Children are our greatest teachers in how to live. They show us how to be curious, open-hearted, full of wonder; to cry when in pain and laugh and dance when happy. They remind us that life is a journey—exploring, practicing, engaging, never really ending. Watch a child in autumn: they don't mourn the falling leaves; they jump in the piles, marvel at the colors, embrace the change as part of the adventure.
The beauty of autumn has been stunning this year, particularly the colors. There's a quiet anticipation in the landscape as the trees stand increasingly bare against the crisp sky, and I find myself savoring these final bursts of color and warmth before the world settles into winter's quiet.
Last year at this time, one of my dearest friends was dying from cancer. She was a sister in life for me—one of the first people I called to share, laugh, and cry about what was going on. Our lives were deeply intertwined in how we showed up and supported one another.
This autumn, as I watch the leaves release their hold on the branches, I think about how thankful I am for her presence in my life, and how I am not the same person I was a year ago. She taught me so much about living—about connection, about showing up, about love—and even in leaving, she continues to teach me what it means to truly be alive.
Life isn't about getting it right all the time. It's about showing up, letting love shape us. It's about savoring the moments while they last, and trusting ourselves and each other in what follows.
Perhaps that's the point—we learn by being present to the mess and beauty of each moment, by staying connected even when it's hard.
Meanwhile, our children are watching. We are modeling what it means to be human through every moment we share—how to hold both beauty and loss, how to stand bare against the sky and trust that spring will come.
When we create spaces—both physical and emotional—that honor this process, we give ourselves and our children the gift of learning how to truly live.
Because in the end, it's not perfection we'll remember—it's the warmth of presence, the gift of connection, and the grace of simply being together.
