I caught myself judging someone this week. Not in a dramatic way. In a quieter, perhaps more uncomfortable one. Someone I know who is navigating difficulties familiar to me suggested that we connect and support one another.
’ve been thinking about the power of words. Not just the big ones: the speeches, declarations, and difficult conversations. The ordinary ones: The comment we make in passing. The story we repeat about someone else. The criticism we silently direct at ourselves.
I’ve been working with gratitude this week. Not gratitude because things are easy or because life is unfolding exactly as I hoped. Gratitude for this whole life. All of it. All of its joys and sorrows. Its unexpected gifts and painful lessons.
Have you ever found yourself caught between strong opposing currents? Different perspectives. Different deeply felt needs. Each pulling in their own direction. Our instinct may be to fix the conflict, choose a side, convince someone to change, or retreat from the discomfort altogether.
Last Sunday, I was unexpectedly separated from my laptop. I thought I could create my Sunday Share from my phone, but technology—or my lack of the right technology—had other plans. So I let it go.
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.