As the year begins to gently wind down, I find myself drawn into a familiar rhythm, a quiet pause where reflection naturally rises to the surface. There’s something about this time of year that invites us to look back, not with judgment, but with curiosity. To notice where we’ve been. To acknowledge what we’ve carried. To recognize what we’ve grown through. And yet, so often, when we take stock of a year, our minds race straight to what didn’t get done: the unfinished projects, the goals still waiting, and the ideas that never quite took shape. We’re quick to overlook the courage it took just to keep going.

There’s something about this time of year that feels sacred, as if the air itself holds memory. And right there, in the stillness of a December morning moment, I felt him. My Dad. Not loudly. Not dramatically. Just a soft, familiar presence, the kind that settles into your heart before you even realize it’s arrived.

There’s something about Christmas lights that softens the whole world. The other night, as the glow from my tree sparkled across the living room, I felt that familiar tug of nostalgia, the same warm pull I used to feel when my own kids were little, racing into the kitchen on December mornings to see what surprise their advent calendar held.

The other evening, I sat at my dining room table with a cup of soup warming my hands, the soft glow of the lamp casting a golden circle of light around me. Outside, the world was already dark, and inside I could almost feel the season shifting, that quiet whisper of winter approaching, of gatherings, traditions, and expectations slowly waking up for another year.

There are moments in life when we can almost feel the pages turning. Not the chapters we read in a book, but the ones we live, the ones filled with change, courage, and the desire to rediscover who we truly are. Over the last year, I felt myself standing right in the middle of one of those moments.

The other night, I opened the calendar on my phone and stared at the colorful dots filling each day. How could we already be nearing the end of the year? It feels like just yesterday I was setting goals, mapping out dreams, and writing intentions for what I wanted this year to hold. And yet, here we are.

Lately, every time I open the calendar on my phone, I can’t help but notice the growing patchwork of colored dots and reminders, family dinners, events, get-togethers, and travel plans all stacked together like ornaments on an already full tree. It’s that unmistakable sign that the holiday season is here again.

A few weeks ago, I shared about the women’s golf retreat I attended for the first time this fall, an annual four-day getaway filled with fairways, laughter, and a whole lot of dimes and quarters. I was a substitute for another gal who couldn’t make it, and when asked to join, I didn’t hesitate. Without overthinking it, I said yes. Though I’m far from an avid golfer, I was reassured it was mostly for fun and as it turns out, that was absolutely true.

There’s something about fall on the farm that stirs my heart. That comforting blend of nostalgia and joy that only comes from being surrounded by family, laughter, and the smell of harvest in the air. Recently, my family gathered for one of my favorite traditions of the year, our annual family dinner and hayride.

It was one of those afternoons when the air felt soft and golden, and the hum of the chicken coop mixed with the rustle of leaves in the breeze. My then 14-month-old granddaughter toddled across the yard, her tiny shoes crunching over apples scattered on the ground. She spotted empty buckets sitting near the coop and with great intention, set them side by side.