Dear friend,

Shift is happening. Like tectonic plates beneath our feet. Macro. Micro. Inside and out. With or without our permission. Insert Sage + Grace, where wisdom meets midlife. 

This space is for the stories that emerge from that shifting ground. Twice a month, we’ll gather to share and reflect. To honor our questions and our knowing, our doubts and dreams, wisdom and wonderings.

We are building community. Real talk about real life at the intersection of experience and possibility.

With me? Good. Now, let’s talk about walls.

Walls have been on my mind. Not the kind we decorate or debate paint colors over (though I’ve got opinions about the perfect shade of green — sage). I’m thinking about the quieter walls. The invisible ones. The kind we build in the spaces between our hopes and our hurts.

These walls appear, seemingly out of nowhere, brick by invisible brick. Until one day, we find ourselves living in a metaphorical fortress we didn’t even know we built.

The other day, an unexpected conversation with someone new stopped me in my tracks.

This sweet soul of a woman, we’ll call her Grace, said she’d met someone who made her feel like possibility was possible—the kind of connection that shows up unannounced and rearranges all your carefully placed inner furniture. 

“But,” she confessed, cradling her coffee between nervous fingers, “every time it feels too good, I start looking for the cracks. It’s almost like I’m more comfortable with disappointment than delight.”

Oh.

When did we start treating joy like a luxury we couldn’t afford? When did we decide protecting our hearts was more important than letting them beat wild and free?

image by the author

Here’s what I know about walls… 

They fail spectacularly at blocking pain. But they excel at filtering out wonder and joy .And they’re expertly designed to keep love—the soul-stretching kind—just out of reach.

I’m not suggesting that we tear down every boundary—yet. We have earned our discernment, haven’t we? Those walls went up for reasons and seasons that deserved to be honored—at the time. 

The boundaries that protect us and the barriers that confine us are vastly different.

What if the walls we built for shelter have become a cage?

What if managing our expectations is just fear in a sensible suit?

What if we’re not too old for magic? 

What if we are finally old enough to recognize when it’s real?

“I did something that terrified me,” Grace continued. “I told him I was scared but wanted to try anyway. You know what he said? He said being scared together beats being safe alone.”

We melted into the kind of hug that dissolves the word ‘stranger.’

Courage rarely roars.
It whispers, “Maybe we should.”

Sometimes courage looks like replacing those invisible bricks with an obscured window that lets in just enough light to remind us that we still like warmth— a lot.

These hearts of ours, with all their scars and stories, aren’t damaged. Weathered? Yes. Experienced? Certainly. Wise? Definitely. 

Maybe we’re ready to believe in beautiful things again.

Not because we’ve forgotten how much it hurts to fall. 

But because we remember how much it matters to rise.

xo,

P.S.  What’s your story with walls? Which ones have served you? Which ones are ready to come down? Which ones are asking to be windows? Hit the voice message button below to share your story – I’ll weave our collective wisdom into the next letter.

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