Go Where You Feel Light

All this month, we're creating space—in our mind, body, and spirit—for curiosity, imagination, and openness.

And we're not just tuning in—we're reaching toward each other, too.

Because going where you feel light isn't only about solitude. It's also about community, memory, and belonging.

So what might it look like to go where you feel light—and to help someone else do the same?

Could it be…

• Choosing to dwell on thoughts that give life

• Booking a solo trip—or inviting a friend to breathe beside you

• Spending a day barefoot in your garden, or tending someone else's

• Saying no without guilt, so your yes can mean more

• Reconnecting with the people, places, and practices that once brought you joy

• Following beauty, even when it's unfamiliar—and inviting someone along for the walk

This isn't just about personal restoration. It's about remembering that thriving is something we practice together.

Last month, at our Auntie's Porch, grief counselor and speaker Deborah McMillian, MSW, LSW, shared wisdom I've been holding close: “Grief taught me to celebrate every day," she said. 

Not when the list is done. Not when life settles. Every. Day.

At first, I didn't know if that is something I could do especially as life be life-ing. But instead of meeting it with skepticism, I got curious:

What would it mean to celebrate something small today?

I'm learning some days, the light is easy to find. Other days, it takes intention. It actually reminds me of this small (maybe even a little bit random) fact I learned several years ago: Did you know you're supposed to wear sunscreen even on cloudy days?

I used to think, “If I can't see the sun, what's the point?” But turns out the light is still there, just hidden.

Joy, hope, and rest work the same way. And while we may need to be more intentional some days, always remember to be be just as compassionate to yourself in the process.

And maybe that's the real invitation—

To remember that even when joy feels distant, it hasn't disappeared.
Sometimes, we just need more space to notice what's already here.

Now, don't be surprised if skepticism arrives first. That quiet voice that says, “Be careful. Don't expect too much.” More often than not, that voice is shaped by scarcity—not just of time or money, but of breath, presence, and rest.

Scarcity narrows what feels possible. But, curiosity? I'm learning stretches your imagination wide open.

As you move through this season, may you resist the urge to rush. My hope is that you rest in stillness being enough and allow light to lead the way.