teacher. And I had a dream. I felt pulled to teach Kindergarten students—specifically those in need of early academic intervention. With my background in special education, I felt I was the ideal candidate for this role.

💭A Dream Interrupted

Unfortunately, I was told “no” in clear terms. I was not officially certified to teach kindergarten, despite holding a K-12 special education certificate. The position required a K-8 elementary education certification.

The requirement felt unfair and exhausting. I thought I had done everything “right” to teach this specific “special” class, but it still wasn’t enough. Rather than let this deter me, it became the basis for a new determination: earn that blasted K-8 Elementary certification if that was the last thing I did. Little did I know where, and to whom, this would lead me.

One month after earning my master’s degree, I enrolled at Marshall University. An advisor created a plan that required me to take two condensed summer courses—each just four-weeks long. The first class began the same week as a long-planned vacation my husband, John, and I had already paid for with another couple. If I did not take that summer course, I would have to wait another year before it was offered again.

📞 A Phone Call to Dr. Tarter

This was before email. Therefore, I needed to call to speak with the professor of the class, which ironically was a basic-level biology course with a lab. I called the office—determined, but a little scared. As a teacher, I knew this was a big ask. 

 “Would it be possible to miss the first week of a four-week summer session if I completed all the readings and assignments while I was away and made up the lab work upon my return?” 

This professor didn’t know me.  He didn’t know my work ethic. Missing a full four days of classes out of 16 total sessions was a significant deficit. I wasn’t even sure if I could do it, but I had to try. However, if he said “no,” it meant I would not earn the certification in time for the following school year.

His name was Dr. Tarter.  I don’t remember much about the conversation itself, but I do remember the knot in my stomach as I explained my situation and asked the question. I have a vague recollection of a protracted pause that was followed by a handful of pointed questions as my heart pounded. When he reluctantly consented, it was with a series of stipulations and a parting implication that I still may not pass the class. I assured him I would work hard to make up for the deficit my absence created.

🌊 Studying at the Shoreline

While my friends and husband read Cornwell, Grisham, Koontz, and King, I read about the characteristics of life, scientific method, cell structure, and cellular metabolism. They took long walks along the shore; I sat at the shore’s edge, feet in water, jotting notes in a college ruled notebook. When they stayed up late playing cards, I went to bed early, so I could get up to make flashcards and study in the early morning quiet. I was resolute in my commitment both to the requirements to teach the Kindergarten intervention class and to my hard work. I did not want Dr. Tarter to regret allowing me to miss the week.  

Upon returning to MU, my dedication continued. Much to my surprise, I thrived in Biology and the required lab. It turned out that Dr. Tarter was an excellent instructor, breaking down difficult concepts into clear, understandable ideas. Working in the lab with the guidance of a GA after class was invigorating. What was, at first, an intimidating environment, quickly became a playground for learning.

👩‍🏫 An Unexpected Offer

As the short summer session wound down, Dr. Tarter asked to speak to me after class. He explained he was surprised by my performance, especially considering I missed the first full week of classes. Then, he made an unexpected offer.  He asked if I would consider switching paths. I could work as a graduate assistant in his research lab, receive a small stipend and tuition support, and pursue a Master of Science in Biology. At the age of 29, Dr. Tarter was offering me a different future–one I had never thought possible as a young girl–becoming a scientist. 

I was shocked and torn from within. I. Could. Be. A. Scientist. 

And yet . . .

🤨 Too Old at Twenty-Nine?

There were bills to pay. I now had multiple student loans, and my husband still needed to complete his master’s. How could I ask him to wait another two years before he could start his advanced education? How would we get by on one salary? Worst of all, as I now reflect, I thought I was too old. Too old at age 29—can you imagine? 

 I said all this and more as I declined Dr. Tarter’s offer. I recall how he looked at me with eyes full of compassion and the wisdom that comes from decades of living. 

“Well, I suppose the possibilities of youth can still be held in our senior years.”

🤔 The Lesson That Remained

At times, I’ve often wondered what might have happened if I had accepted that offer— how different my life might have been?  But I don’t carry regret. Instead, I’m grateful that he saw something in me that I couldn’t see yet in myself—something I never believed I was truly capable of achieving. Youth was not what I thought it once was.

