In addition to being a free-lance writer and creator of Steph Simply website, Stephanie is a 6-8 ELA educator at St. Joseph Catholic Middle School in Huntington, WV. She is also a RYT-200 certified yoga instructor as well as Reiki levels 1 and 2 certified. “Your work is not to drag the world kicking and screaming into a new awareness. Your job is to simply do your work… sacredly, secretly, silently … and those with ‘eyes to see and ears to hear’ will respond.’”–Unknown
“When you do things from your soul, you feel a river moving in you, a joy.”—Rumi
✨ When Hope Begins with a Thimbleful of Light
For days, we had lived beneath clouds, rain, and oppressive humidity. As I stepped out of the car early one weekend morning, everything felt heavy—what I imagined it being like to try to move through swampy waters, only without the alligators. Something caught my eye. I looked up. Directly within my line of sight was a thimbleful of light parting the clouds. It was not enough to brighten the sky or change the weather. It was just enough sunlight to remind me that the sun was still there. It made me think that sometimes hope begins with no more than a thimbleful of light.
Too often, we expect the feeling of hope to have a dramatic entrance, like a scene from a sweeping epic. However, hope often arrives in a quiet, almost understated manner. One encouraging moment: a phone call or text message, a kind word, a small answer to prayer, perhaps even a small patch of blue overhead.
When I later opened my car door to drive home, the overcast weather had not changed, but neither had the sun. It was there, somewhere, above all those clouds. It occurred to me that sometimes our circumstances haven’t changed—only our awareness. That tiny patch of sunlight stayed with me the rest of the day, though I didn’t realize just how much until lunchtime.
🥣 A Little Pizzazz for an Ordinary Day
Later, as I made fresh coffee and prepared my lunch—a mix of vegetable sticks, oatmeal, and yogurt with fruit—I decided to add some pizzazz to my meal. I reached for a bottle of sparkling sugar and added a pinch across my oatmeal and yogurt. For an extra bonus of fun, I also sprinkled a few chocolate sprinkles. It’s not that I wanted my lunch to be dessert, but rather I wanted a symbolic reminder.
That sprinkling of sugar and chocolate did not solve anything. The weather remained gloomy, and the humidity was stifling. Yet it allowed me to transform an ordinary meal into something playful—something that brought a smile to my face and my heart. I was reminded that sometimes joy begins the same way hope does—in small, almost unnoticed ways.
🔎 Searching for the Hidden Picture
As a child, I spent a great deal of time in doctor’s offices. I remember the yellow Highlights magazines that always seemed to be waiting in those offices. One of my favorite features of Highlights was the “Hidden Picture” page. I’d search that page in earnest, not seeing anything at first glance. However, once I found one “hidden” item, my excitement and confidence would soar, even if I was really sick, and I quickly began finding one hidden object after another.
Life, too, can work that way. When we focus on what we are missing, that is what we see. When we begin to search for small gifts, we suddenly discover they were scattered across life’s pages all along: a sliver of sunlight, sparkling sugar and sprinkles, a fresh cup of coffee, a cool breeze, birdsong, a shared laugh, a thoughtful text, or even the peace of a house settled in quiet. None of those remove the clouds. But they do remind us that we aren’t living only in darkness.
⛅️ The Sun Is Still There
The hidden sun, those long ago hidden pictures, that sparkling sugar—the weather never changed that day. What changed was the picture I was looking at. Gratitude is not about pretending. Joy isn’t denial, and hope isn’t ignoring reality. They remind us of what is equally true–that clouds are real, but so is the sun. Hardships also exist, but so too does grace.
To be sure, there will be more cloudy mornings. I hope that when I next encounter gray skies, I’ll remember two things. Somewhere above those clouds, the sun is still shining. And if I examine carefully enough—or perhaps add a pinch of sparkle myself—I may discover that joy is also hidden in the picture all along, waiting to be found. Sometimes all it takes is a thimbleful of light.
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.
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 Followin 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.
“When we listen, we offer with our attention an alms far more precious than anything else.”— Simone Weil
The Season of New Year’s Resolutions—and a Different Invitation
The ritual setting of resolutions for a new year is a ubiquitous January practice. Gym memberships flourish, trackers are checked and rechecked, meals are planned and prepped all in the hope of self-improvement. One quick scroll of social media offers a wide array of options for workouts, diets, and methods of accountability. While health resolutions matter, our culture needs a quieter resolution–one that prioritizes listening deeply, learning humbly, and choosing neighborly love without agreement.
What We Miss When We Stop Listening
One cultural trend I have noticed–and am often guilty of myself–centers around listening, or a lack thereof. Many of us talk past one another, make snap judgments, and curate words of certainty. Conversations become overlapping monologues–ears present, but attention is elsewhere. In doing so, we miss the quieter forms of communication: facial expressions, postures, and the subtle cues that reveal complexity and lived experiences. When we rush past these, we lose the opportunity to understand another person, and we deny ourselves the opportunity to be changed, even slightly. Making time for focused listening does not mean we are agreeing with another person’s position. It is choosing understanding over reflex.
