My husband’s voice wavered in our cactus green kitchen nearly 20 years ago:“I’m just worried you’ll never be happy, Brooke.” I had just told him—again—that I felt the pull to shift directions. That something in me was stretching, reaching, refusing to settle. Back then, I didn’t have the language for what was happening to me. I only knew I had to keep following the clues. In my 20s and 30s, I moved from teaching high schoolers to working with young children, from grad school to leading...

Dear Reader, As part of my February blessing, I wished this for you: When you realize you’re in the wrong room—whether it’s the wrong table, the wrong conversation, or the wrong chapter—may you be brave enough to rise up and leave. So, I want to ask you: Have you ever realized you were in the wrong room? What happened next? Sometimes, I wonder if the hardest part isn’t leaving, but admitting—to yourself—that you’re no longer in the right place. Let me share a story with you. Just after...

Reader, Over golden lattes and biscuits glossed with tart apple butter, my dear friend and I named our “terrifying thought of the day.” We spoke them into the quiet café, setting them down like heavy bags at our feet. We noticed what was loosening the grip—the small intentions we were tending to, like embers in the dark: tucking our phones away in another room, stirring sauce until it thickens, shaping felted stones with our hands, dreaming up new gardens and inked talismans. And we reminded...