Friday carried a tender weight—the close of my parents’ visit left me wrapped in that sweet kind of melancholy, the kind that lingers when you’ve had something so good it’s hard to let go.
Later, I found comfort in time with my OGs—the girlfriends I’ve leaned on since arriving here as a brand-new mama. They’re the ones who remember me with a baby strapped to my chest, back when our oldest kids were just starting preschool. Being with them is always therapeutic, a sacred space where we share openly and safely. I love them for countless reasons, but most of all for letting my imperfect self be seen, heard, and valued—even in my messiest moments. They remind me that the truest friendships aren’t about perfection, but about presence.
Lately, a lot has been on my mind.
I’ve been in a season of change for a while now, but most of it has revolved around other people—not me. So I’m learning to flip that script. People often ask me what’s next—maybe because I’m a writer, a sharer, someone who tends to put pieces of her life out there. But this time, I want “what’s next” to be less about living up to expectations and more about listening to what feels true for me.
I had to delay the launch of my podcast because I’ve been so busy with everything else—family, commitments, the constant swirl of life that always seems to demand just a little more. At first, I felt frustrated, like I was falling behind. But I’m starting to see the pause differently. Maybe it’s not a setback at all, but a chance to step back, breathe, and realign. The podcast will come, and when it does, I want it to arrive with intention, not obligation.
And then there’s the book—still out there, waiting. Resting in a stack, exposed to be read, judged, and weighed in ways that feel both hopeful and terrifying.
So here I am, somewhere in between what has been and what’s next. Learning to hold space for the uncertainty, to honor the pauses, and to trust that even in the waiting, the work is still being done. Maybe that’s the quiet truth of this season: change doesn’t always look like movement—sometimes it looks like stillness, presence, and the courage to stay.
And on this first Sunday of the NFL season, I’m reminded there’s always room for hope, for grit, and for cheering loud for the home team.
Go Bills.
The Forty Files 