Finding Words
I went looking for words in someone else’s writing. I hadn’t anticipated finding words for my own story.
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Beyond the Frame
I thought I was simply deciding how to frame three pieces of Hungarian embroidery. I hadn’t anticipated what would emerge from the conversation.
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The Shackles Have Been Removed!
I thought I was simply explaining my research to an ethics committee. Instead, I found myself understanding it in an entirely new way.
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The End of an Era
There are objects that quietly accompany us through whole chapters of our lives, collecting memories until the day comes when we have to let them go.
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The Tulips Were Always There
I love the unexpected tangents that emerge during counselling sessions—and the things I learn when conversations wander somewhere I never anticipated.
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I’m having a week
I have discovered two words that should never be used when describing the week ahead: “quiet” and “busy”. Apparently, both are invitations for the universe to prove me wrong.
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Like Coming Home
Home is sometimes less a place than a feeling. On a warm summer’s day in Hungary, I found both through the lens of a phone.
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The Ritual
Grief does not end with time. It becomes a ritual—a quiet returning to those we continue to love.
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The Essence of Stories
Perhaps the stories we inherit are not carried forward word for word, but in the feelings, images, and truths that remain long after the details have been forgotten.
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