Your First Day

I used to joke with Tony every time he expected me to be surprised about his behaviors. I'd say, "Not my first day."

In the wake of his death, the conditioning to cling to what was lost - the regrets of moments never realized - danced through my mind. That famous song resonated, urging you to live like you are dying. But what did that mean? How would I do that?

The universe gave me that very answer in the way of a video clip that challenged that narrative. A deeper shift in perspective. Rather than the typical thoughts of quitting your job, spending all your money and living a life without guardrails - what if we set our intention at living like it's our first day?

Time isn't running out. It's inviting us forward. Adult life can make us lose sight of that. We aren't meant to give up the sweeter things that bring us joy, curiosity, playfulness - the things that energize our inner being.

What made you smile or feel good as a child? Do that again!

Did you love art?

Did you love to build?

Did you lay in a field and watch the sun move across the sky?

Did you play in the rain?

Life isn't about abandoning happiness or saying goodbye. It's how we show up for the hellos. It is our birthright to feel joy in the life that meets us each day. It's our soul mission to share that in whatever way possible.

Each day is a gift of hope. It is your first day to be the person you choose to be. Choose love.

And despite all that has happened, I'd do anything to go back and have that first day with Tony - to learn him all over again. That's where I find my joy - in the remembrance. Unrealized moments can't have power over what was lived.

The Energy of Our Words

Language is something I've completely taken for granted. Words are words. It doesn't matter what you say. What you do and what's in your heart are what's important. That's what we are conditioned to believe. It takes away the responsibility of what we're saying, but, as I'm learning, it can also take us out of alignment.

I'm learning the truth that our mind believes what our words say. We convince ourselves, right or wrong, where our path should lead. The universe hears us and waits for us. It sends breadcrumbs and nudges, but if we are intent on keeping our energy low, that's exactly where we'll stay.

It's not about wishing or wanting.

It's about aligning our words with the version of us we're stepping into - not the one we're trying to leave behind.

When you look ahead in your life... Who do you want to be? What kind of life do you want to live? That's where the truth of our intention lies.

Whatever you see, that's your declaration. "I am... " I can..." "I do..." Then comes the trust. Knowing that the universe will guide you to it in the right divine time.

There is no magic other than using our words to convince ourselves that we're ready and we're already worthy. I'm not saying that is always easy. I think it meets us each individually where we are in our journey. The lower your vibration, the more difficult it will be. We have to bring our energy up.

It's taken me a lot of time to dig in and really understand who I am and to feel confident in what my path is. Ya'll know how low my energy has been since Tony died. If you've been following my posts, you also know that's actually what pushed me into self-discovery mode.

My path is clear. I now use my words to affirm that:

• I am helping others to heal and find their way.

• I can share the information I'm receiving so that it is relatable.

• I do deserve a life of abundance and I am claiming it.

What I know is that if I can do it... anyone can.

So today I invite you to tune in.

Listen to your language.

Catch the subtle ways you shrink and lower your vibration.

If you are saying things like "I hope..." "I wish... " "I don't know... " "I can't.."

Pause and rewrite the script.

Let your words lead you. Let them lift you. Let them align you.

What do you have to gain? Everything

Bloodlines & Backbone

As I was sorting through pictures this morning for another project, I was surprised that my normal sadness wasn't weighing on me. As I poured through the stacks of memories, I was overwhelmed with a tremendous feeling of strength - they got me here.

They are the unseen scaffolding that held me upright when I didn't think I could stand.

My Grandma I will forever see her at her kitchen table, swaying her feet back and forth, holding her cup with hands that had already done a full day's work by 9am.

She was the one who made sure everyone had what they needed - even if she didn't. She built her life out of sacrifice wrapped up in complete, unwavering, unconditional love.

She was my warmth. She was my soft space.

She taught me what quiet resilience looks like - she lived it. In every early morning, every plate served, every moment she kept going even when no one was clapping.

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My Paw-Paw My childhood was full of memories of following him around while he tinkered on lawnmowers and whatever unique contraption that had his fancy at the time. He was the fixer. The one who could fix broken things.

He was the consummate teacher. He didn't need a classroom - he was a walking classroom. Ever appreciative of nature - the birds, the trees, the bugs, the garden, the animals. He never missed an opportunity to share knowledge. There was usually a lesson tucked inside every story he told.

And, man, was he funny. His expression when he was able to catch you off guard with his effortless humor will forever be etched in my mind.

He was wit and wisdom rolled into calloused hands that worked from sun up to sun down.

If grandma was the soul of the house, he was its steady rhythm.

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My Dad A favorite memory from my early childhood was going to the creek with him to find flat rocks. My brother and I would get to play in the water and have a scavenger hunt all at the same time. The best part was finding the perfect rock and watching my dad spray paint the most beautiful sunset on it.

Whether a rock or a car, he took something ordinary and made it extraordinary. He was an artist.

Life got complicated for us. The life of struggle he lived was something my young mind couldn't really understand back then. The communication stopped for a long time. It was protection that I needed. But I missed him. We missed out on so much.

His struggle is something that I now hold with great reverence and compassion. What he carried with him was far more than one soul should ever have to carry in one lifetime. He survived and in some ways I think he transmuted his pain into fuel. That man lived life on his own terms. He was a force.

When standing at his funeral, I told all our family and his friends that I am my father's daughter. It meant something then, but it feels like so much more now.

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So much of who they are lives in who I am and even more so in who I'm becoming.

There is a quiet power in our lineage that we sometimes take for granted or feel like we lost when they left. But it's there, weaved into the structure of our backbones and flowing in our blood.