I know the difference these days between feeling alone and feeling lonely.  Alone can be spacious. But the lonely? Nobody else can really fill that, nor should they.

I tend to think that I'm often alone in this world. (OK, hold on—if you're a dear friend of mine, I know that I'm not. But the little kid and teenager in me is far stronger some days than the adult who has built a life with amazing friends and a sweet, small family.)

Oh and for the most part, I think most humans are the right people for this work.

And I realized: if I ever seem distracted when I'm in conversation with you, I'm most likely thinking of my family.

My closest friendships these days have very little if any drama—we have emotion but we do not have drama. We address any discomfort in a nanosecond or nanoday depending on our will for confrontation.

There's a particular kind of heartbreak that comes with loving people through our differences - not the small ones, like do you drink coffee or tea, do you push up the sun or stare at the moon, but the deep, values-level differences that make you wonder if you're even living in the same world anymore

Last week, my oldest son came home for a visit. While being on his own (kind of) he asks for a lot less.

In the quiet aftermath of that loss, I found myself thinking about all the forehead kisses that would never come—gentle reminders of connection that had always been our special language of love.

I began a new day job a few weeks ago, and the stories are already writing themselves.

Over the weekend, in a voice memo conversation with a dear friend—a sister to me in this life—she mentioned that her soul is tired.

Life isn't often easy. But in finding what truly resonates – not what we think should resonate – there is a different kind of peace.

Just returning from vacation with my sweet family of four. It takes me a while to settle into vacation. Partly the self-employed gig (insert well-loved hustle) and I think also an unsettledness to letting go of the normal routine of everyday life.

I've spent years sharing my journey - the grief, the joy, the in-between places where most of life happens. I'm able to share in a way that is deeper than some I know. But there are even deeper parts I keep hidden. Locked away. An old survival trick for me that doesn't serve me so much. It lets me be just enough vulnerable. But not so much I risk anything.