Each Sunday, we post the insightful Sunday Share, a weekly newsletter that provides valuable wisdom and a moment of reflection.
With yesterday’s 250th Independence Day, I felt compelled to engage with a little history, a documentary here and there, and a fresh read of the Declaration of Independence itself — since that’s what yesterday marked.
As I enjoy the third week of my short “refresh,” I came across something too good not pass along. It’s attributed to a Zen proverb: “Knowledge is learning something every day. Wisdom is letting go of something every day.”
Today I’m reflecting on fatherhood in all its forms. There’s the biological father — whether known or not — who gives us life. There’s the father figure — the one who shows up, raises us, teaches us, and guides us.
This morning, I found myself thinking about the Sunday Share itself. I love writing these reflections and sharing them with you. And I want to keep them feeling fresh, relevant, and meaningful — not something I simply produce because Sunday rolled around again.
I’ve been thinking again about lobsters. It’s not a new theme, in fact, I explored it right here, a little over a year ago. When a lobster grows, it cannot simply expand the shell that is already there. The very structure that once protected it becomes what now constrains it. So the lobster has to molt.
This week, I found myself wondering what wisdom I could possibly offer when I am still very much inside a struggle. Not triumphantly on the other side. Not holding some beautiful lesson tied with a bow. Just here, learning in the messy middle.
Today, I feel lighter. I don’t know exactly why. Perhaps it is the weather. Perhaps it was an unexpected email from a dear friend. Or a freshly groomed dog. Or a generative conversation about the deepest purpose and most expansive vision of our startup. Or the simple medicine of connecting with friends, family, and nature.
My brother sent me a funny Instagram reel this week from comedian Davide De Pierro about the impossible task of buying a Mother’s Day gift. In the bit, he expresses frustration at what his mother wants. Instead of saying something manageable like “an air fryer” or “a Yankee Candle,” she says, “I just want you to be happy.”
Lately, I’ve been sitting with a deeper layer of releasing. Not the invigorating kind, where we finally donate the sweater, clear the closet, or make a clean decision. For me, the answer is not always found in the circumstances themselves. Those can shift, disappoint, confuse, or break our hearts.
This week, I experimented with a mindfulness app that rings a bell at random moments throughout the day. Each time it sounded, I was invited to pause and ask a simple question: Where am I right now?
This week, I’ve been getting used to the feeling of disorientation—having the way I think about things, do things, make meaning of things, even feel about things, all stirred up. Like one of those snow globes when it gets shaken.
As spring continues to unfold, I find myself noticing not just what is blooming—but what is still in process. There are places in life where things open easily. And others where the ground feels slower to thaw. Lately, I’ve been reflecting on forgiveness as part of this season of change.
This week, I’ve found myself living in two worlds at once. In one, I am with my favorite 11-year-old—eating ice cream, wandering through our little town, listening to her explain to me all about sharks as we watch Jaws, her presence rooted fully in the moment.
These past few weeks I’ve been attuned to a variety of events all pointing to an inevitable shift—seasonally, astrologically, psychically… After a season of turning inward, of loosening our grip on what no longer serves, there’s a subtle but unmistakable change.