The other day, while I was babysitting my five-year-old grandson, Erik, we called his uncle in Vanuatu.

When my son Andrew answered, I said, “Hey Darling.”
It’s what I’ve always called his uncle and his dad

Erik paused.
“Gran,” he asked, “why do you call him Darling?”

I smiled and said, “Because I love him. I say that to people I love.”

He was still a little puzzled, so I tried again.
“It means you’re so special to me. It’s my way of saying, I love you.”

I gave him examples.

How his family calls him Snuggles. His dad calls him Bud.
How his grandfather calls me Sug (short for sugar)
How my son’s French partner says mon cœur…my heart.

These are terms of endearment. A way of saying, you matter.

That seemed to land.
And honestly? I think I’ll start calling Erik Darling.

Love Needs Language

Because love needs to be spoken out loud. And especially now. 

Erik and I playing Connect Four

Tenderness Exits Alongside the Terror

A constant hum of dread has entered our lives now.
Too much...

Lately, most of us have been living with a quiet heaviness running in the background of our day-to-day lives. 

Even when we’re functioning, caring, and doing what needs to be done, something feels unnerving underneath it all.

There are times when what is happening in the world seeps into our bodies, whether we want it to or not. We carry more tension, more vigilance, more grief, often without realizing how much it's affecting us.

I've written recently about how unsettling things feel. That matters. When the world feels unhinged
But today I want to talk about something quieter and just as important.

How do we stay human in times like these?

What We’re Carrying Without Naming

When the world feels chaotic, our nervous systems take a hit.

We can feel fatigued from the constant onslaught of what we see and hear. It can feel like being pummeled by a wave that keeps coming. We get pulled under, surface for air, and then another wave hits.

There have been times in my life when I felt...

I don’t know about you, but I’m still trying to absorb what we witnessed this week.

There’s a particular kind of horror that comes from watching someone in the highest office openly ignore the rules, norms, and shared agreements meant to protect us all. It feels surreal. Disorienting. Like the ground has shifted beneath our feet and we’re left wondering what still holds.

Moments like this don’t stay in the headlines.
They land in the body.
In the nervous system.
In the quiet fear that asks, If this can happen, what does it mean for the rest of us?

And while this is not a time to look away, it’s also not a time to let ourselves be overtaken by despair.

This reflection is an invitation to stay awake and grounded. To remember who you are, what you value, and what remains steady inside you even when the world feels frightening and unstable. Not because it’s easy. But because it matters.

I am horrified by what is happening. The speed of it. The lawlessness. The cruelty. The sense that ...

The Winter solstice is a day many people barely notice, even though it marks a profound turning point in the natural world.

Most people don’t notice the solstice.
They rush straight into the holidays.
Lists, presents, obligations, busyness.
As if moving faster will somehow protect us from the dark.

Here in the Northern Hemisphere, it’s the shortest day and the longest night of the year.
And for some of you reading this in Australia, New Zealand, and the South Pacific, it’s the longest, light-filled day.

Either way, the solstice marks a pause.
A moment when the earth shifts direction.

Resisting the dark

I've always hated winter and the cold. 

I especially detest the dark. I want sunshine and light. And I fully admit that I feel the pull to be busy and to keep doing, doing. 

I think we resist winter because it slows us down.
Most of us don’t want to slow down. We want light. Momentum. Forward motion.

Especially women who have spent their lives holding everything together.

But real...

 What if the moments that shape our families are not the big, orchestrated ones at all, but the small, imperfect, wildly joyful ones that happen on an ordinary Saturday night? What if connection is possible even when you live oceans apart?

This is the story of how a simple idea during a hard year turned into one of the sweetest traditions of my life.

Gran’s Zoom Christmas Party: The Tradition I Never Expected to Love

It was dark outside and the tiny white lights around my window made everything feel twinkly and magical. I sat down for our 6th annual Gran’s Zoom Christmas Party just before we started, and I found myself drifting back to where it all started in 2020. The year everything felt upside down.

The grans were so little then.
The Vanuatu crew, Ella, Katie, and Rob, were just 6, 5, and 4, squeezed into toddler-sized chairs and sharing one Zoom square. Avery and Andy in Davis were 7 and 5. We were happy not to have to wear masks and be distanced, trying to make the holidays fe...