As I move through this new decade of life, I find myself near the age Dr. Tarter was when he made that offer. Just like he modeled then, I am committed to continuing to learn—to showing up to life with discipline and diligence. In fact, I am still evolving, despite the fact I never earned another degree. 

I think back to that biology and the spiral bound notebook—its water-stained pages fluttering in the salty air. Likewise, I hold onto that feeling of possibility that Dr. Tarter saw in me. He saw me as more than an educator. He saw another version of me and the possibilities contained within.

The notebook is long gone, and so is Dr. Tarter. But his lesson remains. He was right. Possibility doesn’t belong to youth. It belongs to those willing to keep reaching for it.

A Spring Weekend in Cary, NC (And Why It Surprised Me)

by stephsimply, posted in Travels

🏃‍♀️Running brought us to Cary, but it wasn’t what made us want to return

A winding asphalt road stretches into the distance, flanked by lush green trees under a bright blue sky with fluffy white clouds.
Photo by Mohan Nannapaneni on Pexels.com

🚗 Arriving in the Research Triangle

My husband, John, and I could feel the energy shift as we hit the bumper-to-bumper metallic river of I-40. Earlier, we had driven through sparse traffic as we passed rolling hills of idyllic farms and pastureland. Like marquee lights, exits to various tourist attractions—Big Walker Lookout, New River Trail State Park, Pilot Mountain State Park, and Mt. Airy—stood out in bright contrast against the serene landscape. Eastern redbuds, their branches bursting with pinkish-lavender blossoms, waved their welcome as we traveled farther south toward our weekend destination, Cary, NC. 

We knew little about the area other than that it was the host town of the Tobacco Road Marathon and Half Marathon, an event in which I would be running. However, we left wondering why more people weren’t talking about Cary as a long-weekend escape. 

Map of the Tobacco Road Half Marathon route, showing mile markers, water stops, spectator parking, and medical aid stations, along with an elevation profile at the bottom.
Screenshot of the map Tobacco Road Marathon.

Before arriving, I conducted a bit of research. I learned that Cary is known for being part of the Research Triangle region. It has close proximity to Raleigh, Durham, and Chapel Hill, as well as the three universities they represent—NC State, Duke, UNC—and Raleigh-Durham International Airport. 

🪻🌷Spring in Full Bloom

A vibrant park scene with blooming pink trees, pathways, and visitors enjoying the outdoor space. There are playground structures and people engaging in various activities amidst the greenery.
Redbuds line Downtown Cary Park

Spring had already adorned itself in Cary. Dogwood trees lined the orderly, sidewalk-edged streets, and their distinct pink and white petals danced in the March breeze. The splayed arms of the sunny-yellow branches of forsythia seemed ready to hug passersby on an early evening stroll or jog. Throughout the hotel parking lot, thousands of white plum blossoms, with their pungent, spicy scent, vibrated in the blustery winds as we made our way inside. 

The mild spring weather continued throughout the weekend as John and I discovered what makes Cary a hidden gem. We first noticed that it is pedestrian-friendly, with sidewalks spanning much of the town. Just as striking was the number of restaurants, coffee shops, and stores—many locally owned and distinctly unique. Cary also seamlessly blends modern development with historic charm in a way from which many other towns could learn.

🏫⛪️Why Downtown Cary Works So Well

Downtown Cary showcases that balance perfectly. Historic homes and buildings sit alongside murals and public art, the Cary Arts Center, and a restored 1964 theater. At its heart is Downtown Cary Park, a seven-acre family-centered space featuring a walkable botanical garden, dog park, recreation areas, a pavilion, open lawn, and a children’s play area remarkable for its creativity. Adjacent to it, a spacious public library further reinforces the sense of community.

🌮🍕🍞A Surprisingly Great Food Scene

Cary’s dining scene is just as inviting. With our very different approaches to eating, John and I appreciated the wide range of options, from local gems to familiar favorites. Though we sampled only a few, each proved memorable. 

On our first night, we chose Toreros Family Mexican Restaurant, highly recommended by locals and hotel staff. After enjoying excellent service and flavorful dishes—Nachos Toreros for John and veggie fajitas for me—we understood why!

Famous Toastery earned two visits from us for brunch, offering gluten-free and plant-based options for me alongside hearty homestyle fare for John. We also dined at Cary’s Mellow Mushroom, a national chain that embraces local culture through its décor, local emphasis, and menu. It’s one of the best locations we’ve visited, with both food and service exceeding our expectations.

