Pumpkin season lingers – cinnamon in the air, a chill in the mornings, and that unmistakable shift as autumn settles in. In the mountains where I live, fog often rolls through at dawn before the sun slowly lifts it away. I love that quiet moment: the cool air on my face, the stillness before the day begins.
It reminds me that even when life feels uncertain or foggy, light always finds its way.
And in that light, we notice the small joys—the ones that make life rich, meaningful, and alive.
Honoring Small Wins
November always invites me to pause. We’re just one month away from closing another year, and I’ve been reflecting on some of my small wins and joys that often go unnoticed:
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My body’s continued healing after surgery
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A slightly better golf swing
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Packing healthy lunches for my daughter
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Feeling more energy from intentional habits
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The joy of cooking a nourishing meal
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Laughter at the dinner table
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Walks in nature that reset me
These moments remind me how much abundance lives in the simple, ordinary parts of life. The crisp air, the soft sunlight after fog lifts, the earthy smell of fallen leaves, the rhythm of stirring a pot on the stove — all of it grounds me in gratitude.
Thanksgiving and the Tender Parts of the Season
As Thanksgiving approaches, I’ve been thinking about how this time of year can feel both comforting and complicated.
For many, the season brings warmth, connection, and ritual.
But for others, it stirs up heaviness — grief, overwhelm, illness, loneliness, or the quiet ache of seeing others celebrate when you’re carrying your own private struggles.
I remember my first Thanksgiving and Christmas after my diagnosis. It was really rough.
I had no hair, I was in the middle of chemo, trying to understand and make sense of my diagnosis and why my life was flipped upside down. “Celebrating” felt impossible. I didn’t tell many people what I was going through, I didn’t have family nearby, and the holidays felt more isolating than ever.
I share this because I know firsthand how the season can magnify pain, fatigue, or the feeling of being out of step with the world around you.
If this is you, your experience is valid. You are not alone.
Many people move through the holidays in quieter, simpler ways — skipping big gatherings, creating a new small ritual, stepping outside for breaks, or holding onto one grounding moment like a walk or a warm drink. Some light a candle, honor a memory, or simply survive the day one hour at a time.
There is no “right” way to do Thanksgiving when your heart is hurting — only what feels most supportive to you.
If you need a reset, try asking yourself:
“What would make today feel even 1% easier?”
A pause.
A breath.
A boundary.
A comforting meal.
A small moment of beauty.
It all counts.
Reflection Prompts for This Season
If you’d like to slow down and reconnect, here are two prompts for grounding:
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Which seasonal sights, smells, or sensations make you feel alive or grateful right now?
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What’s one simple action you can take to care for your body or mind this week?
A walk. A nourishing meal. A playful moment. Creative time. A stretch. Rest.
Healing isn’t about big leaps — it’s built through small steps, quiet wins, and the subtle joys that remind us we’re still here, still growing, still finding light.
With Gratitude
Thank you for being here: for reading, for sharing your stories, for trusting me with your growth and healing. This community humbles me every day, and I am grateful for every person who finds their way to this space.
Wishing you a November — and a Thanksgiving — that meets you exactly where you are.
With gentleness, warmth, and enough light to soften the fog.
