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?

I was available to the wisdom that they brought- each time my eyes gently landed on them, I watched their evolution, I watched the natural unfolding of the roses and how beautiful it was so just allow the unfolding and to cherish every phase of the unfolding because each phase brought its own expression of beauty. I understood that I was no different than the rose, I am unfolding naturally and each phase of me unfolding carries different forms of beauty, no one more beautiful than the other, simply different.

Just before waking, I drifted in that hazy space between dreaming and daylight, a gentle fantasy unfolding in my mind. It was a soft, delicious way to meet the morning—warm, slow, and alive.

As my eyes blinked open and the edges of the fantasy began to dissolve, one detail lingered: he was talking to me. In nearly every fantasy I have, there are always words—connection, conversation, presence. I paused, let the moment stretch, and listened inward.

I slipped off my robe and stepped into the warm water of the hot tub. Curling into the corner, I drew my knees to my chest and wrapped my arms around them.

Emotion rose through me like a slow, inevitable wave. A warm tear slid down my cheek as a quiet whimper escaped—straight from my heart.

I miss being touched, I thought, as another small sound broke from my body.

I walked through the kitchen, and I could feel his eyes on me. I kept moving, but his gaze followed me with a level of intensity I wasn’t used to from him. When I finally looked up, our eyes met.

“Mom, I love your sweater,” he said, smiling.

I’ve had a channel to spirit—source, the universe, God—for as long as I can remember. It’s always been one of the things that makes me uniquely me. For much of my life, though, I tried to deny that part of myself, afraid that people wouldn’t understand and wouldn’t accept me.

“Your evolution is a wonder to behold,” she texted me.

Her message lit up my phone, and the energy behind it hit me like a freight train.

I wrote her back, and as my fingers moved across the screen, my mind finally started to articulate what my heart, body, and soul had already known.

Yesterday morning, before the Thanksgiving chaos kicked in, my dad and I went for a walk. There was a quietness in the air that I didn’t realize I’d been craving. The roads were silent, the woods were silent—the whole world felt still, and I needed that stillness more than I knew.

I love my life. I can say that now with a deep and genuine truth — something that hasn’t always been possible for me. I used to appreciate my life. I used to like it, value it, and feel grateful for much of it. But I didn’t truly love it.

This life is not a dress rehearsal.
There is no second doorway into this same human experience—
no alternate script, no encore performance.
This is the one wild, precious unfolding that is yours.
And there is something achingly beautiful about that.