Another standout was Goji y Agave, also known as Goji Bistro, where two kitchens—one Asian, one Mexican, create a uniquely blended menu. The result felt like a culinary story of two distinct traditions meeting in surprising harmony. For me, the highlight was a robust gluten-free selection that extended well beyond the usual limited offerings.

😂Yes, We Ended Up at Bass Pro Shop🎣

Of course, John spied the Bass Pro Shop as soon as we drove into town, so I knew a visit was inevitable. As a freshwater angler, John relishes any opportunity to connect with fellow anglers. I didn’t mind; he always supports my running, and since this trip was centered on my race, I was happy to indulge him. Besides, the store’s assortment of outdoorsy curiosities never fails to entertain. 

Exterior view of the Sportsman's Center building under a clear blue sky, featuring a wooden structure with a prominent sign for Bass Pro Shops.

📝Reasons We’d Go Back

Our weekend in Cary passed quickly. With race events taking up much of one day, we ran out of time to explore everything—proof that Cary deserves more than a brief visit. We hoped to hike trails in Hemlock Bluffs Nature Preserve and wander the JC Raulston Arboretum. We also missed the Fenton district, a 92-acre social “Eat. Shop. Play.” destination, and Bond Brothers Brewery, where John might have sampled local craft beer. 

We came to Cary because the Tobacco Road Marathon and Half-Marathon coincided with the start of our school’s spring break. We left knowing that even without a race, this unassuming town is well worth the trip. Running brought us to Cary, but it wasn’t the only thing that made us want to return.

Cary is a quiet masterpiece hidden in the heart of North Carolina’s Research Triangle. We were captivated by the warmth and diversity of the people we encountered, the town’s charm, and its unexpected offerings. It rewards both careful planners and those, like us, who simply wander. Perhaps your travels will lead you there one day too.

📑Quick Travel Notes:

Best season to visit: Spring

Closest airport: RDU

Best for: Couples, runners, foodies, weekend travelers

Don’t miss: Downtown Cary Park

Running Free

by stephsimply, posted in Simple Observations and Musings

How Jeff Galloway’s run-walk-run method helped me become a runner—and find joy along the way

“I hear the music. I feel the beat. And for a moment… I am free…”—Florence + the Machine

🌿Finding My Rhythm on Tobacco Road

I was running along the rolling, pine-scented path of the American Tobacco Trail (ATT), a rail-to-trail near Cary, NC, as part of the Tobacco Road Marathon/Half-Marathon. The air was brisk, and the sun had just begun its ascent. Shards of brilliant light cut through towering pine trees. The race was promoted as “fast and flat” with its gentle ascents and descents. At the start, thousands of runners packed tightly together, jostling and elbowing forward. By mid-race, I settled into a steady rhythmic cadence, independent of those around me. As “Free” by Florence + the Machine began to play in my ear, I felt “free,” lit from within. In that moment, I realized that feeling was not accidental—it was learned–taught and modeled by one of the best.

Map of the Tobacco Road Half Marathon course, showing the route with mile markers, water stops, spectator parking, and medical aid stations. Includes an elevation profile at the bottom.
Screenshot of the Tobacco Road Marathon.

Who Gets to Call Themselves a Runner?

While I would never describe myself as an athlete, I have tried to be active and exercise throughout my adult years. Aerobics, step-aerobics, biking, walking, hiking, weight lifting, and yoga have all been activities I have returned to over the decades. However, running seemed intimidating. I equated it with those who were “naturally athletic,” fast, long-legged, and thin. I believed running was for those who could run seemingly effortlessly, without walking, for 30–60 minutes or longer. It was a barrier I tried to overcome, but felt like I repeatedly “failed.” Then, I read about something called the run-walk-run method, originated by Jeff Galloway, and all of the intimidation and barriers appeared, from the outside, surmountable. 

💡A Different Way to Begin

Galloway, a former Olympic runner (1972) was the founder of the first specialty running shoe store. Through his books, classes, workshops, training camps, and destination races across the U.S. and around the world, he expounded and demonstrated the benefits of his run-walk-run method, or “jeffing,” as it is sometimes fondly called. His empowering, emphatic message that not only are walk breaks permitted, but encouraged, redefined what it meant to be a runner. If you ran ten seconds, walked five minutes, and then ran 10 more seconds, whether you repeated it once or several times, you were a runner. 

