v. 53 Life in Between Seasons: Maybe It’s Hoarding, Maybe It’s Hope
Welcome to Life, Created—a new [old school] blog for modern times. This weekly(ish) dispatch is a space for us to dig deeper, share ideas, recognize microjoys and build community beyond the mindless scroll.
There are seasons in life when the need for connection moves beyond preference and into necessity. I’m in one of those seasons now, missing being with people in ways I haven’t for a long time. Not just a quick coffee or the occasional dinner, but the kind of gatherings where conversation lingers, laughter fills the room, and presence reminds us we belong to one another. Many of you know that my work is built on people, stories, and shared spaces, and while I can function without them, I don’t flourish that way. Maybe you’ve felt this too, the difference between getting by and truly being fed by community.
“The call is not dramatic, but it is insistent. Come back to people. Come back to rooms that breathe with life. Come back to the places where gathering makes you whole. ”
I love our apartment in Montclair, and Ira and I have poured ourselves into making it ours, from the colorful walls to our collection of one-of-a-kind artwork and secondhand finds that carry their own stories. We’re not rushing to leave it, but I feel something new on the horizon. It isn’t restlessness exactly, but an awareness that life is shifting again. That awareness has me sorting through closets, donating what no longer fits, and imagining what the next chapter might hold. If you’ve ever felt called forward before you had a plan, then you know the feeling I am describing.
The ridiculous part is that while I’m decluttering and hauling bags to donation, I’m also picking up unnecessary pieces at thrift stores. It isn’t quite “one in, one out.” It is more like “ten out, three back in,” which is math I can live with. I can’t fully explain why, except that these things feel like they will matter later, even if I don’t yet know how. Some people might call that pack-rat behavior, or hoarding, or even squirreling things away. I prefer to call it intuitive preparedness. (You see what I did there?) Who knows?! Maybe I will need that tiny painting of lemons, the glass vase that only holds one fucking flower, or the vintage brass lamp for the life that is on its way. Or maybe I just like the thrill of a four-dollar find. Either way, I have to laugh at myself because I’m basically decluttering and hoarding at the same time.
This isn’t the first time I have been here. Four years ago, I wrote in Microjoys about what it meant to begin settling into the life I know now. Back then, I was creating a foundation in the midst of grief and uncertainty, learning to notice everyday moments of joy as a way of staying present and as a respite from the storms of grief. Today, I recognize that same stirring, though it looks different. Then, it was about building stability. Now, it feels like preparing to expand. It is as if the last five years have been leading me here, to this moment of transition.
What I know for sure is that these seasons ask us to let go. Of belongings, yes, but also of ideas about who we are supposed to be. Transition does not always arrive with a clear announcement. Sometimes it comes quietly, with a steady nudge instead of a shout. The call is not dramatic, but it is insistent. Come back to people. Come back to rooms that breathe with life. Come back to the places where gathering makes you whole. Maybe you feel that pull too, the urge to step back into what you have been missing. And it makes sense. COVID kept us apart for so long, and we are still living with the aftershocks of that separation. The longing to gather is not nostalgia but instead, what happens when years of not being together leave their mark.
So as I look forward, I return to the lessons I wrote about in Microjoys: to notice what is right here even as I prepare for what is next. The light spilling through my office windows in the morning. The too-loud laughter of friends who know us well. The clinking of glasses around a table. All of it matters. Life is not static, and neither are we. We are meant to keep moving, to keep gathering, to keep finding one another. And maybe that is the work of this next season, to say yes to moving forward. Together.
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.
It’s Farm Rio. Because I know you’ll ask.
This week’s microjoy: I’ve had this sweater on heavy rotation for four years, and it basically lives on the back of my office chair year-round. Now I finally get to toss it on again because these chilly mornings are the surest sign that Autumn is on its way. I LOVE Autumn. It feels like a true microjoy to have real seasons—at least for the moment, because global warming is clearly out here playing games.
P.S. Per usual, if this resonated with you- PLEASE repost, comment, share and spread the word.
With love, wisdom [and small mercies] from Montclair. xx
Want to support Life, Created?
🥰 ENGAGE: Share your thoughts in a comment below #BecauseCommunity
🙏🏽 SPREAD THE WORD: forward it to your fave people. (Sign up here to get Life, Created delivered right to your. inbox.)
🧡 FOLLOW: over on Instagram and LinkedIn, too.
🗣️ HIRE ME: When you (or a colleague) are looking for an amazing speaker for your next conference, gathering or event—-I’d love for you to consider booking me. Here’s more info.
