A Thanksgiving Ritual of Memory and Belonging Thanksgiving has a way of reminding us what’s changed — not only who is missing from the table, but how different we all are from the last time we sat here together. At first glance, it’s all familiar: the scent
Rediscovering belonging after loss and change “Belonging is the opposite of loneliness." — Brené Brown We spend much of life trying to find where we fit — in families, friendships, work, or faith. For a long time, it comes easily enough. Then something shifts. The kids move
When stillness becomes the teacher “In Your stillness, joyfulness is unfolding…” A reader sent us that line in response to our recent Spiritual Signals reflection, On Stillness. His poem, titled In the Quiet, reads like a prayer to solitude—not the kind that isolates, but the kind that
“Solitude is not something you must hope for in the future. Rather, it is a deepening of the present, and unless you look for it in the present you will never find it.” — Thomas Merton Turning Quiet Into a Companion Rather Than an Adversary Loneliness and
“I have found that the simple act of a genuine smile is powerful in changing the mood of a person.” A reader left that comment on a recent post, and we haven’t stopped thinking about it. In a world where words often do too much, a
Sometimes friendship asks little more than presence. It begins with showing up, with letting conversation wander where it will. The talk can be ordinary—weather, errands, the price of eggs—yet it loosens the knot that silence tightened. You notice how your home sounds different when a
What Our Solitude Is Trying to Teach Us The house stays the same now. The books on the table, the jacket on the chair, the glass by the sink—they wait. When the house was full, nothing stayed still for long. Now even the air feels stagnant.
The spaciousness, where introverts find strength within. Introverts—the quiet majority—remind us that not everyone experiences community the same way. Some of us lean into the joy of being surrounded by people. Others find that same closeness overwhelming. Both are true. Both are human. And both belong
“The deeper that sorrow carves into your being, the more joy you can contain.” — Kahlil Gibran To live long is to become a witness. A witness to births and weddings, to laughter bouncing off kitchen walls — and to the long, slow fading of voices we once
History and tradition teach that the clamor of conquest does not last forever. In time it yields to another sound, a quieter music—the rhythm of reflection and release. Empires have risen and fallen on the strength of ambition. Generations pursued the promise of more: more