A large crowd of participants and spectators gathered at an outdoor event, with banners and a timer displaying '2:26:06' in the background, near a finish line.
Whether walking, running, or run/walk/running, everyone still has to complete the same distance and cross the same finish line!

🔄Learning to Run—One Interval at a Time

His gentle message—consistency over intensity—resonated with me—and I am certain I am not the only one. His positive and encouraging tone convinced me to start with a run-walk-run interval plan that I could maintain for 30 minutes, and repeat three days per week. Each successive week, I ran a bit longer and walked a bit less. From there, I built gradually. Galloway, for me, and I daresay for hundreds of thousands more around the world, didn’t just change how I approached running—he freed me to change how I think about running. 

🚶‍♀️➡️🏃‍♀️From Walking to Running

Like countless others who encountered Galloway’s message, I gradually shifted from mostly walking, to equal parts walking and running, to the present day—mostly running. (And I still give myself permission to take walk breaks as needed.) 

Letting Go of What I Thought Running “Should” Be

This incremental shift, spread out over months, increased my self-assurance (thinking of myself more often as a runner) and made running feel sustainable. Galloway’s method allowed me to discover enjoyment, replacing what had once felt like pressure about how I believed running “should” be. I suspect I am not the only one who found the door to running opened, not by pushing harder, but by being allowed to ease in. 

🎧✨The Moment It All Came Together

As I continued to pace along the Tobacco Road Half-Marathon route, listening to the music, I could feel my feet matching the cadence of the beat. My heartbeat was steady and my breathing deepened, but I was calm. It was as if in that moment, body, mind, and spirit aligned, and I felt free. I had a sense that “I can do hard things.” This is what Galloway’s message ultimately conveys—however we define “hard.”

🕊️A Legacy That Lives On

Galloway and his wife, Barb, practiced what he preached for over 50 years until his untimely passing in February of this year at the age of 80. His legacy, however, will live on through everyday runners. Those runners who, like me, now have access to a sport once considered undoable. He provided a path to longevity in the sport, and the chance to taste the freedom that comes from enjoying the experience rather than attaching to a certain performance.  

A smiling woman with glasses and a cap gives a thumbs-up gesture in a crowd of runners at night, with other participants blurred in motion around her.
If you are moving forward, you belong!

🌱The Quiet Confidence of Belonging

As I witnessed countless participants take walk breaks in the Tobacco Road Marathon/Half-Marathon, I sensed that Galloway’s legacy isn’t just in the finish lines. Rather, it’s in the unassuming confidence of runners who finally believe they belong. It is a quiet kind of wonder.

👟An Invitation to Begin

To anyone reading this who thinks they are “not a runner,” are beginners, or feel intimidated by pace, age, or comparison, I invite you to try it. Start with a walk that includes short bouts of slow, controlled running. 10–30 seconds is enough. Take a walk break. Take as many as you need. Start where you are. You don’t have to run without stopping to be a runner—you just have to begin. And if you listen, really listen—you just might find, somewhere along the way—maybe even on the ATT—that you’re free too. 

🌅Running Free

May we carry Galloway’s rhythm forward—one run, one walk break, one brave, freeing step at a time.

A smiling older man wearing a cap and light-colored jacket gives a thumbs-up gesture outdoors, surrounded by trees during dusk.
Thank you, John, for your never ending love and support of my running adventures!

When a Stranger Helped Me Pick Up the Pieces

by stephsimply, posted in Simple Observations and Musings

Sometimes the most meaningful acts of kindness come from strangers we may never see again.

❄️ The “Perfect Storm” at the Grocery Store

It was another cold, snowy morning with another round of snow on its way. School had been cancelled for the day, and I thought I would be “smart” by driving to the grocery store early. Surely no one else would do that ahead of the snow. They would have done their shopping last night, right?

Pulling into the parking lot, snow piles—peppered with dirt and debris—blocked several parking spots. Light snow sprinkled down from an angry sky darkened by winter’s wrath once again. It was a Friday, the first of the month, so I should have known that despite the early hour, few parking spots were available. Then it hit me: big-game weekend.

🛒 The Cart with the Stubborn Wheel

Once parked, it was a “perfect storm” inside the store. 80s pop music attempted to brighten the mood. Harsh fluorescent lighting contrasted the outside winter skies.  Paper ads of this week’s specials fluttered in the air as the double doors whooshed open and closed repeatedly. The only cart available was a small cart, which was perfect for my needs. The only problem? It had a front wheel that did not roll properly. 