Learning to Listen as a Daily Practice
Learning to listen well is an acquired skill, at least for many of us, myself included, but it is attainable. Engaged listening requires more than ears; it requires intention. It asks us to pause before responding to another person, to consider what was said, and to ask a thoughtful question, rather than immediately offering a counterpoint. Asking a thoughtful question or two can increase understanding of another person, especially if we are willing to sit with discomfort if their viewpoint challenges or counters our own. This type of listening takes time and requires humility. If you are like me, you won’t be perfect–but it is a worthwhile endeavor.
Listening Without Agreement
Frankly, it is easier to relegate people based on our assumptions. It is inconvenient to take time to ask questions that might alter our long-held beliefs. However, by listening and respectfully seeking understanding, we incrementally begin to learn more about an alternate point of view without necessarily agreeing with it.
Lessons from the Classroom About Understanding Others
This is an ongoing practice for me as a veteran educator separated by generations from my students, and even many of my colleagues, in a high school setting. I have entered numerous conversations over the years in which either I had assumptions about a situation involving a student, parent, or peer or they had assumptions about me. Those conversations did not always lead to agreement, but they almost always led to greater understanding–and that is the difference that mattered most.
What It Means to Love Our Neighbor Today
By taking time to listen and ask questions, we are putting into practice a foundational belief of most world religions and philosophies: “Love your neighbor,” emphasizing respect, compassion, and doing non-harm to others. This Golden Rule practice is neither affectionate nor approving. It is also not remaining silent when faced with harm. In today’s world, “loving your neighbor” can be as simple as showing restraint in how we speak–refusing to reduce a person to a single action or belief. Practicing the Golden rule can also be as simple as not reducing a person to a single belief or action. Loving others is simply a daily choice. It is a posture that can feel costly, especially when it would be easier–or less stressful–to walk away or erupt into outrage.
Small Ways to Practice Kindness in Everyday Life
Standing in neighborly love takes practice, and it doesn’t have to occur in grand, sweeping gestures. We can begin to put into practice in small, cumulative ways that can still have a bigger impact than we realize. During gatherings of friends and/or family, try listening longer than feels comfortable to that contrarian relative/acquaintance. During community, work, or church meetings, instead of immediately refuting a counter point-of-view, respond with curiosity rather than certainty. While interacting with online spaces, try choosing kindness when sharpness would be easier, even if the kind act is not to respond at all. We won’t always be perfect, but the more we practice, the more natural it becomes.
A Resolution That Doesn’t Fit on a Checklist
When setting resolutions, health coaches often ask clients to create goals that are SMART: specific, measurable, achievable/attainable, relevant/realistic, time-bound/timely. Setting a resolution to listen, learn, and “love” others may not, therefore, appear “SMART.” Nonetheless, it remains an attainable and relevant practice through small, incremental steps.
What Might Change If We Listened First?
Consider what might change if we listened a little longer? If we attempted to learn more than we defended? If we treated others the way we would want to be treated? If we “loved” more than we proved?
A Practice Worth Returning to All Year Long
These actions are not about “perfection” with a clear-cut checklist that offers overnight transformative results. Instead, they are more about presence and intention–the intention to listen, learn, and love others. It is a resolution that does not have to end with guilt in February; rather, it is a practice that can be picked up and practiced again and again throughout this year and years to come.
“You don’t have to agree with someone to treat them with dignity.”
As the year begins, may we all strive to engage in a more neighborly discourse and actions.
On a winter morning downtown, a moment of waiting becomes a reflection on mental health, unseen suffering, and the quiet work of choosing kindness in a fragile world.
A Morning at the Intersection🚦
It was a cold, cloudy Saturday morning. I was waiting for the traffic light to change at a major downtown intersection. All around, Christmas decorations, lights, and baubles sparkled as people dressed for a special occasion hurried towards the city’s arena. I wondered about the unusual sight of numerous people on the sidewalks at this time of day. With sudden clarity, I realized it was the university’s December graduation as groups passed in caps, gowns, tassels, and hoods.
When We Cannot Know, We Must Care👤
Thinking back to my own daughter’s December graduation, I marveled how life marched on. Groups of people smiling, nodding, waving to one another, braced against the cold, hurriedly moving in a line like train cars linked together on one track bound to the same destination. Recent events came to mind, and I pondered the idea that surface appearances often bely the hidden interior lives of others–a reality social media has exacerbated. Suffering can be tucked away into hidden pockets so that even those closest may not see or know the hidden torment that lurks inside another human’s heart.
Why Unknowing Requires Care ❤️🩹
These groups of families, friends, and loved ones believe they know one another. And maybe they do … but maybe they don’t. This precise unknowing is why we need to care for one another–even when it seems futile. Many people carry burdens, traumas, fears, and anxieties that they either don’t share, or don’t know how to process, much less put into words. It is not necessarily a failure; it is part of the human experience that is difficult to understand. We must acknowledge that we may never truly know another person–even those closest to us. Thus, we must offer care, or at the very least, small kindnesses, to others.
“Be Good to One Another” 🫂
I continued to watch in fascination, lost in rumination, as more and more people, dressed in their finery, flowed out of the parking garages on either side of the traffic light. A long-ago, beloved priest’s words came to mind as I continued to watch and wait. “Be good to one another,” he would say at the conclusion of each church service. His words were simple, but their implications were profound.
