Permission to Mourn the Things We’re “Supposed” to Be Over
It’s not the door…
The other day I couldn’t do a very basic handyman task.
Nothing dramatic. A door. A bracket. A nail.
Something that, in my head, should have been easy.
Instead, I lost it.
I was smashing the door with a hammer.
I was yelling.
I was furious — not just annoyed, but that hot, tunnel-vision kind of rage where everything else disappears.
And at some point, I caught myself and thought:
This feels bigger than a door.
So I stopped.
And I asked myself why.
What surprised me wasn’t how quickly the answer came — it was what the answer was.
I realized I wasn’t really mad at the door.
I was mad at my dad.
Mad that he didn’t teach me how to do this.
Mad that he wasn’t there.
Mad that I still feel that absence in moments where it “shouldn’t” matter anymore.
That part stopped me cold.
On paper, this grief doesn’t make sense.
I’m an adult.
I’m capable.
I’ve built a good life.
And yet — there it was.
Why We Need Permission to Mourn the “Old Stuff”
We don’t often give ourselves permission to mourn things that feel outdated or socially awkward to grieve.
We’re supposed to be past them.
We’re supposed to have moved on.
But grief doesn’t care about timelines or logic.
Sometimes it hides in a doorframe.
Sometimes it comes out sideways as rage.
Sometimes it waits until you feel small, stuck, incompetent —
and then it shows up loud.
What I’ve learned (and keep relearning) is that anger is often a messenger.
It’s pointing to something that never got space.
Something that never got named.
When we don’t allow ourselves to mourn what should have been —
a parent who showed up, a skill we wish we had learned,
a version of ourselves that felt supported —
it leaks out anyway.
Usually at the worst possible time.
The Science (Why This Happens)
When we suddenly feel overwhelmed or incompetent, the brain often drops out of logical, problem-solving mode and into threat mode.
Our emotional brain takes over before we’ve had time to think.
Our brains are also incredible at association.
They link now with then.
A stuck screw isn’t just a stuck screw —
it taps into earlier experiences of feeling unsupported, alone, or expected to “figure it out.”
Research on emotional regulation shows:
Emotions that aren’t processed don’t disappear —
they get stored.
And later, when something familiar pokes them,
they come back as anger, shame, or sudden intensity.
This is emotional displacement —
the feelings belong to one situation…
but they show up in another.
Which means:
You’re not overreacting.
You’re reacting to something that never got acknowledged.
This Isn’t About Blame
This isn’t about rewriting the past or blaming parents.
It’s about honesty.
It’s about saying:
Yes — this still hurts.
Yes — this mattered.
Yes — I’m allowed to feel this… even now.
The door eventually got fixed.
The rage passed.
But the grief —
that needed a moment.
Maybe the permission we really need
is simply to notice it
when it shows up…
even if it shows up holding a hammer.
Homework (Gentle. Optional. Real-Life.)
If this resonates, here are small invitations — not fixes.
1️⃣ Name the “This Isn’t About the Door” Moment
Next time you feel a big reaction to a small problem, pause and ask:
What else might this be about?
You don’t need an answer.
Just ask.
2️⃣ Finish the Sentence
Say or write:
“I’m really upset about ___, but I think part of this is about ___.”
No judging. No editing.
3️⃣ A 60-Second Grief Window
Give the feeling one minute.
No solutions.
Just acknowledgment.
Grief often softens once it’s witnessed.
4️⃣ Remind Yourself
Say (out loud if you can):
“It makes sense that this showed up.”
Because most of the time —
it does.
Final Line
Sometimes mourning what should have been
is the most honest form of healing.
And sometimes…
that’s enough for now.
A Season of Fewer Tabs
A Season of Fewer Tabs
I’m bad at this.
Let’s just start there.
I am not naturally good at slowing down, doing less, or deciding that something is finished. My brain is always quietly… and loudly… asking:
“Okay… but what’s next?”
Even when things are good.
Especially when things are good.
And honestly? I see the same thing happening in schools all the time.
More programs.
More data.
More emails.
More interventions.
More enrichment.
More clubs.
More reminders to “just push through a little longer.”
Somewhere along the way, “doing enough” stopped feeling like enough.
The Tab Problem
Recently I realized my brain feels like my laptop when I have too many tabs open.
Nothing is technically broken —
but everything is slower.
A little glitchy.
Slightly overheating.
Constantly humming in the background.
That’s what happens when we keep adding… without ever closing.
And here’s the part I don’t love admitting:
I often confuse being busy with being responsible.
If I’m doing more → I must be trying hard.
If I’m tired → it must mean I care.
If I can’t sleep → it’s probably because I haven’t figured it all out yet.
Spoiler: that’s not how sleep works.
What This Does to Sleep
When we don’t give ourselves permission to stop,
our brain never gets the signal that it’s safe to power down.
So at night, instead of rest, we get:
Mental replay
To-do list reruns
Conversations that already happened
Conversations that might happen
A strong urge to solve everything at 11:47 PM
It’s not because we’re bad at sleeping.
It’s because our nervous system still thinks we’re… on.
The Science (Friendly Version)
There’s a reason we stay busy — and it’s not because we love exhaustion.
From a psychological lens:
Being busy gives us predictability
Productivity provides short-term relief
Constant motion keeps us from sitting with discomfort
Our brains are wired to avoid uncertainty.
Stillness removes distraction — which means we suddenly hear the thoughts we’ve been dodging:
Am I doing enough?
What if I disappoint someone?
What if I stop and realize I’m overwhelmed?
What if… I don’t like how this feels?
Busyness becomes a coping strategy —
a socially approved one.
And in schools, this shows up as:
Over-programming
Overscheduling
Adults modeling exhaustion as commitment
Kids learning early that rest is something you earn, not something you need
When Enough Is… Enough
The hard question is never:
“What else should we add?”
The harder one is:
“What could we stop doing and still be okay?”
Or even scarier:
“What if we stopped… and nothing bad happened?”
A season of fewer tabs doesn’t mean giving up.
It means choosing intentionally.
Capacity is not unlimited — for adults or kids.
Sometimes the healthiest move
is closing something gently and saying:
“This is enough for now.”
Homework (Gentle, I Promise)
1️⃣ The Tab Audit
Write down 5 things currently taking up mental space.
Ask:
• Does this still matter?
• Is this mine to carry?
• Could this wait?
Close one tab. Just one.
2️⃣ The “Enough” Sentence
Once a day, finish:
“Today, enough looked like ______.”
No fixing.
No improving.
Just noticing.
3️⃣ The Nighttime Test
If sleep has been hard, ask:
“What am I afraid will happen if I stop thinking about this tonight?”
You don’t have to answer it.
Simply naming it is powerful.
🤍 Final Thought
I don’t have this figured out.
I’m practicing it alongside everyone else.