I quickly attempted to push it. After all, I only needed a few items, but that stubborn wheel kept sticking, making corners especially difficult to turn. Nonetheless, I found a way to, well, get it rolling, and attempted to weave in and out through the throngs of dilly-dallying people and displays. 

I reminded myself of the mission since I had already “researched” prices online: Stick to the list organized by aisle numbers. Get in and get out quickly. Online work awaited me at home, and snowfall had already started. I told myself to slow down, but I kept my pace up anyway.

📦 When Everything Came Crashing Down

And, of course, it happened. The wheel stuck right as I tried to turn a corner. It was like a bad slow-mo scene from an old black-and-white B-movie. I tried to stop it, then catch it, but it wasn’t enough. An entire cardboard display–stockpiling the greatest hits of pharmacy specials—began to crumble to the floor.

 I stumbled, fumbled, and bumbled with individual boxes of pain relievers, antacids, toothpaste, vitamins, and cold/flu care items. Embarrassment colored my cheeks and a sensation of shame sent waves of heat through my body as my heart began to race. I was a child again, and it was “all my fault.” “You should have known better, Steph” echoed in my mind. I tried to work quickly, but my hands were as clumsy and klutzy as that misbehaving wheel. 

🤝 The Kindness of a Stranger

Then, I sensed a presence. I gazed up from a squat position on the floor and there stood a young woman with large expressive eyes. Her kindness was palpable as she stooped down beside me. Her long fingers worked with calm, coordinated dexterity, and she began to help me. I began to protest that it was “my mess,” not her responsibility. Her hands continued to work with precision, and she met my gaze, declaring that it was only cardboard–“no big deal.” 

The display was like putting together a 3-D jigsaw puzzle. Nonetheless, my heart slowed with the gentleness of her response. When we were finished, we each had a few items left over in our hands with no more room on the cardboard shelves. The unknown woman flipped her long chestnut hair over her shoulder and gave an unexpected child-like giggle. In a conspiratorial voice, she directed us to “put the rest of the items here.” It was on a shelf of an endcap of laundry detergent, beads, and dryer sheets.

She winked. “It makes about as much sense as this random display.” 

I thanked her profusely, but she waved me off with an it-was-nothing expression.

❄️ A Snowflake Memory

When my daughter was quite young, I recall playing with her, gleeful and reveling in the snow. “Catching” snowflakes on her mitten was a favorite activity. Time fell away as delicate flakes alighted onto our upturned mittens. There was a silent wonder that muted even the beating of our hearts as we gazed at each individual snowflake. “Look, Mommy, look!” she would say as slowly each snowflake melted into the fabric of our mittens, leaving only a whisper of a mark.

The woman escaped as quickly as she appeared. For a fleeting moment I was back in the snowy front yard with my daughter, silence filled my ears as the warmth of her generosity lingered within me. Then, just as quickly the milieu of the store came back into focus: the buzzing lights, calls for help up front, the throngs of people with party trays, beer, and bread, and another 80s be-bop song played in the background. 

With a warmed and lightened spirit, I trooped off to gather the few items remaining on my list. Of course, my cart still had the broken wheel, and it was still hard to maneuver it through crowded aisles and endcaps. Still, I was able to get the rest of my items without incident. 

How many of us navigate life’s challenges with little vulnerabilities wobbling within us like that shopping cart wheel?  Helping hands are seldom asked for, but often needed in a hurried and harried world.

🌊 The Ripple Effect of Kindness

A week or so later, when I visited the same store, I noticed a woman struggling to reach an item from her motorized shopping cart. One of her legs was in a boot—her current wobbly wheel. As I offered to help her, I was reminded of the helping hand that lifted me up during one of life’s storms and sensed the rippling waves of one person’s ordinary kindness.

Kindness, generosity, and brief moments of courage—these are the connections that steady us when life turns snowy and cold and hands us a cart with a wobbly wheel. 

Rolling from the Bottom: Lessons from the Long Run

by stephsimply, posted in Simple Observations and Musings

Starting with a Budget of Energy

Piles of dirty snow still littered the brown grass around me. But unlike the previous week, I glided with more freedom over the cleared blacktop path. Temperatures rose from breath-visible mid-20s to the high-30s. As my muscles warmed, sweat began to blossom. I shed my top-layer and tossed it into the hatch of my vehicle, switching from my thermal hat to a lighter ball cap. 

