The Quiet Power of Starting Again

Dear Reader,

I recently learned that I have an eye condition, and my brother has another—both hereditary, both completely unexpected. As we age, it’s often not a matter of if but when something new will surface that asks us to dig deep, find strength we didn’t know we had, and keep pressing forward.

I don’t know a single person who isn’t carrying at least a handful of challenges, personally or professionally. And the world we’re navigating right now seems determined to add a few more things to the pile.

One thing I’ve learned, though, is that there are people who act as lights—small but powerful signs of hope and care. Sometimes it’s a barista who calls us “Beautiful,” and sometimes it’s a friend who listens or I pause to notice the hawk soaring above my car. I lean on my friends and family when I need to, and I hope they’ll lean on me in return.

My poems can be a salve too. If you have one of my books, I encourage you to pick it up and flip to a random page. The poems are for you. And if you don’t have a book—what are you thinking??! I promise the poems will be there for you exactly when you need them. Click here to purchase.

There’s something tender about January. Everyone seems to rush into resolutions and big plans, but sometimes the soul is still catching its breath from the year we just walked through. Starting again doesn’t always come with confidence; sometimes it arrives quietly, asking for just a little space.

Living in the liminal has taught me that not every beginning shines. Some arrive softly. Some follow loss, when a “fresh start” feels like too much. And yet here we are—standing at a doorway we didn’t necessarily choose, holding yesterday while trying to imagine tomorrow.

I don’t force myself into reinvention anymore. I let myself arrive slowly. Sometimes beginning again looks like resting. Sometimes it looks like listening. Sometimes it means honoring the life that shaped you—even the parts that cracked your heart wide open. The strength isn’t in how loudly we move forward, but in the quiet bravery of taking the step at all.

If you’re standing in your own in‑between right now, I hope you give yourself grace. And if you need a little light along the way, my poems—and I—are right here.

Let’s chat soon.

With affection,

Carrie VS