What kind of world would we have if more people were simply “good to one another”? If we listened to one another without trying to “fix” anything–personally, this is a hard one, and I suspect I am not the only one. What would happen if we checked in more frequently with another person, even if it feels awkward or tense? What if we responded with more gentleness, kindness, or at the very least, decent courtesy, even when we are tired, rushed, or unsure? Choosing deliberate actions that are kind or respectful does not require insight into another person’s pain, but it does require us to recognize their humanity.
A Cup of Coffee, a Choice ☕️
I am reminded of a recent incident in which I was running through town. I witnessed an older, unhoused gentleman knock on the window of a man in a car outside of a coffee shop. The man inside of the car leapt out, yelling untold obscenities at the man who knocked. The disheveled, unhoused man kept saying, “I was just going to ask you for a cup of coffee.” The man who had been inside his car became louder and more aggressive. I felt so helpless as I watched in horror. Fortunately, a woman, older than me, walked out of the coffee shop, whispered to the gray-haired man, took him by the arm, and gave him a cup of coffee while the other man continued to spew vitriol. I was so touched by this gentle act. It reminded me of a yoga teacher from an old DVD who stated, “Go out and bless the world because the world needs it.”
Have We Learned How to Show Up for One Another? 🫴
As I watched the graduation celebration train continue, I couldn’t help but wonder, in spite of all of their book and applied learning, they also learned how to show up for one another? Do they possess the empathy required to “bless” the world? Do they have the skills to offer patience when it is required, hold space when needed, and withhold judgment when encountering dissension or differences? These are important questions not only recent graduates need to consider, but so do many others, myself included.
Resisting a Hardened Heart 🖤
These are big asks, I know. I try and fail regularly. Nonetheless, I cannot help but believe that striving to be a “perfect” human being matters far less than not allowing the world to harden us, so that we can respond more often with kindness. The key is remembering to reset, when we act unkindly, and try again in our interactions with one another. The world will not be healed by perfection, but rather when we lean into our interactions with one another with presence, awareness, and sensitivity.
Being a Warrior for Peace 😌
The same DVD yoga teacher also advised, “Be a warrior, not a worrier.” While he typically said this as a point of humor during one of the “warrior” poses yoga is known for, the intent of the message has never been lost on me. Embodying the spirit of a warrior for empathy, gentleness, or kindness, is about offering hope without turning a blind eye to the harsh realities–pain, suffering, fear, or ignorance. Being a “peaceful warrior” is about a willingness to care without expectations, choosing engagement–however you define it–over withdrawal into a cocoon of hopelessness. It is a practice of continually showing up, even in the smallest of ways.
Choosing Kindness, Again and Again ☺️
I know all too well that kindness will not save everyone, and caring for another does not come with control over another person’s choices. It is further worth acknowledging that our actions, no matter how well-intended, may not help, but it doesn’t mean we should not try. Send that text. Remain quiet and allow the other person’s pause to speak. Ask sincere questions and listen with genuine interest and without expectations. Smile at that stranger. Offer to help another person–even a cup of coffee to an unhoused man. We never know how actions can impact another person, so please choose kindness over and over. Choose kindness.
As you move through your own daily encounters, consider an idea echoed by numerous writers: “A smile on the outside is often silent suffering on the inside.”
I invite you, Dear Reader, to notice, reach out, and bless the world quietly with intentional acts of kindness. May we provide flickers of hope and peace in a world often determined to snuff out the light.
A Blessing at the Light 🙏
The traffic light changed. I drove away, whispering the priest’s words to the strangers celebrating graduation, “Be good to one another. Please, please, please be good to one another above all else.”
I am an early riser, typically awake before the sun. A few weeks ago, my ears perked at the haunting, penetrating call of an owl. Its “Hoo-hoo-hoo, hoo-hoo” echoed around our yard as I looked out into the murky dark. Since then, I intentionally listen for its steadfast call. It has become both a comfort and a mystery—an invitation to listen, reflect, and learn something new.
The owl’s call continues, I am certain, even when I am not listening; yet it requires my full attention in those predawn hours if I hope to notice it regularly. Its presence illustrates the importance of listening and discerning with care and purpose.
The autumnal hoots I hear, I learned after a bit of research, are used mostly to communicate territory and to call to potential mates. (It is worth noting that many owl species mate for life, finding another only if a partner dies or becomes separated.) Owls also use distinct calls to warn a mate, their nestlings, or even neighboring owls when danger is near. Only when the threat is imminent do they screech, hiss, or snap their beaks in defense of their young. Like the owl, we, too, can carefully choose when to use our voices amid the noise of the world, saving our own form of “screeching” for the rarest and most necessary moments.
As I read more, I couldn’t help admiring how owls communicate—practically, respectfully, almost as if to say, “I am here. You are there. Let us coexist with our shared resources and help ward off danger.” To be certain, I am personifying and simplifying their communication, but perhaps there is a lesson for us. In a world that often isn’t equitable in its distribution of resources, space, or power, maybe we can learn the art of signaling like owls—communicating truthfully and transparently without silencing others. What if we approached our conversations with presence, restraint, respect, and a shared awareness of the landscape we inhabit?
