Today, I choose to share my podcast. This one is offered to close out a year filled with so much noise and uncertainty. Through it all, I decided to stay focused on light, searching for beauty.
I turned off the news and found my truth by walking the woods.
I embraced creative potential, forcing myself to keep learning, keep trying new things.
Creating is my way of breathing healthy air. This year, that meant self-publishing a book, writing songs, and producing a podcast.
This year does not end with a celebration. It ends with an exhale.
It has been a tumultuous year — politically loud, emotionally charged, and unexpectedly heavy. A year that brought loss we didn’t see coming. A year that tested patience, resilience, and the ability to stay soft when everything felt hard.
There are still many moments when our country feels fractured, when anger seems easier than hope. When the noise makes it hard to hear our own thoughts, let alone each other.
And yet.
In the midst of all this disruption, something else happened quietly.
We created a book that promised light at the end of the tunnel. It was not just a slogan. It was a belief we needed to hold onto ourselves. We wrote words meant to steady us. We shaped something gentle in a time that was anything but.
We created music in the darkest corners of the year. Songs born not from ease, but from necessity. We found a way to share that music with others. It could travel beyond us. It could remind someone else that they weren’t alone.
That is what makes this a quiet crossing.
Not because the year was calm — it wasn’t. But because we are leaving it with intention.
We are not carrying everything forward. We are setting some things down. The outrage. The exhaustion. The constant vigilance. We honor what this year asked of us, without letting it define what comes next.
This crossing isn’t about forgetting. It’s about choosing what deserves space in the days ahead.
So as the calendar turns, we step forward gently. A little wiser. A little more worn. Still hopeful. Still creating. Still believing that light matters — especially when it has to be made by hand.
This is how we cross: quietly, honestly, carrying forward our own flicker of light.
During the holidays, light is everywhere— twinkling on trees, glowing in windows, flickering in quiet corners of our homes.
And yet, for many, this season can still feel heavy. The nights are long. The days are full. The heart carries more than it shows.
In moments like these, we often look for something bright enough to fix everything at once. But hope doesn’t arrive that way. It comes softly. It comes steadily. It comes in small, faithful ways.
In my song, Light A Candle, I wrote:
“Find a quiet moment. Light a candle. Watch it dance. Invite the stillness. Give your heart a chance.”
A candle does not banish the dark. Its quiet glow steadies the room. It reminds us that presence matters more than perfection.
So this season, if the holidays feel overwhelming, don’t search for a brighter light. Light the candle you already have. Sit with it. Let it be enough.
Even in the darkest nights of winter, a gentle flame can guide us— one breath, one moment at a time.
There are days when the world seems to move faster than I can follow.
. Lists multiply, expectations stack themselves heavily on my shoulders,
and suddenly— even without meaning to— I find myself rushing from one moment to the next.
But rushing rarely brings me closer to peace.
If anything, it pulls me farther from the heart of what matters.
So today, I give myself permission to pause. Just for a minute.
Just long enough to feel the ground beneath my feet again. I will close my eyes. Take a slow breath in.
Imagine gathering all the scattered pieces of my attention and bringing them home.
Then, on the exhale, I’ll let the rush go— like snow slipping softly from a branch. Let it fall away.
The world will keep spinning. My tasks will still be there. But I will be different— steadier, calmer, anchored in the quiet strength that comes from choosing presence over pace.
A river does not rush to prove itself. It simply flows — steady, patient, unwavering. When rocks block its way, it doesn’t stop. It finds a route around.
When the path dips low, It now moves a bit slow But then gathers strength From solid ground.
And it keeps moving ahead.
We can carry on, too. Without force or hurry Trusting the path, Winding as it may be.
Like the river, We are stronger than we think. Keep moving. Believe.
Tranquil Resources 