Quietly Observing

Last night, I found myself nursing a little female hummingbird back to health.

She somehow found her way onto our patio, and I spent the evening feeding her nectar, checking on her every so often, hoping she’d be a little stronger with each passing hour.

Our kids named her Lucky, partly because of the beautiful emerald green feathers that shimmer every time the light catches them, and partly because she’d be lucky if she made it through the night.

I tucked her into a small box beside my bed before I went to sleep.

This morning, she was still here.

She’s trying so hard to fly. Every so often she’ll flutter her wings as if she’s reminding herself what they were made to do. She hasn’t quite found the strength yet, but she’s trying.

And maybe it’s just me, but every time she blinks, I can’t help but feel like she’s looking right at me.

In between checking on her, I did what I always seem to do when something captures my curiosity. I started researching hummingbirds…

One of my favorite things I learned is that hummingbirds often return to the exact same backyard year after year. They’ll come back to the same feeder and sometimes even the very same perch.

I couldn’t stop thinking about that.

It made me wonder if Lucky has visited our garden before. Maybe she was here last summer and we never even knew it. And if she regains her strength and flies away, maybe she’ll remember our backyard and come back again next year.

I hope she does.

It’s funny how something so small can slow an entire evening, and now an entire morning.

As I’ve been sitting here with Lucky, I’ve realized she’s been teaching me something.

Not about hummingbirds.

About noticing.

We spend so much of our lives searching for purpose. We define ourselves by the roles we play, being a parent, a spouse, a child, a sibling, or a business owner. Those things matter, of course. But lately I’ve been wondering if one of our deepest purposes is much quieter than we imagine.

Maybe it’s simply learning to notice.

To notice the way the morning sun spills across the kitchen counter before the house wakes up.

To sit outside in the afternoon and watch the yellow finches dive in and out of the sunflower heads, chasing one another as seeds scatter to the ground.

To notice two people lingering over coffee and a pastry, smiling at each other as if the rest of the world doesn’t exist.

To watch a young family walk into Perenn with their newborn tucked into a carrier, introducing them to grandparents over breakfast. Maybe it’s even their first time out with baby.

None of these moments are extraordinary on their own.

But together, they’re beginning to convince me that a beautiful life isn’t built from milestones. It’s built from paying attention to the ordinary.

Tyler and I have always been each other’s biggest cheerleaders. We dream together, encourage one another, and push each other to keep building when things feel hard.

But every now and then, we’re both a little uncertain at the same time.

I’ve realized those moments are important because they remind me not to depend entirely on someone else’s encouragement for my confidence.

Validation is wonderful when it comes, but it can’t be the foundation.

I’m learning to find reassurance somewhere quieter.

Not in accomplishments.

Not in social media.

Not in hearing someone say, “Good job.”

But in quietly knowing that today was meaningful.

That our kids laughed.

That dinner around our table was delicious.

That we built something today that reflects who we really are.

Maybe that’s enough.

Around Here Lately

Paying closer attention has also made me appreciate the little things filling this season of life.

I’ve been “bricking” my phone more often. If you haven’t heard of Brick, it’s a little device that lets you intentionally disconnect from your phone. I didn’t realize how often I reached for it until I stopped. There’s something freeing about being a little less available.

I’ve been living in linen almost every day this summer. My favorite dresses have been from Sézane and Gap. Maybe it’s the fabric, but linen somehow makes me want to move a little slower.

The garden is finally beginning to bloom, and I don’t think I’ve ever been so excited to walk outside each morning. I’ve been cutting flowers and putting together little arrangements for no special occasion at all, just to celebrate the summer blooms. No dinner party. No holiday. Just a vase on the kitchen counter because the flowers are beautiful. Everyday life is worth celebrating, too.

I’ve also been eating an unreasonable amount of Fiber One cereal. Or, more accurately, the Trader Joe’s version. Our oldest daughter looked at the box, laughed, and told me I could’ve just used the cardboard from our compost bin instead. Honestly, valid.

I’m late to the party, but I’ve been watching Ted Lasso, and I finally understand why everyone loves it. There’s something so refreshing about his optimism. He reminds me that kindness isn’t weakness and that building a great team starts with believing in people.

I’ve also been completely pulled into the World Cup. I love the camaraderie, the emotion, and secretly hope America continues falling in love with soccer. Although, if I’m being honest, I mostly love listening to the English commentators.

My favorite snack is still cottage cheese with sunflower seeds. Some habits never change.

Whenever I have a chance, I’ve been listening to How I Built This and Advice Line with Guy Raz. Every episode leaves me wanting to build a little more thoughtfully.

One of my favorite moments recently was hearing our four-year-old use the word “important” perfectly in a sentence. It’s funny how those tiny milestones catch you off guard. One day they’re toddlers, and the next they’re using words that remind you just how quickly they’re growing.

We’ve also been making the same dinner on repeat: crispy seared salmon with seasoned sushi rice. Served with cucumbers tossed in a little sugar, vinegar and toasted sesame seeds, kimchi, pickled ginger, fresh thin slices of lemon, and tons of sheets of toasted seaweed. One of our kids recently declared it their favorite meal we’ve ever made.

It made me realize that every family has those handful of recipes that quietly become part of their story. Meals no one planned to make forever, but somehow become home.

Speaking of home, I’d genuinely love to know: what’s the meal your family makes over and over again? The one everyone looks forward to and would probably ask for if they were coming home for dinner? I’d love to borrow a few ideas.

Something I’m Dreaming About

One thing that’s been on my mind lately is how Perenn can become even more involved in our communities.

We’ve donated pastries, gift cards, and supported fundraisers for years, and we’ll continue doing that.

But lately I’ve been dreaming about something that feels a little more lasting.

I’d love for Perenn to help build gardens at public schools in the communities we’re fortunate enough to serve.

Watching our own children pick tomatoes off the vine, recognize herbs growing in the garden, and stop to admire flowers has made me realize how grounding those experiences are.

Every child deserves to know where food comes from.

Every child deserves the chance to put their hands in the soil and watch something grow because they cared for it.

As cheesy as it may sound, I don’t think there’s much that brings more inner peace than feeling connected to the earth.

Maybe that’s what Lucky has been teaching me.

Slow down.

Look around.

Notice the ordinary.

There is so much beauty waiting for us when we do.

Before I go, I’d love to hear from you.

What’s something you’ve been quietly loving lately?

Or what’s the meal your family seems to make over and over again?

I have a feeling some of my future dinners will come from your suggestions.

One more thing I’ve been loving is making the most of what’s coming out of the garden.