Let what’s real speak

The other day, I found an old sheet in the back of my storage shed—something I’d kept when we cleaned out my family home.

At the time, it felt mostly practical. We needed linens, after all. But when I pulled it out of the shed and held it to my face, I caught a faint whiff of the scent I remember from my childhood—the scent of clean laundry folded in the hallway closet. In that moment, I was undone. It wasn’t just a sheet. It was presence. My mother’s care. The quiet, loving rhythm of a household where things were washed, tended, and made ready for us.

I pressed it to my chest and cried.

I didn’t know it as a child, but now I do: I was given a beautiful foundation. My parents were kind, decent people who gave us a good life—safe, warm, and full of quiet love. And for years, I couldn’t see it. I was too focused on what other kids had—flashier lunches, Disneyland trips, the markers of “more.” It’s taken me six decades to understand the wealth of what I was actually given.

And now, I don’t want to chase a new purpose. I don’t want to sell, explain, or repackage anything.

I want to sit with what’s real. I want to let it speak.

That’s where the healing is. That’s where beauty returns.

If you’re in a place of not knowing what’s next… if you’re tired of striving… if you’re being pulled toward stillness and truth rather than productivity—trust it.

There’s wisdom in simply being with what’s true. In honoring what has shaped you, quietly and deeply. In giving space for what’s real to finally speak.

It will. And when it does, it won’t need embellishment. It will be enough.