Holding Our Ground with Grace 🙏
Hearing the owl’s early morning “Hoo-hoo-hoo, hoo-hoo” reinforces the importance of holding our own ground—our principles, values, beliefs, and even compassions—without becoming loud or defensive. The owl does not insist on being seen; rather, it asserts its message with a reserved dignity. We, too, can claim our “territory” through composed conviction and fairness, standing firm without demeaning others. Faith in our tenets, like my unseen morning owl, calls us to trust what cannot be seen but can be discerned only in stillness.
Fall is a time of release and renewal.
Autumn’s Invitation to Adapt 🍂
Autumn is a season of release and preparation. Light softens, signaling leaves to fall as trees ready themselves for winter’s quiet work. Many creatures follow this rhythm, including the owl in my backyard adapting to the shifting season. We, too, are invited to adapt—to let go of what is no longer needed, recalibrate our priorities, and listen more deeply. The natural world thrives on balance, which is different from our human desire for “fairness.” It exists in a subtle harmony in which every being plays a role. I wonder what might happen if we focused more on harmony—the give-and-take of shared ecosystems and resources—paired with the wisdom of knowing when to listen and when to speak.
The autumn owl’s voice in my backyard is solitary, and yet it reflects community. It marks its presence while acknowledging the presence of others, including us. Coexistence, the owl teaches, requires more than hearing what others say; it requires listening to the silences. Of course, human coexistence is complicated, and life often isn’t what we would call fair.
Therefore, it becomes incumbent upon us to listen, act kindly, and withhold judgment—offering small or not-so-small acts of goodness to help restore balance. This may mean choosing gentleness, or even silence, over the need to be “right,” especially when a loved one, friend, or coworker says or posts something unkind or expresses an opinion we strongly oppose. Likewise, offering compassion instead of judgment when someone is rude or ill-behaved can shift a moment for the better, even if only because we have refused to be pulled into energy-sapping negativity.
The owl still calls unseen in the dark predawn hours, reminding us that communication, connection, and hope often begin before the light returns. The owl does not question whether the sun will rise; it simply continues its call, trusting the rhythm of creation. Like my unseen neighbor, I pray we find the courage to speak fairly, listen deeply, and have faith in the unseen process—knowing that every voice lifted in love and fairness echoes far beyond what we can see.
Perhaps that is the heart of the owl’s lesson: when we listen more deeply, we create the conditions for fairness to grow. As I recently read, “Life isn’t fair. It isn’t, which is why people should endeavor to be more fair to one another, not less.” —Kate Quinn.
“Every run is a work of art, a drawing on each day’s canvas. Some runs are shouts and some runs are whispers. Some runs are eulogies and others celebrations.”—Dagny Scott Barrios
Just before the start of the marathon I took time to get a hug from my two biggest supporters throughout the training process: my husband, L, and my daughter, R.
A Morning of Reflection and Gratitude 🌅
A light mist fell as an overcast gray morning began to chase away the night. I stood quietly in a throng of animated runners, taking deep breaths as reflection and gratitude washed over me. Months of preparation had led to this moment, and I felt thankful not only for my health but for the loving support that carried me here—to this celebration of movement, resilience, and connection.
Running as an Act of Hope ✨
It had been ten years since I last pinned on a bib for this distance, and my body hummed with anticipation, hope, and belief—the belief that movement is for everyone at every age, and that it is, in itself, an act of hope. I was about to embark on an emotional 26.2-mile trail of faith that became more about the people who supported me than the miles themselves.
Discovering Joy in Gentle Movement 😄
I came to running later in life, and it wasn’t easy at first. Only when I learned to approach running gently—to let go of preconceived (and societal) notions of what running “should” be—did I discover paths full of freedom, clarity, and renewal. Movement, whether running, walking, dancing, or stretching, benefits body, mind, and spirit. It brings a sense of structure to an often chaotic world and offers a feeling of accomplishment—if nothing else goes right in a day, at least I moved my body. Movement brings us alive to ourselves, our spirit, and, in turn, to the world around us.
The joy, I’ve learned, is in the doing—not in attaching to a pace, distance, or goal. Those things can be part of the experience, but they aren’t required.
Maddie’s, my daughter, boyfriend, Connor, flew all the way from Austin, TX to be part of this event. Together, with Maddie, he helped plan the marathon surprise of a lifetime!
Redefining What It Means to Age 🧓
As I neared my 60th birthday, I began to notice messaging that framed this decade as one of limitation. I decided instead to flip the narrative and celebrate the 60s as a decade of possibilities. Why not run into this new decade the way I ran into my 50s—with eyes and arms wide to adventure?
Training with Gentleness and Grace 😌
Since I was already running regularly, I committed to training for a marathon, but this time with gentleness. Instead of a traditional four-month build-up, I created a ten-month plan that encouraged patience, routine, and presence. Twice-weekly strength training and yoga joined the schedule, as did listening to my body and using the run-walk-run method as needed. I also focused on proper hydration and fueling before, during, and after runs. Most of all, my husband and daughter supported me from the very beginning—their quiet, everyday encouragement becoming a steady foundation of strength.