“Manage that energy,” I reminded myself. Long training runs are like rolling a tube of toothpaste from the bottom–energy measured, not spent. There are more miles to go. Let it last. 

Lessons from a Tube of Toothpaste

As the oldest of four kids, I recall our family’s early years. Our budget was tight. Even as careers progressed, resources had to be carefully managed in a house of six.

“Roll the toothpaste from the bottom,” and remember, “a little dab will do you.” The tube had to last for all of us. Payday wasn’t here yet. I didn’t understand it then, but that toothpaste was not just about toothpaste. It was so much more.

The Micro-Decisions That Shape the Finish

As part of my marathon training, my Saturday run was 15 miles long. I could not squeeze out all of my energy in the beginning. I started low and slow, especially since I knew the temperatures would change so drastically over the course of the morning. This meant dressing in layers and removing those layers early enough to not get overheated. I also had to adhere to a fueling schedule to ensure I was taking in enough calories and electrolytes. Running long distances, I have learned, is not about speed–thank heavens for me. It’s about managing limited energy over time–and isn’t that like life? 

In order to finish a marathon, my previous fall marathon experience taught me that it is the micro-decisions that shape the finish line outcome. Energy to cross the finish line requires a well-managed budget. Hundreds of choices are made throughout the hours it takes to run 26.2 miles. Do I push now? Do I hold back longer? Do I fuel now? Do I hydrate now? Do I adjust my clothing? All of these decisions affect my budget. These decisions are tiny, almost invisible acts of stewardship–the careful and responsible management of resources entrusted to one’s care, as defined by the Merriam-Webster Dictionary.

The finish line is often decided in the first miles. Not in drama, but in restraint. Let it last.

Training for More Than Race Day

I am budgeting so that 10–20 years down the road I can get up off the floor without help, walk up steps, move for fun (dancing, anyone?), carry groceries, and maybe one day carry a grandchild. Running, and other forms of exercise, are part of those short-term goals on the journey of healthspan—not just living long, but living well into later years. In that sense, marathon training becomes a microcosm of life itself: we are learning how to sustain it.

The Long Tube of Life

Healthspan is a long tube as it were. We don’t know how much time is left. We don’t know the “weather” ahead of us. We don’t know when “payday” will come. Overspending energy early often has consequences. Neglect compounds, but discipline compounds. Strength builds gradually.

The body is a tube we do not get to replace. We have to plan with care.

Of course, sometimes it is hard to remain slowly steadfast. There are times in life when we “squeeze” too hard, trying to force something to happen. It’s understandable. We want to feel in control, but the truth is control is an illusion. 

When Life Requires More Than a “Dab”

However, there are situations over which we do have control. There are seasons, in a manner of speaking, of expenditure, when life requires more than a “dab” from us. We have times when focused efforts and long hours are required. Sometimes urgency is required; deadlines must be met. Even then, we don’t waste; we choose. Life is precious. Let it last.

Strength That Lasts

When we are young, we think strength is “squeezing hard.” We believe, fostered by societal influence, that we are measured and rewarded based on how quickly, how often, and how hard we squeeze. Over time, though, we learn that strength increases, as does contentment, when we squeeze life’s tube wisely. When we create a life budget, and based upon it, gather our provisions– our life skills–we can practice appropriate stewardship of the life we have been given. Strength comes from preparation, discipline, and patience. 

Finishing the Miles Well

Maybe finishing well isn’t about having more, but managing what we have been given with joy. We don’t want to rush to finish the tube quickly only to discover there are no refills. In the end, it is worth patiently striving to make our one sweet tube of life last, so we still have something to give and share during our final miles. And may those final miles count.  

I Don’t Know Where I’m Going, But I’m Following My Map: How discipline, values, and small steps help us move forward without certainty

by stephsimply, posted in Simple Observations and Musings

When a Casual Comment Becomes a Lifeline

I was briefly chatting with my brother, Scott, a few months ago while he was driving through an unfamiliar town for a job interview. He was using a maps app to help him navigate, and I could hear the navigation system giving him verbal directions. Scott laughed and said, “I don’t know where I am going, but I’m following my map.” 