But I’m learning that:
Rest isn’t laziness
Slowing down isn’t quitting
And fewer tabs doesn’t mean fewer things matter
Sometimes it just means
we’re finally giving our brain — and our body —
permission to breathe.
And honestly?
That feels like enough for now.
Instead of a New Year’s Resolution, I’m Choosing a Direction
Every January, there’s a pressure to reinvent yourself.
New habits.
New routines.
A cleaner, calmer, more “together” version of you.
And look — I like growth. I like reflection. I really like a good fresh-start feeling.
But I’ve learned something about myself:
The moment my goals start sounding like rules,
I stop enjoying them.
And when I stop enjoying them?
I either rebel… or burn out.
So this year, I’m not doing strict resolutions.
I’m choosing a direction.
Not a checklist.
Not a streak.
Just a general way I want my life to lean.
The Direction I’m Aiming For
This year, I want to move toward what feels good — not in a reckless way, but in a listening way.
That looks like:
More time with people who make me feel like myself.
The ones I don’t perform for.
The ones I laugh easier around.
The ones I leave feeling grounded instead of drained.
Eating healthier — without turning food into a morality test.
More meals that actually fuel me.
More awareness of how food makes me feel.
And also…
yes — getting the milkshake sometimes.
Because joy is not a dietary failure.
Being on my phone less.
Not because phones are evil —
but because I don’t want my life to be something I scroll past.
I want more moments I’m in,
not just documenting
or distracting myself from.
None of these are rules.
They’re nudges.
Why Direction Works Better Than Resolutions
Resolutions tend to ask:
“Did you do it perfectly?”
Direction asks:
“Are you generally heading the way you want to go?”
If I eat well most days but get ice cream with a friend —
that still counts.
If I catch myself scrolling and put the phone down —
that counts.
If I choose connection over productivity once in a while —
that really counts.
A direction leaves room for being human.
How This Shows Up in Real Life
I’m not aiming for a perfectly balanced year.
I’m aiming for a year where I notice how I feel more often.
Where I ask myself:
“Do I want to be doing this right now?”
“Who do I want to share this with?”
“Is this helping — or just filling space?”
Sometimes the answer will be:
This is good.
Sometimes:
This can wait.
And sometimes:
Yes. Absolutely. Get the milkshake.
A Small Invitation (No Pressure)
If you want to try this instead of resolutions, ask yourself:
“What do I want more of this year — and what do I want a little less of?”
Not forever.
Not perfectly.
Just… more and less.
You can write it down.
Or don’t.
You’re allowed to adjust as you go.
Final Line
I’m heading into this year aiming for good people, decent food, fewer scrolls, and a little more ease.
No big promises.
Just a direction.
See you next week.
Who Cares? (In the Kindest Way Possible)
The other night after a show, a woman in the crowd shared something quietly and honestly.
She said she wished she could sing or dance in front of people—but she was too afraid of being judged.
Not “I can’t.”… “I’m scared.”
That stuck with me.
Because that fear isn’t really about singing or dancing. It’s about being seen. It’s about worrying what other people might think if we show a piece of ourselves that isn’t polished, practiced, or approved.
And it brought me back to a moment years ago when I was making art alongside a well-established artist. Her work was confident, effortless, clearly shaped by years of experience. Mine felt small in comparison.
I remember staring at my piece and thinking, Why am I even doing this?
I wanted to throw it away before anyone noticed it.
She looked at me, then at my work, and said something I’ve carried with me ever since:
“Art is for you.
This is how you see butterflies.
And that’s what matters.”
We weren’t making “good” butterflies.
We were making our butterflies.
And that’s when it clicked.
Who cares?
Not in a dismissive way.
Not in a “nothing matters” way.
But in a gentle way.
A way that says:
We’re all just working our way through life the best we can.
What “Who Cares” Really Means
When I say who cares, I don’t mean:
Stop trying
Be reckless
Nothing matters anyway
I mean:
You don’t have to carry imagined judgment
You don’t need universal approval
You’re allowed to exist imperfectly
Most of us aren’t afraid of failing.
We’re afraid of being evaluated while we try.
But here’s the truth we forget:
Everyone else is doing the same thing…figuring it out as they go, hiding their own doubts, hoping they’re “doing it right.”
Who cares if your art isn’t the best in the room?
Who cares if your voice shakes?
Who cares if your version looks different?
Not because it’s meaningless…but because it’s human.
The Science of Fear (and Why It Feels So Loud)
Fear isn’t a personal flaw. It’s biology.
Your brain’s alarm system—the amygdala—exists to keep you safe. The problem is that it reacts to social threat the same way it reacts to physical danger.
Judgment, embarrassment, rejection?
Your nervous system reads those as risk.
So when you think about:
singing
dancing
creating
sharing
Your body reacts before your logic catches up.
Fear says: “Don’t do this.”
Not because it’s dangerous,but because it’s unfamiliar.
And your brain would rather keep you comfortable than help you grow.
A Softer Way to Move Through Fear
Instead of trying to “beat” fear, try walking with it.
1. Shrink the moment
You don’t have to perform.
Create where no one else is watching.
Fear learns through experience,not pressure.
2. Name what you’re actually afraid of
Often it’s not the act itself.
It’s:
being judged
being compared
being misunderstood
Naming fear turns it from a monster into information.
3. Ask the real question
Not “Is this good?”
But “Is this mine?”
That’s where freedom lives.
4. Practice “who cares” on purpose
When the critical voice shows up, try responding with:
“Maybe. And I’ll be okay anyway.”
That’s not giving up.
That’s letting go.
The Homework (Low Pressure, High Permission)
This week, do one small thing just for you.
Sing.
Draw.
Dance.
Write.
Create.
No fixing. No sharing. No improving.
Afterward, ask yourself:
What was I worried would happen?
What actually happened?
Did the fear pass?
How did my body feel afterward?
Let the answer matter more than the outcome.
Because life isn’t about doing it perfectly.
It’s about doing it honestly.
And maybe the kindest thing we can remind ourselves is this:
Who cares?
We’re all just doing our best—
and that’s what’s important.
The Kindness That Kids Teach Us
There is something about December in an elementary school that feels electric. The hallways buzz a little louder. The artwork gets brighter. The mornings move faster. Everyone is tired and excited at the same time. The adults feel it. The kids feel it even more.
But every Wednesday morning, just when the week feels like it is sliding into the usual holiday chaos, the coffee cart rolls in and everything shifts.
They burst through the door with these huge smiles. Some of them sprint. Some walk in like they are clocking in for the best job of their lives. They grab aprons. They fix their hair. They ask who gets to push which cart. They practice their greetings. And they are so proud. So excited. So ready to make someone’s day, even if they do not fully understand how much they make mine.
It is honestly one of the sweetest things I get to witness all week.