Gentleness was a large part of the 10-month training block that led to this moment of hope and celebration.
Adapting Through Life’s Curveballs 😰
Training for a marathon brings rhythm and structure to daily life—the early morning runs, the long weekend miles that lengthen gradually, and the sweet evening stretches after dinner. But life, of course, has its curveballs: weather shifts, fatigue, scheduling conflicts, unexpected events, and bouts of self-doubt. With age, though, I’ve learned to adapt rather than resist these realities, co-creating a practical, flexible approach to progress.
As my weekend long runs grew longer, my husband and daughter often appeared—driving by, stopping to cheer, or jogging beside me for a short distance. These small bursts of love in action fueled my heart and kept me going. Training, I realized, was less about mileage and more about cultivating fortitude, flexibility, and gratitude—along with a dash of fierceness—all essential life skills carried from the road.
Maddie, and my husband, John, often showed up during the last few miles of my Saturday long runs to cheer me on as Maddie is seen here doing during the actual event itself.
Race Day: A Celebration of Love 💖
As the marathon began, the city of Huntington vibrant in energy, rebelling against the lackluster sky. Rhythmic footfalls and nervous chatter surrounded me as runners jostled for position. Warmly dressed spectators cheered, waving handmade signs against a backdrop of burnished orange, crimson, and yellow autumn trees. Little did I know that my daughter had turned this event into an outpouring of love.
Surprises Along the Course 🫢
At the start, my husband, daughter, and her boyfriend—who had flown in from Texas to surprise me—stood cheering. But that was only the beginning. Every few miles along the route, my daughter had arranged for friends, family, and coworkers to appear, waving signs and calling my name. I didn’t realize the scope of her plan until near the end, but each familiar face filled me with renewed energy, gratitude, and joy.
The look of complete surprise when I see my sister, Traci, and her husband, David, around the 19-20 mile mark of the marathon. I had no idea they would show up along the route!
Of course, I had to veer off the path to give her hug, which helped uplift me over the next few miles.
Crossing the Finish Line 🏁
As I turned toward the final quarter mile, a group of race volunteers began singing “Happy Birthday” while my daughter’s boyfriend joined for a short burst of encouragement. My husband stood outside the stadium offering final words of encouragement, and my daughter met me at the bottom of the stadium ramp to run beside me as I approached the finish line. I wasn’t just completing a marathon; I was receiving the best birthday gift—a living reminder of love: a convergence of community, family, and friendship. It was a story of hope, purpose, generosity, and perseverance—the joy and power of a shared journey.
This was the point, less than a quarter mile to go, when a group of race volunteers, led by an unknown female spectator and Conner, joined in to sing “Happy Birthday” to me as approached and rounded the corner to the finish line.
The Marathon as a Metaphor for Life 🪞
This journey mirrors life: we move forward by faith and grace, one step at a time, through both joy and challenge, supported by others who believe in us. That’s the power of movement—it connects us to our bodies, to others, and to something larger than ourselves. Choosing to move, to train, to keep going even when the path feels long, is an affirmation that with faith, growth and renewal are always possible—at any age.
Movement as a Lifelong Invitation 💌
Movement can take many forms: walking, stretching, dancing, or choosing to train for something big. The point is to move with intention and persistence, to embrace your own journey, and not attach to societal and social media messaging. Just move—and let movement open the door to new possibilities, both inner and outer.
Maddie runs alongside me for the last few feet, just as she did in 2015, to encourage across the finish line. Once I was close to the finish line, she dropped back behind the rope to let me finish alone. However, I really wasn’t alone. I was surrounded by a giant embrace of joy, hope, and love of family, friends, and community!!
The Joy Continues ☺️
The rhythm of footsteps, the smiles for miles, and the faces of loved ones along the route are forever imprinted in my heart—all reminders that every step matters. The marathon finish line was crossed, but the renewed sense of possibility and joy continues. Whatever your pace or path, keep moving forward—heart, mind, and spirit. You never know what acts of hope and love may be waiting for you along life’s path.
The joy, and the journey of love and hope, continues . . .
A Grateful Heart 💜
P.S. Thank you to the countless and nameless MUM volunteers who invested hours of time to ensure the safety and success of runners, walkers, and those beloved spectators. And, an extra special heartfelt thank you to my friends and family who celebrated this milestone with me. And to Maddie and John, I love you to the moon and back.
I wonder where the next path of adventure will lead?
Shout out to Precision Fuel and Hydration for the support during this training journey! I learned a lot from your team.
“Heavy dew this morning and every spider web in the garden is strong with pearls of moisture…. webs wherever I look, all shining things of silver beauty.–Edwin Way Teale
The Quiet Wonder Before Dawn 🌅
It was an early fall morning. Darkness still clung to the earth in a cool embrace. The traffic lights—green, yellow, red—continued their rhythm despite the empty streets. The air was cool and humid, and the hush before dawn rested easily upon the road. Pausing at the red light before continuing my jog, I noticed a spider web dappled with dew within the frame of the traffic light. I stopped in my tracks; upon closer inspection, I saw countless spider webs, draped with baubles of dew, hung from light poles and electric lines—even within the traffic lights themselves.
