There they were, tucked between the red clay, the white lines, the polite applause, and the sudden roar of the crowd - lessons in pressure, resilience, grace, heartbreak, mindfulness, and the strange beauty of starting over.

Sometimes we have to dig deep for the things worth celebrating, because not all victories arrive carrying balloons.

The most essential parts of a life - the quiet ones - are often the hardest to name and the easiest to overlook, to underestimate.

Somewhere nearby, water dripped steadily from a melting snowbank — that unmistakable sound of winter finally loosening its grip.

It felt small, almost insignificant. And yet, somehow, it felt like the beginning of everything.

For two weeks, we practice curiosity over caricature. We cheer for athletes from countries we cannot locate on a map. We grieve with a skater honoring his parents. We admire sacrifice that predates the spotlight.

And because we know their stories, we care.

It’s hard not to notice how much our world needs more of this kind of love right now.

It made me consider how often we hide our own value behind fear or anxiety. How often we mistake visibility for worth. How often we stay safely busy, moving just enough to avoid being fully seen — to avoid the light.

Let this matter.
Let this hold.
Let this feel like love.
And it does.

She made authenticity look effortless. She gave permission for all of us—especially women—to be exactly who we are, without apology or pretense.

It has been a colossal reordering of my world. My friend’s words were spot on.

The quiet times allow me to think, and overthink — guilty as charged — and so I share with you some of my thoughts and insights gifted to me from the sandy shores of a small spit of land 30 miles from the Massachusetts coastline.

Imagine if we could look at our lives through the formidable lens of age, with all the knowledge, experience, and hard-earned wisdom we’ve accumulated through our middle years (okay, maybe our later middle years), and somehow apply it to our past.

What would we change? Would we have made different choices? Would we have lived differently?

This year’s French Open men’s singles final felt like more than just a game. There was something noble and exemplary—not just in their style of play, but also in their respect for each other, for tennis, and for the power of the human spirit.

Photo Credit: Christophe Petit Tesson / EPA

Easter was different this year…and I didn’t like it at all.

Maybe it was the challenge — how could polishing lamps take all winter? — but reluctantly, I decided to give it a go.

There is beauty in contrast. I have been thinking a lot about this idea and how it is applicable to our life and the human experience.

I would like to offer a different perspective - or maybe just a different story - about my relationship with a box of chocolates, and the wisdom I have gained along the way.

What would you do if you weren’t afraid?

What if we could turn back the clock, just a couple of days, and change the outcome. Or maybe retreat even further.

What did we miss? What could we have done differently? 

Gone is that little girl who sat staring down a vegetable at the dinner table. Gone are those stewed sour balls that made me want to gag. I would like to think that we have both matured, changed, and become better versions of our former selves.