And I forget sometimes. I forget that not every adult gets to see pure kindness in action. I forget that the joy these kids bring is not promised. I forget that their excitement to serve a cup of coffee to a teacher or hand over hot chocolate to a guest teacher is something rare. I forget that their enthusiasm is a kindness all its own.
Kids do not overcomplicate kindness. They do not plan it. They do not schedule it. They feel it and they offer it freely.
And it is not random. There is science behind why kids are so good at this.
The Science of Why Kids Are So Kind
Children are wired for prosocial behavior. Research from developmental psychology shows that even toddlers will help someone pick up dropped items or comfort someone who looks upset. Their brains are still developing the systems that support empathy, emotional regulation, and perspective-taking, but the instinct to connect is already there.
In fact:
Kids notice emotions more than adults.
Studies show that children track facial expressions, tone of voice, and emotional cues closely because they are learning how the world works through relationships. This makes them naturally tuned toward others.
Helping releases reward chemicals in a child’s brain.
Kindness activates dopamine and endorphins, which is why kids often get excited to help. The coffee cart is not just a routine. It is a weekly hit of positive reinforcement that shapes their identity as helpers.
Social modeling is powerful in schools.
Children watch adults and peers closely. When they see teachers thank them, smile at them, or show appreciation, it wires kindness as a normal part of community life. They learn that helping feels good and that they belong.
Predictable routines make kindness easier.
A simple Wednesday ritual gives kids a safe platform to practice prosocial behavior every week. They learn greetings. They learn turn-taking. They learn how it feels to brighten someone’s morning.
What feels like a small moment to us is actually building neural pathways for empathy, confidence, and connection.
The Reminder I Needed
I think about how often I take these moments for granted. How I walk into Wednesdays thinking about the meetings I have, the emails I need to answer, the reports I need to write. Then these kids show up. They look me right in the eye with complete presence and no hesitation. They are excited about a morning routine that many adults would sleepwalk through. They remind me to wake up to my own life.
Kindness is their first language. Connection is the second. They pour those things into every cup they hand out. No one trains them to care like this. They just do.
The holidays can be overwhelming for a lot of kids and adults. There is a lot to manage. A lot to feel. A lot to navigate. But the coffee cart reminds me of a truth I tend to forget. Kids do not need us to create magic for them. They already carry magic with them. All we have to do is notice it.
This time of year, when everything speeds up, the kids slow me down in the best way. They bring me back to kindness. They bring me back to presence. They bring me back to the simple joy of being part of a community that tries each day to make things better for each other.
And as we head into the rest of December, their excitement is the thing I am holding on to. It is the reminder I needed. The gentle one I probably would have missed if I had not stopped long enough to see it.
Kids teach kindness without ever trying. We just have to pay attention.
You’re Allowed to Outgrow Things
There is a strange feeling that comes from rereading the same chapter of a book again and again. At first it feels comforting. You know the lines. You know where the story is going. But eventually you start to feel it: there is nothing new to discover. The story is stuck. You are stuck. And the more you sit with it, the more you realize you are ready for the next page, even if you are nervous to turn it.
Life has chapters like that too. Seasons you have loved. Roles that once felt perfect. People or routines that helped you grow. But after a while, something shifts inside you. You learn less. You feel inspired less. You can sense yourself stretching past the edges of what used to fit. These shifts are quiet at first, but they always get louder.
That is usually the moment people freeze. We assume the familiar is supposed to last forever, even when our spirit has already begun to move on.
The Band That I Outgrew
I felt this most clearly with a band I used to be in. At one point in my life, it meant everything. It gave me belonging and direction. It helped shape who I was becoming. But as time went on, I started to feel the disconnect. The people in it wanted different things. The energy was not the same. And the part of me that used to leave rehearsals feeling alive started leaving feeling drained.
It was confusing. It was sad. It was uncomfortable to admit that something I cared about so deeply was no longer a fit for who I was becoming. It did not end in a dramatic way. There was no fight or explosion. It was simply the truth that the chapter had stopped growing with me.
Did I regret leaving in the moment? Yes. Do I still think about it sometimes? Of course. Every meaningful chapter leaves a mark. But staying would have been like rereading a page I already knew by heart. The only way forward was to let myself turn the page.
Outgrowing Something Does Not Mean It Failed
People often treat outgrowing as abandoning, but they are not the same. You can appreciate something and still recognize that it no longer fits. You can love the memories and still choose a new direction. You can be grateful for what something gave you and still give yourself permission to grow past it.
Growth looks like:
• realizing something that once filled your bucket now leaves it empty
• wanting different things than you used to
• feeling restless in a place that used to feel safe
• noticing your energy pulling you somewhere new
None of those signs mean something is wrong. They simply mean you are changing.
The Psychology of Turning the Page
Identity is not something you choose once. It is something you revise throughout your life. Your brain continuously updates based on experiences, relationships, and the values you uncover as you move forward. So when a chapter stops matching those internal shifts, you feel it.
Restlessness.
Boredom.
A tightness in your chest you cannot quite name.
A sense of living a life that used to be yours but is not anymore.
These feelings are not failures. They are invitations.
You Are Allowed to Move Forward
You do not owe the world the older version of you. You do not have to stay inside chapters that no longer feel alive. There is no award for holding onto something past its time. There is only the cost of shrinking yourself to make the past comfortable.
You are allowed to grow.
You are allowed to want something else.
You are allowed to choose the next version of yourself.
You are allowed to change the shell you have been living in.
You do not need permission, but if you want it, here it is:
You are allowed to outgrow things, even good things.
A Small Challenge
Think about one part of your life that feels like rereading the same chapter. A habit, a routine, a relationship, a commitment, or an identity you have carried for years. Ask yourself if it still matches who you are now.
Then ask the next question:
If you met yourself today for the first time, would you choose this chapter again?
If the answer is no, maybe it is time to turn the page.
The Quiet Kind of Gratitude
Gratitude hits differently as you get older.
It stops being something you list in a journal or talk about around the holidays. It becomes quieter. Heavier. More honest. Something you feel humming in the background of your life without needing to announce it.
For me, gratitude almost always circles back to my mom.
She was never the type to point out her sacrifices or make her support about her. She just showed up. Over and over, in ways I didn’t fully understand until much later.
I think about being 13 years old, guitar case bigger than I was, playing tiny shows in restaurants and cafés where the “stage” was just a corner with one flickering bulb. Somehow, she drove me to every single one. Weeknights. Weekends. Snowstorms. Long days. She sat in the back, smiling even when I was shaky or unsure — like the music mattered simply because I cared about it.
I think about graduations, too, every milestone, every ceremony, every moment when the future felt both exciting and terrifying. She was there for all of it. Fully present. Fully steady.
And then there were the smaller things, the things that shouldn’t matter as much as they do, but somehow do anyway.
The dessert samplers she’d bring home when she could tell I needed something comforting.
The quiet moments when life felt heavy.
