She opened the door just as I stepped up the porch, both hands balancing a hot lasagna. I slipped off my shoes and crossed the threshold—my first time inside their home after countless driveway conversations.

“You better be careful,” he said, grinning.

Careful? Of what? My mind darted in a dozen directions—dogs, cats, the rug?

“If the wind blows too hard, it’ll blow you away,” he added, his whole energy laughing.

It took me a beat to catch up. My thoughts had been somewhere else entirely, and his joke landed a moment late. I finally smiled, grounding myself back into the room—back into the actual moment I was standing in.

Then he continued, “You’ve lost a lot of weight.” Before I could even respond, he patted his stomach and said, “I found it.”

I laughed politely, but inside I felt something different—something steady.

Because no, the wind isn’t going to blow me away.

For the first time in my life, I feel solid. Rooted. Clear.

The truth is, it was the wind that made me this way—the winds of change, of honesty, of upheaval. Winds strong enough to kick up every piece of dust and debris I’d been avoiding. Winds fierce enough to strip away what no longer belonged—old fears, old expectations, old versions of myself.

Those winds carved a new path, one that had always been there but buried under noise I’d mistaken for truth. When the storm passed, I was left stronger. Leaner. Sharper. More aligned. More peaceful. More me.

“I love the wind,” I finally said to him with a smile. “But I promise, it won’t blow me away.”