Hidden Beauty in Plain Sight🚦
I was awestruck by the beauty of the webs, looking ever-festive in the glow of lights—an unexpected wonder, shimmering high above me. After a few moments of appreciating the beauty, I jogged on through town, questions forming in my mind. How did they get so high? Why had I not previously noticed something so extraordinary hiding in plain sight? How many other marvels were hiding in plain sight, waiting for someone to notice?
When We Slow Down Enough to See 🤓
It occurred to me that more often than not, we rush through the routine of life overlooking these mini-marvels—the ballet of fall leaves chasséing from tree to stream, then pirouetting along water currents; sinuous streamers of fog tendrils meandering around hilltops; or, the multiplicity of ice crystals frosting over a car’s windshield to name a few. These wonders are woven into daily life: from the cantaloupe-colored brilliance of sunrise over the Ohio River to the glimmer of moonlight on a frost-covered lawn; from flower-like fungi blooming on fallen logs to a puppy seeing its own reflection in a puddle. Beauty surrounds us, waiting to be noticed. Like the invisible art gallery of spider webs in traffic lights on my morning jog, most go unnoticed until the light hits just right. However, when we take time to pause and pay attention, beauty will often reveal itself in unexpected yet common places, including stoplights.
Flower-like fungi “blossoming” from fallen tree branch
The Power of Morning Stillness 😌
That early-morning observation turned meditation centered my day. It offered more than one lesson and served as a reminder that the morning placidity can bring a sense of calming clarity before the noise of the day. Making time for stillness in the morning, whether sipping coffee, walking a beloved pet, or sitting in prayer meditation—offers an opportunity for spaciousness at the day’s start. A moment to center, notice, reflect, and connect. Even a few minutes of stillness can offer us an opportunity to ground ourselves and recalibrate our perspective. If we grow quiet enough, we may remember that peace resides within us. That is not to say that peace is the absence of movement, purpose, or challenge, but rather it is a strong presence within us—much like the hidden strength within the delicate spider web.
As I reflected on the morning jog through town, I realized that each web represented perseverance, fortitude, and tenacity–three key qualities essential for growth. Each morning, orb-weaving spiders consume their protein-rich webs to reclaim the silk for rebuilding. This ensures the new web they build in the evening is fresh, sticky, and strong enough to catch plenty of prey. Through practice, the spiders gain strength and instinctively how to rebuild after storms and strong wind.
The spiders’ resilience serves as a reminder that we, too, have the grit to rebuild after disappointments, setbacks, and loss. Like the spider, rebuilding our lives is often quiet work that begins only after we have nourished body, mind, and spirit. The spider’s persistence mirrors our own–delicate and determined–reconstructing through incremental, small steps. Life, like the spider’s web, is fragile, yet we too possess tensile strength—centered in faith—that guides us as we restore, renew, and rebuild.
The Threads That Bind Us 🕷️
The spider’s web, where no thread stands alone, echoes the interconnectedness of our own lives. We are part of a collective. As the light shone through the webs, each dew drop caught the light, refracting color and seemingly creating miniature worlds. Just as the traffic/street lights played across the spider webs’ dew drops, our connected lives reflect multiple roles–friend, spouse/partner, worker, neighbor, parent, child, citizen . . . . Each strand of life possesses a quiet strength that is integral to the whole. In fact, the integrity of the web depends upon the strength and resiliency of every strand. Each facet of our lives holds and reveals meaning; together, the varied strands of our lives unite the whole, creating an array of meaningful relationships.
In the end, the light changed, and I crossed the street as the sun rose, erasing the glimmer of those webs. Yet the image remains—reminding me to keep looking for the extraordinary in ordinary places. Perhaps it waits in the quietude before dawn, a pause at a red light, or the hush of nightfall. So many interlaced moments shimmer within the droplets of daily life, waiting for those willing to see. Those silky webs may vanish with daylight, but their pearls of wisdom still glimmer within me, reminding me that beauty often hides in ordinary light.
May we all learn to look a little longer, to pause at life’s red lights, and to notice the silken threads of beauty connecting us in the quiet hours of dawn.
“Be patient toward all that is unsolved in your heart and try to love the questions themselves. Live the questions now. Perhaps you will then gradually, without noticing it, live along some distant day into the answer.“–Rilke
Those words of Rilke, written over a century ago, remind me that some of the hardest seasons in life are the ones that offer no answers—only questions that echo back in silence.
I was driving home Saturday morning after my weekly long run with a podcast playing in the background. The previous week had been difficult, and I had hoped the run would provide a reprieve from my worries. I started running well before the sun rose under the cloak of a starry sky, which served to keep my mind calm. Then, the rich crimson of dawn edged up the horizon, deepening from vermilion to the fiery orange of full sunrise. As if on cue, the monkeys in my mind began chattering—an endless loop of questions followed by equally endless, devastating possibilities.