The subtle reminders that someone was rooting for me.
It wasn’t about the desserts.
It was the message behind them:
I see you. I’m with you. I’m not going anywhere.
The older I get, the more I appreciate that consistency.
Because she didn’t just show up when I was thriving.
She showed up when I wasn’t.
She supported the version of me that felt proud and confident, and the version that felt lost, overwhelmed, or unsure who I was supposed to be. So much of who I am today, how I care for people, how I show up for my students, how I handle setbacks, how I try to lead with compassion, it comes directly from her quiet, steady influence.
That’s the kind of gratitude that stays with you.
Not performative.
Not seasonal.
But lived.
The Science of Quiet Gratitude (and How to Practice It Daily)
One thing I’ve learned both personally and through my work is that gratitude doesn’t have to be loud to be powerful. In fact, research shows that the quietest forms of gratitude often do the most good.
Psychologists call this trait gratitude, the ability to consistently notice the good in your life, even in small doses. People who cultivate trait gratitude tend to have:
lower stress and anxiety
better emotional regulation
stronger, more trusting relationships
higher resilience during difficult seasons
And you don’t develop trait gratitude through a once-a-year reflection.
You build it the same way my mom showed up for me, through small, steady moments that add up over time.
Quiet gratitude looks like:
noticing the first warm sip of coffee (If you drink it, hot chocolate for those who like the good stuff)
taking a breath before walking into work and recognizing one thing that feels okay today
paying attention to someone’s softened tone when they speak to you
letting a moment of support actually sink in
remembering who has shown up for you without being asked
Research is clear on this:
You don’t have to feel overwhelmed with gratitude for it to count.
You just have to notice.
Noticing is the practice.
And the practice compounds.
A tiny moment today becomes a little more awareness tomorrow.
A little more grounding next week.
A little more emotional space when life gets chaotic.
For me, quiet gratitude shows up when I think about my mom in those passing moments — when I feel supported, or proud, or when I show up for someone else the way she showed up for me.
It’s not loud.
It’s not dramatic.
But it’s real.
And it changes the way I move through the world.
A Challenge for the Week
Think of the person who has shown up for you in every season — the one who cheered when you were thriving and stayed steady when you weren’t.
Reach out.
Tell them.
Say thank you.
Sometimes gratitude isn’t about grand gestures.
It’s about acknowledging the quiet, consistent love that shaped you — whether you realized it at the time or not.
Surround Yourself With What You Love
There’s a certain kind of peace that only arrives when you’re doing something you truly love—the kind of thing that steadies you, grounds you, and reminds you who you really are. For me, that has always been music. Not just playing it, not just listening to it, but living inside it. And it took me years to realize this: when you find something that lights you up, you owe it to yourself to build a life around it, even in small, intentional ways.
That truth hit me harder than ever on a night deep in the mountains.
I had recently connected with an incredible musician—one of those rare people who makes you stop and think, How does someone create something that beautiful? When she invited me to see her perform at a tiny retreat in the forest, I didn’t hesitate. So I drove. The road wound through tall, dark pines as the sky cracked open above me. The stars were unreal that night, sharp, bright, endless. It felt like the universe was quietly nudging me forward.
Eventually, a small cabin appeared between the trees, its windows glowing like a secret tucked into the mountains.
Inside were maybe twenty people total. Strangers, technically, but somehow familiar people who clearly loved something deeply, whether it was music, storytelling, creativity, or simply being present. I was handed hot cider, and a table nearby was scattered with chocolate-covered caramels, ripe for the taking. Everyone tucked into mismatched chairs and blankets as the wind pressed gently on the wooden walls.
When she started to play, the entire room shifted. Her voice filled the space in a soft, powerful way that made everything else fall away. It didn’t feel like a performance; it felt like being invited into something intimate and meaningful. One of those moments you probably shouldn’t take pictures of… even though I still grabbed a few little videos, just to remember how it felt.
Driving home, I realized something simple but important: you don’t have to reinvent your whole life to feel connected or alive. You just have to keep choosing what you love. Choose it in big ways. Choose it in tiny ways. Choose it in spontaneous drives through mountain roads to hear someone sing in a cabin you didn’t know existed.
Because when you surround yourself with what you love with the people, the places, the moments that fill you instead of drain you, your whole world expands. Your heart softens. Life stops feeling like something you’re tolerating and starts feeling like something you’re shaping.
That night wasn’t unforgettable because of the stars or the cider or the caramels—though all of those helped. It was unforgettable because it reminded me of a truth I forget too often: you deserve to feel connected to the things that make you feel most like yourself.
And when you surround yourself with what you love, everything else seems to fall a little more into place.
Challenge of the Week: Choose Your Thing
Somewhere in your week, carve out one hour, just one, for something you genuinely love.
Not something you “should” do.
Not something for someone else.
Not something productive.
Something that lights you up.
Put your phone down.
Say no to guilt.
Let yourself enjoy the thing that makes you feel most like you.
Surround yourself with what you love, even briefly, and see what shifts.
Tiny in the Best Way: Finding Peace in Insignificance
Last week I sat in the Strawberry Park Hot Springs, steam rising into the cold mountain air, staring up at a sky that looked infinite. It was the kind of Colorado night that feels too big for your thoughts—like the stars themselves are daring you to zoom out.
And as I floated there, I started thinking about how small I really am.
Not in a hopeless way. Not in a “nothing matters” way. In a freeing way.
Because earlier that day, I was frustrated.
My plans hadn’t gone the way I imagined. Something I’d worked on fell flat. My team lost. It’s amazing how quickly the little things we can’t control can start to feel enormous—like the whole world hinges on them.
But under that sky, they all felt microscopic.
The universe didn’t care that my day wasn’t perfect.
The stars didn’t blink any dimmer because I was irritated.
Everything just kept moving—and somehow that was comforting.
Reflection: The Freedom of Smallness
We spend so much time trying to make everything big.
Big goals. Big days. Big emotions.
But what if peace comes from realizing how little we actually control?
When you let yourself feel small, you make space for wonder. You stop demanding the world revolve around your plans and start noticing the beauty that’s been spinning there all along.
That doesn’t mean your problems don’t matter—it just means they don’t define you.
They’re passing clouds. And the stars? They’ve seen worse days.
Challenge of the Week: Find Your Sky Moment
This week, give yourself permission to zoom out.
Step outside one night and just look up.
Or sit quietly somewhere that reminds you how vast life is—mountains, oceans, or even a still backyard.
Let yourself feel tiny, and see if that smallness brings a kind of peace.
The funny thing about insignificance is that when you accept it, you often feel more connected—to everything.
Laughter in Life: The Medicine We Forget to Take
There’s a kind of laughter that completely takes over, the kind that makes your face hurt, your eyes water, and your stomach ache in the best possible way. The kind where you can’t stop, even if you try. For a few minutes, the whole world feels lighter.
