v. 62 For Everyone Who Keeps Showing Up
Welcome to Life, Created — a weekly(ish) reflection on the wisdom of being a grown-ass human and staying curious when the world’s on fire. Rooted in microjoys, meaning, and the moments that make it all worthwhile.
As the year soon closes (and I’ll be traveling), I want to start with the only thing that feels essential.
Thank you for reading.
Thank you for opening my essays week after week, even when they’re a bit clumsy or wander where ever the hell they want to go. I’ve never tried to '“master Substack” or build a proper strategy. I don’t chase best practices, and I genuinely don’t know how to optimize anything I love doing. I show up with words and trust that the right people will find them. And you do. So thank you.
You’ve read my deepest thoughts, my half formed wondering, my very formed opinions, and the occasional nonsense that clearly comes from a brain that overthinks… a lot. You’ve read reflections, stories, wisdom I’m still learning as I type, and microjoys I only notice because I slow down enough to see them in the first place.
Some context about Life, Created feels worth sharing.
This Substack is called Life, Created in the most literal way. I started it about a year and a half ago while moving through a great deal of loss and grief. I write to learn the world around me, to gather my thoughts, and to make sense of what doesn’t. I write to create stability in a world that feels determined to be anything but. Writing has become a lifeline that keeps me connected and honest. Some days, it keeps me upright.
After 2020, so much of what I thought was stable fell away. Certainty. Structure. Friendships. Health. Family. A sense of forward motion. This became the place where I could attempt to understand and create my life again, sentence by sentence, thought by thought, microjoy by microjoy. It became a practice and a ritual rather than a carefully curated performance. And you chose to be here for it.
Along the way, I’ve gleaned so much from living and paying attention. From letting life teach me what it wants to teach. Sometimes I hold those lessons close, and other times I share them out loud. And you stay. You listen. You read. You keep opening the emails, according to Substack’s stats.
Though I should probably make a joke here about how you could comment more. Or at least hit the damn heart icon once in a while so I know you’re alive. But for you, I’ll let it slide. That’s the nature of things these days.
What matters deeply to me is this: you offer me your time. And time is the one thing none of us are getting more of.
As I step into this next year, things feel open ended in a way that, dare I say, feels right. I just turned 48. I’m planning to move into an internal role focused on culture, leadership, and community engagement. I don’t know what that will look like, when, or where I will land, but that, too, has always been the nature of things for me. My entire career has unfolded by arriving in the right places at the right times, often without a tidy plan, but always with a deep sense of alignment. So I expect more of that to come.
I wish that for you too. Wherever you’re landing, personally, professionally or spiritually.
So as this year wraps itself up, I hope you find closure for what feels heavy or unfinished. I hope you find peace around what disappointed you. I hope you carry forward what softens you and what surprises you in the best possible, most human ways. And I hope the year ahead brings moments that feel deeply satisfying in the way only real life can.
More microjoys. More honesty. More space to be alive.
Thank you for being here. Truly.
Cheers to a gorgeous year ahead, and so much gratitude for the one we’re living right now.
Every essay features a section called “One Fine Microjoy” – an experience, place, or thing that brings me joy, grace, and hope amidst life’s ups and downs. I hope it invites you to recognize and appreciate the delights that ground, inspire, and enrich our journey.
I got ‘em from my mama. #Freckleface
This week’s microjoy: So. Many. Freckles. My mom’s freckles, to be exact. This year marks five holidays without her, which makes seeing her freckles so clearly reflected in my own face feel both connecting and bittersweet all at once. A microjoy, indeed.
P.S. Per usual, if this resonated with you- repost, comment, share and spread the word.
With love, wisdom [and small mercies] from Montclair. xx
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