I tried to redirect my thoughts: “If only this or that would happen, then everything will be fine,” I told myself. The problem with this if–then principle is that it’s meant for building new habits or personal change; I can’t magically apply it to others—or to the world at large. Even after my run, the mind monkeys continued their spirals. Then a line from the podcast caught my attention, “What I think Rilke’s words are stating is that if we can learn to live in peace alongside the questions, this may allow us to witness the unfolding of the answers in some indeterminate future.”
Of course, I had not heard Rilke’s words, so I had to rewind the podcast in order to focus on the original quote. Those words felt like an invitation to hope, rather than a reprimand for my monkey mind. To be clear, it did not feel like a promise of a positive outcome, but rather hope for a greater understanding one day. Rilke’s words seemed to affirm my questioning, as long as I let the questions simply “be,” like one ingredient in the stew of life.
While I cannot speak for everyone, I think many of us live with unanswered questions—and I’m probably in the camp that has more than a few. Seasons of life bring different questions, but they often center around themes of health, purpose, relationships, concern for others, and the future. It is often uncomfortable–the unsolved nature of life. We desire, like the fairy tales of our childhood, resolutions to problems in which we “all lived happily ever after.” We like knowing what is next; we desire to wrap up answers neatly and hand them over like a present. But life, as we eventually learn, isn’t wrapped in tidy endings.
If you have ever encountered a personal crisis, or that of a loved one, you know the “hurry up and wait” sense of time that often accompanies these scenarios–appointments scheduled off into the distant future, followed up by more appointments with no answers, only more maybes and/or more questions or concerns. It can feel like an autumn fog settling over a town in the early morning hours. You can see outlines of various possibilities, but still not know what the future holds. And yet, even in that fog, life quietly continues.
On one hand, Rilke seems to invite us to love the questions—an improbable ask, given the weight of so many of life’s uncertainties. Perhaps, as the podcaster suggested, Rilke’s words invite us to coexist with uncertainty rather than chase quick answers. Personally, when I face challenges, my first instinct is to “fix it,” whatever “it” may be. However, most of life’s bigger questions are not, per se “fixable” in a vacuum. There are many uncontrollable variables that often fill me with an anxious energy.
This is when I tend to lean into writing, outdoor movement (especially running and walking), as well as reading–trying to learn as much as I can about the current challenge I am facing. Additionally, I will offer help (if I can be of service) to those for whom I am concerned. In this way, I feel like I am stretching and growing in understanding and empathy, rather than grasping and silently suffering.
I’ve lived long enough to know that many answers only emerge with the sweet relief of distance and time—like the three-year rule of a perennial garden: sleep, creep, and leap. A long-ago biology professor once explained that in the first year of a newly planted garden, the plants appear to grow very little because they’re focused on developing and strengthening their roots. The following year, roots are still growing and establishing, but they do have enough energy to create a bit more growth above ground. However, by the third year, the roots are fully established and the plant appears to “leap” out of the ground with growth. So it can be with the answers to life’s questions.
There are times in life where we cannot figure out why we keep facing one roadblock and one challenge after another. We wonder how much more we can endure, why we are faced with a certain situation, or why things are not going the way we imagined. Like that early decorative landscaped garden, we cannot see that our experiences are developing roots of strength and stability. We may not see that our ability to empathize, our talents, our emotional well-being, and even our souls, are stretching and strengthening. Later, we may look back and see that those setbacks were quietly shaping us—building the strength we’d need for what came next.
As I further reflected on Rilke’s words and my own lived experiences, I realized that there is a certain ineffable beauty that is created by living with questions because it asks us to rely upon faith and grace, granting us a greater purpose as a seeker and a doer.
We are not here to solve life, but to live it—with curiosity, patience, and hope.
While hope does spring eternal, it is not the same as knowing the answers. Perhaps, that’s the point–it is more about trusting that our life story is continuing to unfold in its own time and season.
Finishing the drive home, I realized that Rilke had a point. As long as I have questions, as long as I seek answers, I am not only living, but I am living with an open, loving heart and a curious, empathetic mind. I have been fortunate to live to see questions answered, but I still have more questions to go–about loved ones, about the world, and about myself.
Like the sunrise that began my run, the light of understanding will come again—slowly, beautifully, and in its own time. Until then, I feel grateful for life’s questions. They have strengthened my life in numerous ways and provided me with unpredicted opportunities for growth. In the words of John O’Donohue, “Perhaps the beauty of not knowing is that it keeps our hearts open enough to be surprised by grace.” I welcome that grace into my life—and I hope you do too.
Summer Roads and Slowdowns: A Familiar Frustration 🚧
It’s the height of the summer travel season. This year, AAA projected that 61.6 million Americans will travel by car between June 28 and July 6. That’s a lot of drivers on the roads! And more likely than not, most of those drivers will encounter some sort of delays or rerouting due to construction.
Those orange barrels, detour signs, and dusty, smoke-filled roads can wreak havoc on estimated times of arrival, impeding drivers’ progress. Traversing a construction-filled route recently, it occurred to me that just as roads need maintenance, upkeep, and improvement, our lives can also benefit from similar attention. In fact, summer road construction serves as an excellent reminder for how we, too, must assess, repair, and improve our own lives.