I’ll never forget one night with the band, we were running late, tired, and a little stressed. Someone cracked a joke, then someone added to it, and before long we were gone. Full-on, can’t-breathe, pull-the-car-over laughter. I had to stop driving because I literally couldn’t see through the tears.
In that moment, we weren’t adults with bills or a band worried about being late. We were just friends, fully ourselves, laughing until we ached. And when we finally made it to the show, it ended up being one of our best performances ever. The crowd could feel it: the joy, the connection, the looseness that only comes when you’ve truly let go.
The Walls We Build
That’s what laughter does. It breaks down the invisible walls we build to stay “composed.” When you’re brave enough to laugh at yourself and with your people you’re showing the world that you’re safe to be real.
That kind of openness is contagious. It’s trust in action.
A Coping Skill in Disguise
Laughter is one of the most underrated coping skills we have. It doesn’t fix our problems, but it helps us carry them. It reminds us that even when life feels heavy, we don’t have to be heavy all the time.
In my work as a psychologist, I see it every day — kids who giggle their way through hard conversations, or adults who make self-deprecating jokes to survive tough days. Sometimes it’s avoidance, sure. But often, it’s resilience.
Humor gives our brains a breather. It helps us zoom out and remember that life is more than the moment we’re stuck in.
The Science of a Good Laugh
When we laugh, our body literally changes chemistry. Stress hormones drop. Dopamine rises. Our brains rewire toward calm and connection.
We think clearer. We connect deeper. We breathe again.
It’s easy to take ourselves too seriously — to replay mistakes, obsess over what people think, or overanalyze every decision. But laughter cuts through that noise. It reminds us that perfection was never the point.
Letting Go of the Straight Face
Life isn’t meant to be endured straight-faced. It’s meant to be lived — awkwardly and joyfully — with a little laughter echoing in the background.
So laugh at the weird moments. Laugh at your typos. Laugh when plans fall apart or when your dog steals your sandwich.
Humor doesn’t erase the hard stuff — it just reminds you that you’re still here, still capable of joy, still floating through it all.
Challenge of the Week
Pay attention to the moments that make you laugh — especially the unexpected ones.
Then, create one. Watch a funny video, share a ridiculous meme, or call a friend who always cracks you up.
Let yourself laugh until you cry, or at least until you forget what you were worrying about.
Because laughter isn’t a distraction from life — it’s proof that you’re alive.
When the Anger Hits: What’s Really Going On Beneath the Surface
The other night at basketball, I lost it.
Not in a “threw a chair and stormed off” kind of way — but in the quieter, more adult version of losing it. You know, the one where you stew in silence, mutter things under your breath, maybe even snap at a teammate.
My shots weren’t landing, I was playing sloppy defense, and worst of all, I knew better. I knew what I should’ve done differently, but that only made me angrier.
By the end of the game, I was exhausted — not from running, but from fighting myself. I wanted to throw the ball, curse the rim, and crawl into my hoodie.
What Anger Really Is
Anger is one of those emotions that feels like it’s about everyone else — the ref, the teammate, the traffic, the world. But if we pause long enough, we usually realize something uncomfortable: it’s rarely about them.
Anger is often a bodyguard for more vulnerable feelings — embarrassment, fear, shame, disappointment. It steps in when we feel exposed. It says, “I’ll take it from here,” and suddenly our body is flooded with adrenaline, our heart rate spikes, and logic takes a back seat.
It’s biology, not badness.
When we feel threatened (even emotionally), the amygdala in our brain activates our fight-or-flight system. Cortisol and adrenaline rush in. Muscles tense. Breathing shortens. It’s not evil — it’s protective. The problem is, sometimes that protection kicks in when we just missed a layup.
How to Catch It Before It Catches You
Breathe like you mean it.
Not the fake “I took a deep breath” kind. The real kind — in through your nose, out through your mouth, until your shoulders actually drop. Breathing tells your body the danger has passed.
Take space.
Literally move. Step off the court. Walk around the block. Wash your hands in cold water. Give your body a chance to cool before your brain comes back online.
Ask, “What am I really mad about?”
Spoiler: it’s usually not the missed shot or the bad pass. It’s the story underneath — “I should be better,” “I hate letting people down,” or “I don’t like feeling out of control.” Once you name that story, the anger loses its grip.
Talk to yourself like a teammate.
After my meltdown, I realized I’d been saying things to myself I’d never say to anyone else. “You’re terrible.” “You’re embarrassing.” Imagine if I said that to someone on my team. They’d walk off the court. So why do we think it’s okay to talk that way to ourselves?
Turning Anger Into Insight
Anger isn’t something to erase; it’s something to understand. It’s our mind’s way of saying, “Hey — something hurts.”
When we learn to listen instead of explode, we get to find out what hurts, and why.
That night, after cooling down, I realized I wasn’t angry about the game at all. I was angry because I cared. I wanted to play well. I wanted to feel competent. And when I didn’t, I turned that care into criticism.
Next week, I’ll probably still miss shots. I’ll probably still get frustrated. But I’m hoping I’ll breathe a little sooner, talk to myself a little kinder, and remember — the goal isn’t to be perfect. It’s to stay curious, even when you’re mad.
Your Challenge This Week
Next time you feel your temperature rising — whether it’s in traffic, at work, or on the court — try this three-step reset:
Pause and breathe. Feel your feet on the ground.
Name what’s really under it. Is it frustration, fear, embarrassment, or pressure?
Choose curiosity over criticism. Ask yourself, “What is this moment trying to teach me?”
You might still feel mad — that’s okay. The goal isn’t to erase anger; it’s to turn it into awareness.
Because every flare-up is really just a reminder: you care deeply.
And that’s not something to be ashamed of.
The Gift of Getting It Wrong
We all make mistakes. It’s one of the few guarantees in life.
We say the wrong thing, misjudge a situation, take the long way when the shortcut was right there.
And yet, for something so universal, mistakes can feel heavy — like proof that we’re not as capable as we hoped.
But here’s the truth: mistakes don’t define who we are — they reveal who we’re becoming.
Every time we fall short, we’re handed an invitation to pause, reflect, and grow. It’s uncomfortable, sure, but it’s also where the real learning happens.
The Happy Accident That Changed the World
I once heard a story about a scientist named Alexander Fleming.
He was researching bacteria in the 1920s when he accidentally left one of his petri dishes uncovered. When he came back, he found that mold had grown on it — and the mold was killing the bacteria around it.
That “mistake” became penicillin, the first antibiotic, and went on to save millions of lives.
It’s a perfect reminder that sometimes the best things start with something going wrong.
A project that fails can spark a better idea.
A rejection can lead to the right opportunity.
Even a tough conversation can teach us empathy and honesty.
Lessons in Every Stumble
Mistakes don’t define us — they guide us.
They’re not proof that we’ve failed; they’re lessons waiting to be learned.