I teasingly told him that I was stealing that line–it sounded like an earworm lyric from a pop song, the kind that gets stuck in your head after hearing it once. Turns out, the line did stick with me, though not as a song. Instead, it became a phrase of comfort when answers to life’s questions felt far away. As I repeated it to myself, I realized that–contrary to what popular self-help and purpose-driven culture often suggests–we are frequently moving forward without clarity. And that’s okay.

The Maps We Follow in different seasons of life

The maps we use in life vary depending on the season we’re in, and they’re often shaped by our current goals. There are personal, professional, or inner-life maps to guide us: growth plans, workout schedules, work routines, creative practices, calendars, and goals of all kinds.

Listening to the Inner Compass

Alongside these maps, we possess an inner compass. This compass is rooted in our values. It helps us recognize which actions and choices align with who we are, and it often points us to what brings us meaning or joy. When we allow our inner compass to work in tandem with our life maps, even when neither promises certainty, they can still guide us forward. 

Why Consistency Matters More Than Certainty

As a runner training for a spring marathon, I rely on a training plan, a literal map. It requires me to show up even on those single-digit mornings when motivation is low. I trust this plan, knowing that it’s probably not perfect. Still, it moves me forward mile by mile. I do not need to know how strong I’ll feel weeks from now; I only need to follow today’s plan, step by step.

The same is true for maps focused on career progression, creative pursuits, and even healing journeys. Momentum is built through consistency, not certainty.

Progress Isn’t Linear

That momentum rarely moves in a straight line. It builds, rises, dips, and rebuilds again. It reminds me of using a navigation system that reroutes unexpectedly–or worse, sends me off at the wrong exit. Getting back on course can feel like a setback, even when it isn’t.

This mirrors life. Not every day is joyful. Some days are ordinary. Others are heavy and disappointing. Forward movement does not guarantee constant and abundant happiness. Sometimes, in order to recognize how far we’ve come, we have to pause long enough to feel gratitude for the distance already traveled. We also need to notice subtle signs of progress–the quiet evidence that we are, in fact, moving forward. 

At other times, we are nudged towards redirections. These reroutes aren’t a sign of failure; they’re simply adjustments–responses to the curveballs life inevitably throws our way.

Staying Aligned With True North

The key is remaining aligned with our True North. This means saying no to paths that look “successful” but feel hollow or ring untrue. When our thoughts, actions, and choices align with our core values, we maintain integrity–personally, professionally, and creatively. Our internal navigation stays intact, helping us to find our way, even when life reroutes us again and again.

The Quiet Freedom of Discipline

Staying true to our True North does require discipline, a word that is often misunderstood. When we live by deeply held values, we reduce decision fatigue. Our choices become acts of self-care, rather than sources of stress. Over time, this value-based, disciplined approach to life creates containers for joy–often found in small, quiet milestones along life’s way. 

When Scott said, “I don’t know where I am going, but I’m following my map,” he was acknowledging–intentional or not–that most of us don’t know exactly where our lives are headed. Yet as long as we remain tuned-in, to our True North–that still small voice within, we are allowed to trust that forward movement is occurring–even if it unfolds along a less straightforward timeline than we might prefer.

In a world filled with loud and distracting voices, I invite you to listen to the compass you trust and follow the map it provides. Have faith. Keep going, even when it feels as though you are going nowhere. Keep going. Your faith knows the way forward.

Three Pauses: On breath, attention, and the quiet work of returning to ourselves

by stephsimply, posted in Simple Observations and Musings

“Almost everything will work again if you unplug it for a few minutes… including you.”–Anne Lamott

A Reminder to Pause

I was driving to work this past Monday after an extended break, thinking about my to-do list for the day, when an alarm on my phone began a soothing piano melody. Bringing my car to a rolling stop as I fell in line with traffic at a stop sign, I tapped the alarm off. I wanted to ignore it. Instead, I reminded myself this would help me complete those “to-do” lists with a more calm mind, so I paused my thinking and took three slow, deep breaths–the first of the day.

How a Friend Planted the Idea

This practice of setting a gentle sounding alarm as a reminder to take three deep breaths was a serendipitous seed of an idea that a friend unintentionally planted within me. We met for lunch one day, well before I returned to school from winter break. During the course of a deep conversation, her phone alarm accidentally went off. Surprised that it was going off, she quickly turned off the alarm and then–seemingly on a whim–said “Let’s take three deep breaths.” She shut her eyes and began inhaling, so I followed suit. Our conversation resumed afterwards and nothing more was said.