Like it or not, road repairs are a necessary part of travel. Winter and spring often ravage roads due to ice, snow, freeze, thaw, excessive rain and so forth. Potholes, cracked pavement, faded lines, and broken shoulders or guardrails can reduce safety and severely damage tires, rims, alignment, suspension, and so forth. Thus, in order to function properly, roads require regular repair and upkeep.
The same is true for our own lives; we, too, experience wear and tear, but it is expressed differently in each of us. Signs may include physical and/or mental fatigue, burn out, and/or incremental increase of poor habits. Other signs might include unresolved conflict, a sense of drifting or lack of purpose; and/or for others, it could be increased feelings of anxiety, sadness, or indifference. Like potholes on a road, it is important to not ignore these symptoms and instead cultivate a sense of caring curiosity as if we were concerned for a child–only it is concern for ourself–and it begins with an honest self-assessment of our emotional, mental, physical, and even relational well-being.
As with construction, upon reflection we might discover that many of our difficulties and discomforts created ruts, broken shoulders and cracks in our own personal life. These impediments signal that we may need to reroute our own life in order to make internal repairs. In the same way construction zones temporarily create detours, rerouted traffic, and lane shifts, personal redirection can likewise be thought of as a temporary, but necessary setback for long-term improvement.
Detours with Purpose: Reframing Setbacks as Redirection ↩️
These life detours, be they physical-health and/or mental well-being crisis, a death, divorce, and so on, typically create obstacles–a change in what we think is “the plan.” However, just as construction zones are there to repair the road, our healing, growth, and ability to move towards wholeness often begins as we experience these hurdles. Therefore, it is helpful to reframe our thinking around these life detours and obstacles as opportunities for not only healing, but also reflection, intervention, or a necessary challenge to a long-held personal perspective.
Grit, Heat, and Hard Work: The Labor of Self-Growth 🥵
Another important point to consider with regards to road construction is that the work crew must endure a wide array of weather conditions, including extreme heat and humidity that accompanies summer. A return to safe and smooth roads cannot occur without their effort, perseverance, sweat, and labor. Likewise, personal growth and/or physical healing often requires a similar level of grit.
Whether we participate in therapy, work to improve or create beneficial habits, set clear–and perhaps new–boundaries, work to forgive, and/or learn a new skill or life lesson (or both), personal construction demands that we put in the work. Discomfort, like construction, is a necessity. Growth and healing are not easy and rarely occur without challenge and effort.
Preventive Maintenance: Investing in Long-Term Well-Being 😃
Another important consideration to effective road repair is that maintenance should be ongoing, rather than deferred, as this can lead to greater road damage and travel hazard. By taking care of ongoing small issues as they arise, bigger problems can be prevented in the future.
Similarly, our own “self-maintenance” is also a worthwhile investment in order to reduce the likelihood of a major life-repair. Taking time to invest in our own daily health through quality sleep, good nutrition, stress management, physical exercise, fostering healthy relationships, and even learning new things–can be thought of as small personal investments that pay dividends towards our own long term “infrastructure.”
That said, sometimes personal maintenance can sometimes feel like “one more thing to do” especially when we’re in the midst of a life-storm. Therefore, it can be helpful to cultivate a “crew,” a few good people who can share our times of smooth sailing, encourage our development and/or maintenance of positive habits, and also support us during those bumpy passage days. Ultimately, with regular self-care maintenance and a good support crew, we can cultivate a strong inner foundation that is better able to withstand life’s pressures and storms.
One of the best parts of road construction occurs when it is finally completed. Routes are once more open, and the ease and smoothness of traveling these roads signals tangible progress. In fact, driving effortlessly over a direct route without detours, potholes, or bumps can be a liberating feeling.
Progress, Not Perfection: Life Is Always Under Construction 🦺
Unfortunately, it never lasts for long. Rainy season, freeze-thaw season, excessive travel, or 1,000 other scenarios means construction will once again occur, if not specifically on the newly refurbished route. It’s all part of the process of progress–one never attains perfection when it comes to infrastructure–there’s always room for improvement.
Equally, on the other side of our own personal repairs, detours, and/or maintenance, we gradually return to a sense of homeostasis. Our rerouted life may possess a greater sense of clarity, restored confidence, better decision making skills, and perhaps even a deeper sense of joy. We, too, may feel the momentum to move forward in a renewed direction and embrace the possibilities that come with an unexpected, but freshly paved path.
Final Thoughts: Be the Engineer of Your Own Journey 👷
To be sure, summer construction can seem like a real drag on travel; however, it ultimately leads to new routes, expanded systems of travel that are safer and more efficient. However, even when the summer construction season comes to an end, the maintenance of these roads does not end, and that is worth remembering.
Likewise, summer construction reminds us that we are the engineers of our own lives. No, we cannot control everything that happens to us, but we can control our reactions AND we can also make repairs as needed as well as prevent some issues from arising. Therefore, let’s be as proactive as possible through regular sustainment of our own life-construction, so that when life’s storms create a pothole–or five–we are fortified with the strength our regular maintenance and upkeep provides us. In life, as in roads, it’s about progress, not perfection.