Every stumble shapes us into someone wiser, stronger, and more compassionate. When we stop fearing mistakes and start learning from them, we begin to see them for what they really are: opportunities to grow.
💡 This Week’s Challenge
Think back to a time you got something wrong — big or small.
Instead of replaying it, ask yourself:
👉 What did this teach me?
👉 What strength or insight came from that experience that I wouldn’t have gained otherwise?
Then give yourself credit for growing through it.
Because getting it wrong might just be how we start getting it right.
Take the Leap: The Power of Healthy Risk
When’s the last time you took a chance? Stepped out of your comfort zone and tried something you were afraid to do?
Have you ever just said yes to those plans? Jumped feet-first into a new hobby? Maybe you took a new route home, struck up a conversation with someone new, or finally shared something you’ve been creating in secret.
Healthy risk-taking is a powerful way to mix up our routines, add excitement when we’re feeling stuck, and open up our world. Growth doesn’t come from staying safe and comfortable — it comes from leaning into the unknown, even just a little.
Think about the people we admire most: innovators, artists, athletes, leaders. None of them got there by playing it safe. Oprah Winfrey was once told she wasn’t “fit for TV.” Instead of giving up, she leaned into what made her unique, empathy, curiosity, and authenticity and changed television forever. Michael Jordan was cut from his high school basketball team before becoming a legend. Steve Jobs famously said, “Innovation distinguishes between a leader and a follower.”
Healthy risk doesn’t always guarantee success but it always guarantees movement. And movement is where growth lives.
When I was in high school, a teacher once told our class we could do whatever we wanted for our final project as long as we tried our best and connected with it.
“You could even write a song,” he said casually.
I remember thinking, Wait… I could make a song for school? That one small invitation changed the trajectory of my life.
The first lesson was realizing I could think outside the box and it would be okay, even if it didn’t go perfectly. The second was realizing I could connect my passions with my practice. Fast forward 18 years, and I’ve built a career intertwining music and psychology creating social-emotional songs and videos that teach kids about feelings, kindness, and confidence.
It all started with one small risk raising my hand and saying, “Okay, I’ll try something different.”
So, what’s your version of that?
Maybe you love drawing but have never tried ceramics, dip your toes in and see what happens. Maybe you love running but have always wanted to join a group race. Or maybe your healthy risk is emotional, reaching out to someone you’ve lost touch with, applying for that opportunity you’ve been overthinking, or sharing your creativity with others.
Your Challenge
This week, take one healthy risk, something that feels just outside your comfort zone but still safe enough to try. It might not go perfectly, and that’s okay. The goal isn’t success, it’s courage.
Write it down, reflect on how it felt, and remind yourself:
Growth doesn’t happen by standing still.
Pause, Reflect, and Be Grateful
Finding Gratitude in the Everyday
This morning, as I drove into work, I was completely taken aback by the mountains. The way the light shimmered across them like a movie screen, the fluffy pink clouds hovering just above, and the small patches of snow still clinging to their peaks—it all stopped me in my tracks.
It made me realize how often I take for granted the incredible things around us. Sometimes it’s the landscapes, sometimes it’s the simple comforts like heat, a warm bed, or food in the fridge. But more often, it’s the people—the ones who care for us, show kindness even when we forget to show it back, and stand by us simply because we’re part of each other’s lives.
What Is Gratitude and Why Does It Matter
Gratitude is the practice of noticing and appreciating the good that already exists. It shifts our focus from what’s missing to what’s present. Research shows that practicing gratitude improves mood, reduces stress, strengthens relationships, and even boosts physical health. It’s not about ignoring the hard stuff; it’s about balancing our view of the world so that joy doesn’t get lost in the noise.
Why We Forget to Show Gratitude
Life moves fast. Between to-do lists, routines, and stress, it’s easy to overlook the moments that deserve recognition. We assume people know how much they mean to us. We rush past small beauties—a smile, a sunrise, a quiet moment of comfort—because our minds are already on what’s next. Gratitude requires pause, presence, and a bit of humility.
Gratitude Activities for Kids and Adults
For Kids:
Try creating a Gratitude Garden. Give children a blank sheet of paper and have them draw a field of flowers. In each flower, they can write or draw something they’re grateful for—friends, family, pets, pizza, laughter, anything. The more flowers they add, the more colorful and beautiful the garden becomes. It’s a gentle reminder that our lives bloom with goodness when we notice it.
For Adults:
A simple gratitude journal works wonders. At the end of each day, take a few quiet minutes to write down three things you’re thankful for, no matter how small. A warm cup of coffee, a kind text, a laugh you didn’t expect. I write in mine nightly and it helps me reflect, reset, and remind myself of the good that unfolded in the middle of an ordinary day.
Pause and Reflect
Today, take a moment to slow down and notice the little things. The person who holds the door. A stranger who says good morning. A friendly wave from across the street. Then think about the bigger things—the friends who support you, the parents or mentors who helped you get where you are, the people who believed in you when you doubted yourself. And finally, give yourself a moment of gratitude too. You’ve come a long way, learned so much, and you keep showing up. That deserves a deep breath, a small smile, and a quiet thank you to yourself.
Gratitude doesn’t need to be grand or poetic; it just needs to be honest. The more we practice it, the more we start to see beauty everywhere: in the light on the mountains, the kindness of a friend, or the comfort of coming home at the end of a long day.
Unplugging: Finding Connection Beyond the Screen
On Saturday, I walked 28,900 steps, and the entire time, I was unplugged from my phone. Later that night, my phone reminded me of something shocking: my average screen time is 7 hours and 16 minutes a day. That’s nearly a full workday spent staring at a screen.
We’ve become so attached to our phones that they’re practically extensions of ourselves. Whether it’s mindless scrolling, catching up on the news, or sending memes and reels back and forth with friends, our screens often get in the way of real connection.
That day, as I walked those 28,000 steps alongside a friend, something clicked. This was connection—laughing together in real time, seeing their smile, hearing their tone, noticing the pauses and the jokes.
We walked through the zoo, watched skateboarders and bicyclists, heard children laughing and dogs barking, smelled freshly baked cookies, and even took our shoes off to feel the grass under our feet. For once, all five senses were fully engaged.
So often, we just coast. We set our minds on autopilot, get lost in routine, and wake up one day saying, “Where has the time gone?” or “It’s been years!” Much of that time has quietly disappeared into our screens, swallowed by the illusion of “staying connected” while we drift away from the world around us.
Why Our Phones Feel So Addictive
Our phones are built to capture and hold our attention. Every ping, notification, and scroll is carefully designed to give us small bursts of dopamine, the brain’s reward chemical.
When we see likes, messages, or breaking news, our brains light up just enough to keep us coming back. Over time, we start to crave those tiny hits of stimulation. But like any quick fix, they leave us feeling emptier in the long run—less grounded, less present, less fulfilled.