Turning an Accidental Moment into a Daily Practice

However, on the way home, I reflected upon how much better I felt after we took those three deep breaths. I further examined a few of the benefits that I knew regarding deep breathing. What would happen, I wondered, if I took time more often to take three deep breaths daily like I did with my friend? As I reflected over my typical work week and subsequent weekend, I identified three common times of the day, whether at work or not, in which pausing for three deep breaths would be beneficial. 

I realized that I would never remember to take time to do that without a reminder, which meant setting an alarm. Not any ol’ alarm sound would do.  Once home, I took a few moments, played around with various tones. My intention was to make the alarm sound invitational, not demanding. I knew if it felt like a chore, I would feel more resistant. Plus, the reality was I knew I wouldn’t be “perfect,” especially in the beginning and given the unpredictabilities that can occur on any given day.

Three Breaths, Three Times a Day

When the piano melody alarm now subtly tinkles, I pause what I am doing, close my eyes (if alone or not driving), and take three deep, expansive belly breaths. The alarms are set to ring before the arrival of students, during lunch, and at the end of the day, right after students leave. On the weekends, when I am busy with household chores and errands, the times still work well. 

Creating a Practice That Feels Gentle, Not Demanding

If I am alone, and not driving, I sometimes place one hand on my low belly and another hand on my heart. The hand placement reminds me to initiate the breath from my diaphragm and allow the air to expand the belly, then expand the ribs fully, and allow the inhale all the way up into the heart space. 

Other times, especially if I feel stressed or worried I place both hands on my heart in a gesture of self-care. Most of the time, however, I am not alone, given the nature of my job, but I can still pause and take three deep breaths without drawing any attention to myself. 

What Happens in the Body When We Breathe Deeply

Our bodies are miraculously created. They are designed, when properly cared for, to function like a high-performance team–each system working synergistically with other systems for the ultimate benefit of the whole. Pausing to take three deep breaths is my way of working with my body. The body responds by lowering the heart rate, decreasing blood pressure, and increasing a sense of calm. The body already knows how to do this. Taking deep breaths cooperates with the body’s natural process and simply allows it to intentionally happen.

When the Mind Begins to Follow the Breath

Our minds naturally follow the breath. If our breathing is short, shallow, or choppy, our mind readies itself for a stress-inducing event. Consistently setting aside time throughout the day to breathe in a relaxed, calm manner, even for a couple of minutes, incrementally creates a shift in our mind. While I wouldn’t say my practice has been transformative, per se, I would say that there are days my stress and anxiety are decreased, other days I notice a bit more mental clarity and focus, and other times I feel a subtle, but real, shift in my energy and vitality. While I cannot say I have eliminated all of the negative thoughts in mind, I am noticing that I am better able to handle my emotional response to a difficult moment with a bit more grace.

A Quiet Conversation Within

Another benefit I have observed is sometimes when I pause, I feel a connection to the “still, small voice within,” that source of wisdom that hovers beneath all of the distractions and noise. It is as if, for the briefest of moments during my busy day, my body, mind, and heart are at peace. I momentarily feel an overall sense of gratitude, a reminder of the positives in my life, despite those negatives that remain. There’s also a sense of connection to other hearts and souls moving in, around, and throughout my day. All told, it provides me with an overall feeling of solace.

Why Three Times a Day Matters

One thing I did not realize before starting this small practice is that by setting aside three times per day to take three deep breaths, it harnesses the power of the “rule of three.” The “rule of three”, I learned by happenstance a few days into my practice while I was listening to a podcast. This rule employs the principles of habit formation to increase focus, productivity, and well-being. The frequency of three breaths, three times per day is enough to establish the habit without it feeling overwhelming, which, lucky for me, is an important consideration. 

Imperfect Practice, Faithful Returning

Are there times I don’t heed the timer? There certainly are. I am not perfect, and I am not pretending it is easy to create a new habit. But I do continue to return to the practice, even if I miss a timer, or three, throughout the week. I know that when I do take time for that brief pause to nurture myself with a few deep breaths, I will show up better, more fully for myself and others.  

An Invitation, Not a Prescription

Perhaps there is a pause waiting for you too.