When I first looked out the window this morning, the lake had disappeared.
Fog rested gently on the water while, to the east, the rising sun painted the sky with soft hints of rose. Rays of light slipped through the trees, but across the lake, the shoreline was impossible to see.
Split realities.
Light and fog.
Certainty and uncertainty.
Standing there with my coffee, I couldn’t help thinking how much that morning looked like life itself.
Then I remembered.
Today is my golden anniversary.
Three years on the third.
Three years alcohol-free.
When people hear “three years,” they often imagine a dramatic turning point. Mine wasn’t dramatic at all. I began with a simple promise to myself.
I had spent years wishing I could be the person who enjoyed one glass of wine before bed.
I wasn’t her.
One glass became another.
Then another.
Eventually, I stopped wishing I were someone else and accepted who I was and stopped drinking altogether.
That acceptance changed everything.
Not overnight.
One day at a time.
One sunrise at a time.
Today, looking back, I don’t spend much time thinking about what I gave up.
I think about what I gained.
I gained mornings.
I gained peace.
I discovered that words were waiting for me before the rest of the world woke up.
Over these past three years, those quiet mornings filled journals.
Those journals became poems.
Some poems became songs.
Those songs found their way into books.
Now, together with a friend, we have built Tranquil Resources — a place where photography, music, and words come together in hopes of helping someone else slow down, breathe, and notice beauty.
One of the biggest surprises?
I didn’t need alcohol to be creative.
I had believed that for years.
Instead, I found that creativity had been patiently waiting beneath the noise.
When I stopped numbing my life, I started noticing it.
I noticed baby ducks taking impossible steps.
Morning fog drifting across the lake.
The sound of sandhill cranes.
The way sunlight filters through oak trees.
The beauty had always been there.
Now I was finally present enough to see it.
As I stood looking out the window this morning, something else happened.
The fog began to lift.
Slowly, the shoreline appeared exactly where it had always been.
It hadn’t disappeared.
I simply couldn’t see it for a while.
Maybe hope works that way.
Maybe purpose does too.
Maybe the life we’re searching for isn’t gone at all.
Maybe it’s simply waiting beyond the fog until we’re ready to walk toward it.
Three years ago, I promised myself I would choose life.
Not perfection.
Not certainty.
Just the next right thing.
Today, I’m healthier.
Stronger.
Far more hopeful.
And perhaps for the first time in my life, I’m no longer afraid to let people see what I’ve created.
that may be the greatest gift of these past three years.
Not sobriety.
Freedom.
Freedom to write.
Freedom to create.
Freedom to become the person I was quietly meant to be all along.
So today I’m celebrating out loud.
Not because my journey is finished.
But because this ordinary Monday morning reminded me how extraordinary an ordinary life can become.
If you’re standing in your own fog today, wondering if the shoreline will ever come back into view, let me leave you with this:
Keep walking.
The light is already rising.
You just may not be able to see the shore yet.
Three years ago I made myself a promise.
Today, I celebrate the life that promise made possible.
For years, I believed I was not good enough.I don’t believe that anymore. Now I believe I’m just one brave step away from who I was always meant to become.
Sometimes the woods whisper. Not with words, but with birdsong, morning mist, golden light filtering through the trees,
and the quiet reminder that we don’t have to hurry through life.
Whispers of the Woods was created for anyone who has ever found peace on a nature trail, paused to watch sunlight dance through the leaves, or felt their shoulders relax the moment they stepped beneath a canopy of trees.
Inside you’ll find nature photography, reflective poetry, and original music that can be experienced through QR codes woven throughout the book.
It’s an invitation to slow down. To breathe. To notice. To remember that some of life’s greatest conversations happen when the world grows quiet.
Where is the place in nature that quiets your soul?
Explore Whispers of the Woods and the rest of our collection at
A haze clings softly to the distance, while raindrops tap gently on the window pane. The birds seem delighted by the morning, notes rising from leaves washed fresh from last night’s rain.
Soon enough, the heat will settle, as the sunlight lifts.
But not yet.
For now, this cool morning air awakens my energy. Linger on the stillness. Linger on serenity.
If I still myself enough, will I feel the next poem emerge? Words that race on by before they’ve had a chance to be heard.
Let me quiet my mind. Give the poem time to be caught. It’s out here this morning. I can sense it just beyond the birdsong, just beyond the rain-washed leaves.
Words playing in the morning air. A poem creating itself for me.
Windows wide open Skies pure blue. It’s January And I’m doing winter The way I want to do.
There will be walks Sometimes on the beach But among the flowers and butterflies Within easy reach.
Windows wide open Smell of citrus fills the air. Back home the temperature plunges But I don’t care I’m not there.
Today, we check in To the place we get to stay. The road trip was fun We saw so much along the way.
But I’m ready, now To stop living in the car. Wearing the same two outfits Creating lunches with apple slices And Granola bars.
Window wide open. Miles traveled, time to think. Freedom is not free these days. Our country on the brinkÂ
But these two aging hippies Protested plenty in our day. Viet Nam and Women’s Rights The length of hair and skirts. Battling government and our parents Demanding freedom till it hurt.
Windows wide open So while we can still stand, We’ll use our freedom To cross over frozen land Away from cold and frozen snow
Windows wide open In the winter of our life We’ll go to a place Where flowers can grow
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.
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.
Tranquil Resources 