The more we chase digital connection, the more we risk losing the real thing.
Walking all day reminded me of a simpler time, a time when boredom wasn’t something to escape, but an invitation to explore. We didn’t need constant entertainment in our hands because the world itself was enough. The truth is, it still is.
The real world, full of smells, sounds, sights, and spontaneous conversations, is waiting for us to show up again.
After that long walk, I realized how much I’ve been burying myself in work and distractions, head down, missing the beauty right in front of me.
This Week’s Challenge
Try unplugging, even for a few hours.
Spend time with a friend without checking your phone
Go for a walk and engage all five senses—what do you see, smell, hear, feel, taste?
Reconnect with the world and people around you in real life
Let’s practice being fully present, not just online, but right here, where life is actually happening.
Ever held a grudge so long it started holding you?
Grudges
Have you ever been so angry when someone does something you don’t like? Maybe you just can’t forgive that guy who made your space messy, or that girl who grabbed the last scoop of your favorite ice cream flavor. Grudges are sticky—they cling to us like bubblegum and can be really hard to peel off.
The thing is, those heavy feelings take up so much space in our bodies and our minds that sometimes, there’s no room left for the good stuff—peace, gratitude, joy, and connection.
This week was Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish New Year. It’s a time for reflection, forgiveness, and fresh starts. It’s about releasing the past, seeking reconciliation, and healing relationships—including the one you have with yourself. Because let’s be honest: some of the deepest grudges we carry are against us.
My Story
I’ll be honest—I’m not immune to holding grudges.
A while back, I let a friend use my space. They didn’t clean up, left things messy, and didn’t show much gratitude. Instead of speaking up, I swallowed my frustration and told myself it wasn’t a big deal. But inside, I was simmering like a pot left on high.
Over time, that quiet resentment started leaking into other parts of my life. I found myself snapping at small things, carrying tension I couldn’t quite name. It wasn’t really about the mess anymore—it was about me not setting a boundary or speaking up for what I needed.
That experience taught me something big: grudges grow best in silence. And sometimes, the kindest thing you can do for yourself and others is to be honest early, before the resentment takes root.
Why We Hold On
Grudges can feel good at first. They’re like emotional bubble wrap—we keep popping them to remind ourselves we were right and they were wrong.
But underneath that satisfying snap, a grudge is rarely about the other person. It’s often about us trying to feel seen, safe, or validated after getting hurt. Somewhere along the way, it can even become part of our identity—“the person who got wronged.”
The problem? Grudges don’t actually heal anything. They just keep the wound fresh so we can keep checking it.
The real healing begins when we turn inward—acknowledge the pain, offer ourselves the compassion we wanted from them, and realize we don’t have to keep carrying that emotional backpack forever.
Letting go isn’t saying what happened was okay. It’s saying:
“I’d like my peace back now.”
“I’d like my free brain space.”
Grudges Are Teachers
I’ve started seeing grudges as emotional check-engine lights. They’re not bad… but rather, they’re signals. They’re telling us something deeper needs attention:
A boundary we ignored
A need we didn’t express
A hurt we never processed
Instead of covering that light with duct tape and pretending we’re fine, we can pause and ask:
👉 What is this grudge trying to teach me?
Your Challenge This Week
Take a few minutes to reflect on a grudge—big or small—that you’ve been holding.
Step 1: Write it all out. The frustration, the hurt, every little detail. Don’t hold back—get it on paper.
Step 2: Thank the grudge for what it taught you. Maybe it showed you where to set a boundary, speak up, or practice self-compassion.
Step 3: Crumple the paper and toss it. Physically let it go.
Feel what it’s like to release that weight.
Because forgiveness isn’t about them.
It’s about freeing you.
“You’ll feel free… when you finally let it go.”
The Power of Helping
Helping is more than just a word — it’s how we show kindness, build stronger communities, and make the world brighter. 🎵 The Helping Song is a fun reminder for kids (and adults!) that big or small, every act of helping matters. Adam Parker School Psychologist
As I walk home through a rainstorm, I find myself wondering what “helping” really means. Is it holding the door for someone with their hands full? Checking in on a friend just to see how they’re doing? Saying “thank you” when someone asks how you are? Helping can be all of these things and more.
Sometimes it’s as simple as a text message or a phone call. Other times, it’s devoting an afternoon to help a friend move into a new apartment, knowing your only reward will be a sore back and a slice of pizza. At its core, helping is about showing up for others—friends, strangers, and anyone who needs it.
Why Helping Matters
When we help, we’re not just making someone else’s day easier. We’re building stronger connections and healthier communities. Helping is contagious—it inspires others to step up too. A small act of kindness can ripple outward, making our classrooms, neighborhoods, and families more supportive and joyful places.
Helping in Education
Education is often called a “helping profession.” Teachers, psychologists, social workers, and principals devote their time and energy to guiding young minds forward. Much of our work is about teaching lessons we’ve already learned ourselves—sometimes through mistakes, sometimes through textbooks and research, and often through life experience. Helping in education means listening, encouraging, and lifting others up.
But helping in education doesn’t just come from school staff—it also comes from parents. Parents are their children’s first helpers and role models, showing them what kindness and generosity look like long before they enter a classroom. Whether it’s supporting with homework, modeling respect for others, or encouraging their child to be a good friend, parents play a huge role in building a culture of helping that extends into schools and communities.
Everyday Acts of Help
Helping doesn’t always look heroic. Sometimes it’s picking up trash at the park. Sometimes it’s walking with a friend through the rain just to listen. Sometimes it’s being the sounding board someone else needs in a tough moment.
A Challenge
Find one way to help today. Maybe that’s sitting with someone at lunch who looks alone, picking up trash in the hallway, or telling a classmate “good job” after a presentation. Maybe it’s helping your younger sibling with homework or simply saying “thank you” when someone shows you kindness.
Helping doesn’t have to be big….it just has to be real. And the more we help, the more we create classrooms and schools where everyone feels like they belong.
Self Talk Superhero
Join Adam Parker, school psychologist and educator, as he explores the power of positive self-talk. Learn how to become a “self-talk superhero,” why the words we say to ourselves matter, and try a simple mirror activity to boost confidence and resilience every day.
What do you say to yourself when something is hard?
Do you hear, “I can do it”? Or does your mind slip into “I should just give up”? Maybe it’s “I’m strong and powerful!” … or sometimes, just “What if…?”
Self-talk—the words and tone we use with ourselves—matters more than we realize. It’s like a hidden soundtrack playing all day, guiding how we act, how we feel, and how we bounce back from challenges.
Everyday Superpowers
Think about your daily routine. You’ve already been a superhero today:
You defeated the villain of the snooze button and got out of bed.
You conquered the challenge of showing up—at school, at work, or at home—ready to tackle the day.
