1 Aug 26: One Year of Tulip Meadows, and Growing Forward 🌷

As I sit down to write this, the date on my calendar reads a little past our official milestone, but my heart is still lingering right on August 1st—the exact day Tulip Meadows quietly turned one.

Looking at this sweet strawberry yogurt cake, surprised into my hands by the people who mean the world to me, I find myself overwhelmed by a quiet, trembling gratitude. A whole year. Three hundred and sixty-five days of stepping into the unknown, trusting a whisper of a dream, and learning what it truly means to hold space not just for others, but for myself.

This past year has not been a straight path. Like the winding trails of nature, it has held every conceivable season. There have been breathtaking moments of hope and profound connection—the kind that reminds you why this path was chosen in the first place. It has been a year of quiet privilege, stepping into community centers, corporate offices, and special events to share the art of noticing with working professionals, seniors, young parents navigating the tender chaos of raising children, and youths finding their footing.

Yet, this path has also held its shadows. There were quiet afternoons weighed down by disappointment, and moments of heartache when certain friendships drifted away, quietly fading into the background as our paths naturally diverged. In those transitions, the sting of loneliness felt sharp. But alongside those departures, there were also the steadfast souls who stayed—dear friends who were always just a call away, gently nudging, holding space, and cheering me on through every doubt. For every single person who came into my life, those who left, and those who stayed, I feel a profound and quiet gratitude. It is precisely in the hollows of those valleys that the truest planting happens.

Through every single high and every tear-filled low, my greatest shelter has been my sanctuary at home. To my dearest husband, Jeremy—thank you for being the steady, unmovable mountain beside me through every storm, every doubt, and every quiet late night. To my wonderful son Dennys—thank you for your boundless laughter and steady presence. To my dearest Kimberly—my sweet girl, congratulations on your graduation! Thank you not just for standing by me, but for being my quiet co-creator in this journey: patiently teaching me the ropes of Canva, shaping the aesthetic of these designs, and breathing visual life into Tulip Meadows.

And curling right beside me through every late-night writing session and quiet reflection has been my precious Ashie, my dear little pet whose gentle spirit and soft presence have starred in the pages of my books and anchored my heart in ways words can hardly capture. I love you so, my sweet little companion.

To my family, thank you for surprising me with this cake, and for wrapping me in a warmth that heals every tired place in my spirit. You are my true home.

Reflecting on this past year, three quiet shifts have gently taken root within me:

1. From striving to allowing: Learning that growth cannot be forced, and that true presence begins simply by letting things unfold in their own time.

2. From holding on to releasing: Accepting that as paths diverge, making space for gentle departures is just as sacred as cherishing the friends who stay by our side.

3. From seeking answers outside to resting inward: Finding that the deepest anchor is not found in external milestones, but in the quiet sanctuary of the heart and home.

Every single experience this year—the gentle joys, the unexpected sorrows, the community circles, and the quiet moments at home—has been an invaluable teacher. They have reminded me that growth is rarely loud; often, it is a quiet, tender breaking open before the green shoot can finally reach the light.

Thank you for walking this meandering, beautiful path with Tulip Meadows. 

May we continue to notice, to feel, and to gently grow forward, together. 🌷