Every December, I notice something in myself and in almost every woman I work with.

We forget.

We forget the good we created.
We forget the moments that made us stronger.
We forget the ways we showed up with courage when no one else saw it.
We forget the quiet obstacles we climbed, step by step, all year long.

And we forget something else that matters deeply when we’re reviewing our year.

We forget how many people we helped.

Even on the days when we felt tired, stretched thin, or unsure of ourselves, we made an impact.
We supported, listened, encouraged, guided, and held more people than we realize.

This year has been heavy in a way that’s hard to even articulate. Every day, it feels like there is another sucker punch headline... rising prices, policies that harm vulnerable people, families torn apart by ICE, entire communities living in fear, protections being dismantled, and discrimination aimed at women, transgender people, and people of color. Stories of violence, cruelty, and...

Years ago, while trekking through rice fields in Vietnam, a woman joined us. We didn’t share a language, but her hands told me everything I needed to know. Hands lined with years of experience. Hands that carried wisdom in every gesture. I didn’t know it then, but I was photographing the very truth I would discover about myself years later.

Has anyone asked you what made you happy today?

Or what you’ve learned in your life so far?
Or what you want your legacy will be?
Most people never get asked those questions.
So I’ll go ahead and ask them for you.

These questions have been swirling around in my heart lately, especially as I notice time moving faster and the truth settling in that I want to make the rest of my life matter in a very intentional way.
And then something happened this week that brought all of this into clear, beautiful focus.

A Zoom Call That Opened My Eyes

Our friend and colleague, Kelly, invited Thom and me to speak on Zoom to a group of USC students who are training t...

A few weeks ago, I boarded a long, grueling flight to the South Pacific to visit five of my eight grandchildren who live on a small island in Vanuatu. It took almost 20 hours of flying, four airports, an overnight stay, and more than one sleepless night.

And honestly? I wouldn’t trade a minute of it.

Because this is what I mean when I talk about aging boldly. Not skydiving or climbing Everest (though if that’s your thing, go for it). But staying curious. Saying yes to adventure. Doing what brings you alive, even when it stretches you.

And believe me, I said yes to a lot on this trip.

Headstands on the Beach

We did our traditional headstands, something we’ve been doing together since they were tiny and needed to be held up by a parent or the nearest wall. This time, we lined up on the beach, the girls flipping upside down beside me. Little Louise watched with wide eyes, then insisted on trying her own wobbly version, me holding her upside down. Seeing all of us upside down toge...

Last weekend, Thom and I packed up our Tacoma truck and headed to the Lost Coast of California—one of the most remote and pristine places on the California coast, where Highway 1 had to turn inland and where waves crash fiercely. 

We joined four other Jeep/off-road adventurers, people who tackle trails like the Rubicon (a beast of a route, from what I’ve heard). These are serious folks. Rugged, skilled, and thankfully also warm and fun.

We camped at Usal Beach, fog drifting around us, damp air clinging to everything. I bundled up with blankets and jackets, my knit cap pulled down tight. Even as I sat around a beachside campfire wrapped in layers, I felt something start to shift inside me.

That something was a reset.

Because even in the cold, in the wet fog, even with news from the world swirling in my mind, I could hear the ocean calling me back to myself. Pelicans dove for fish. The sea roared. And I remembered how important it is to get quiet.

The next day, we caravanned along a...

In just a few days, I’ll be 75 years old...and honestly, that number still surprises me.

Not because I feel old (I don’t), but because there were so many things I didn’t know about getting older. There are so many things I wish someone had told me.

Here’s what I know for sure: Aging is not something to fear. It’s a privilege. It’s a time of stepping into your power, shedding old expectations, and finally...finally...living for you.

I wish more women knew that. I wish we didn’t waste so much time doubting ourselves, waiting for permission, or holding back our voices.

Because at some point, whether you’re ready or not, a switch flips.

It’s the moment when you realize you are done with being spoken to with disrespect, swallowing your words just to keep the peace, and staying quiet to avoid looking “difficult.”

And here’s what I wish more women knew: People respect you more when you start speaking your truth.

Damn, I wish I had known this sooner.

1. Know how to say no. And don’t gi...