You’ve already navigated social interactions, chores, and responsibilities.
Yet, most of us forget to give ourselves credit for these victories. We brush them off as “normal life,” but they’re proof that you’re capable, resilient, and stronger than you think.
Why Self-Talk Is So Important
Our brains are wired to hold onto negative thoughts more tightly than positive ones. It’s called the negativity bias. That’s why one unkind comment can echo in our minds longer than five compliments. When we pile on our own negative self-talk, it’s like handing the villain extra weapons.
Positive self-talk doesn’t mean ignoring struggles, it means reminding yourself that you’ve overcome hard things before and you can do it again. It builds confidence, reduces stress, and helps you recover more quickly from mistakes. In other words, it’s your superhero cape: invisible to others, but powerful enough to help you soar.
My Morning Practice
Lately, I’ve been trying to start my day with kind words in the mirror. For example:
“Ok Mr. Parker, it’s Monday. You are capable, you are fun, you get to connect with students today, and you’re good at it. Let’s go!”
It feels silly sometimes, but superheroes talk to themselves too. They remind themselves of their mission before heading into battle. Why shouldn’t we?
Try This: The Self-Talk Superhero Activity
Name Your Superhero Persona. Give yourself a fun title. (Maybe Captain Confidence or The Amazing Optimist.)
Write Your Catchphrase. Create one short, powerful line you can say when things get tough. (“I’ve got this.” “One step at a time.” “I’m stronger than I think.”)
Do the Mirror Test. Tomorrow morning, look at yourself in the mirror and say your catchphrase out loud. Notice how it feels.
Catch the Villain. When a negative thought sneaks in during the day, imagine it as the “villain” and replace it with your superhero line.
Final Reminder
Negative thoughts are sticky—they cling like gum to your shoes. But your superhero words are stronger. Every mistake is an opportunity to learn, every new situation a chance to try. You’ve been amazing all along, and your self-talk can remind you of that truth.
So, put on your invisible cape, call yourself by your superhero name, and go face the day.
Because you already are a self-talk superhero.
Finding Yourself in Alone Time
Alone time isn’t about shutting the world out—it’s about finding your voice, lowering stress, and building confidence in the quiet moments. In this week’s blog, I share why taking space for yourself matters, how it shaped me growing up, and practical ways you can make room for solitude in your own life.
I struggled with this week’s blog and which lens to write from. Do I write as Adam the school psychologist, sharing the lessons I see children practicing each week in schools? Or do I write as someone who also needs those same skills in his own life? Maybe the truth is that they intersect, because I am not only teaching these skills, I am practicing them too.
This week is all about alone time.
For adult me, that looks like getting in my car after work with the backseat filled with snacks, layered clothing, and my guitar, and heading straight for the mountains. For you, it might look like curling up in a hammock with headphones, burying your head in a good book, or walking through the park. The point is not where you are, it’s the act of stepping away from the things that demand your attention and rediscovering who you are when nobody is asking anything of you.
In a previous blog, I wrote about recharging. While alone time certainly recharges us, it also helps us find ourselves. Alone time gives our brains space to process all we take in during the day. When we are always surrounded by people, devices, and responsibilities, it’s easy to lose track of our own voice. Quiet moments give us clarity, lower our stress, and build resilience. Alone time is not about shutting the world out, it’s about strengthening yourself so you can show up better when you step back into it.
Growing up as an only child, my alone time was vast. I would sing and dance in the mirror, ride my bike to faraway lands (okay, really just the park two blocks away, but to me it felt like an epic adventure), and sit in my room drawing quirky characters with even quirkier backstories. That space gave me permission to be uniquely me, to get comfortable with my own oddness. And when we feel comfortable in our own skin, we grow. Who better to build that relationship with than the face you wake up to each morning?
Think about what you like to do when you’re taking space: long walks, zoning out to your favorite playlist, doodling in a notebook, building Legos, playing with your pet, or even lying in the grass staring at the sky. Try carving out time each week for one of those things. If it helps, schedule it, maybe every Friday from 3:00 to 3:30 is “hang out with myself” time. For some, it’s a solo weekend getaway; for others, it’s ten quiet minutes before bed.
Every big singer on stage, every teacher in front of a class, every player on the field, at some point, they built themselves up during quiet, unseen moments. Alone time is where confidence grows its roots. Build that confidence in the safety of your own space, and then carry it into the world.
Take the time. You are worth it.
The People We Surround Ourselves With
Colorado school psychologist Adam Parker reflects on the qualities that truly matter in friendships — kindness, trust, and support — and why the people we choose to spend our time with shape the roots of our lives.
A long walk home through the alleys of Park Hill had me reflecting on something simple but powerful: who and what we choose to surround ourselves with. It is easy to get caught up in shiny distractions like expensive toys, dream vacations, or the approval of people who do not really value us. Sure, riding a jet ski from a yacht to a remote island sounds amazing. But at the end of the day, it is not things that sustain us. It is people.
Not just any people, either. The ones who make us feel seen and supported. The friends and family who show their love and care not only with their words but with consistent actions. When I think about who I want to spend my most precious currency, my time, with, a few qualities rise to the top.
Kindness
At the top of the list is kindness. True kindness is more than being nice to your friends; it is the way someone treats everyone. It is the thank you to the stranger who holds the door, the patience with a server who is overwhelmed, the ability to stay grounded when frustration could easily take over. Kindness is a lens that colors every interaction, big or small. And when you surround yourself with kind people, it changes the way you move through the world too.
Trustworthiness
We all need people we can trust with our truth. A trustworthy friend is someone who can hold space for your messy, vulnerable moments. They listen when you are low, they do not weaponize your words, and you know what you share stays safe with them. Trust creates a foundation of calm, because you do not have to second-guess where you stand or whether your heart is safe in their presence.
Pride and Support
A good friend is not just present when you are succeeding; they are there when you are stumbling too. They celebrate your wins, but they also remind you of your worth when you doubt yourself. They believe in you even when you cannot quite believe in yourself. They do not just say they are proud of you; they show it by lifting you up, encouraging you through your fears, and reminding you of the truth you sometimes forget: you are capable, you are valuable, and you are enough.
Extra Advice: Choosing Your Circle
As I have thought about this week, I keep coming back to the idea that we root ourselves in the people we let closest. So, ask yourself:
Do the people in my life reflect the values I want to live by?
Do they leave me feeling lighter, stronger, more hopeful, or drained and small?
Would I be proud if I treated others the way they treat me?
We cannot always choose every person in our orbit, but we can choose who we invest deeply in. Protect your time and energy. Spend them on people who add to your life rather than take from it.
And maybe, most importantly, work on being that person for others. Be the friend who is kind, trustworthy, and genuinely proud of those around you. Because the more we show up with love, the more it ripples back into our own lives.
People are the roots. Choose wisely who you let keep you grounded, and who you let grow alongside you.