As the year bends toward its close, I find myself reflecting on the ways we gather. In homes warmed by laughter, around tables laden with food, in quiet moments of shared presence—we come together.

I hope this letter reaches you on a day when the sun is shining just a little brighter or the rain is falling in a soothing rhythm. Have you noticed how nature has a way of calling us back to ourselves? Whether it’s the whisper of leaves in the breeze, the steady crash of waves on the shore, or the stillness of a forest, nature holds a mirror to the parts of us we often forget in the chaos of daily life.

I hope this letter finds you with a moment to pause and reflect, a rare gift in the whirlwind of daily life. Lately, I’ve been thinking about the ways art—music, books, paintings, poetry—has a way of bringing us back to ourselves and connecting us with others. Art, in all its forms, seems to have this inexplicable ability to meet us where we are, whether in joy, sorrow, or quiet contemplation.

I hope this letter finds you in a quiet moment, perhaps one where the world has slowed just enough for you to catch your breath. I want to tell you about something that has grounded me, something that feels as old as time itself: walking and hiking. There’s a rhythm to placing one foot in front of the other, a cadence that mirrors the beating of our hearts, the ebb and flow of our breath.

I hope this letter finds you in a moment of reflection, perhaps even in a moment of longing. I write to you today about something that ties us all together: the ache for connection. It is one of the most fundamental parts of being human, isn’t it? The need to feel seen, heard, and known.

I want to share something with you, something that has been sitting in my heart: You are art. The lives we create, the way we move through the world, the marks we leave behind—they are all strokes on the canvas of existence. And yet, how easy it is to lose sight of this truth. We get caught up in the endless push of productivity, the pull of survival, and we forget to pause and appreciate the artwork we are creating simply by living.

I want to share some thoughts with you about grief, something we all encounter at different points in our lives. When we think of grief, we often associate it with the loss of a loved one—death being the primary lens through which we’ve been taught to understand deep sorrow. My work as a therapist has shown me that grief’s presence in our lives extends far beyond that.

I want to share something with you that’s been on my mind—a conversation about language, specifically the language of therapy, and how it’s woven into our everyday lives. It’s fascinating, isn’t it? Through the rise of social media, words once spoken in the quiet confines of therapy sessions have made their way into everyday conversations.