If you’re unfamiliar with commonplacing, it’s the practice of recording and organizing new and/or interesting knowledge and information. It’s the modern day version of cutting out newspaper clipping to shove in an envelope, and an analog version of booking marking a slew of posts to various save folders across different apps. Though from what I understand, the practice itself is quite ancient.

I tried to talk myself out of it. I don’t need another type of journal! The 3 books I have in my journaling ecosystem right now already feels like a lot, and I struggle to stay “on top of” just those. I won’t keep up with it! I am just susceptible to peer pressure! It’s redundant - I would just be doubling information I already keep in my daily journal!

But the more I thought about it, the more I realized I have always been drawn towards the concept of commonplacing, though I didn’t have that exact word for it.

Where my lore started

I have always loved the physical act of writing. When I was younger and bored, I would print lyrics off from AZlyrics or pull the lyric books out of CD cases and copy them by hand into a cheap spiral notebook. It was a way for me to enjoy the sensory input of writing while also clarifying the many misheard words and phrases of my top songs. Later on, I also enjoyed copying unfamiliar definitions from textbooks, one of my favorite ways to study.

These odd hobbies coalesced when I saw the movie A Walk to Remember for the first time. I don’t remember exactly how old I was when I first saw it (because, unfortunately, I didn’t track information like that on paper like I do now), but I know I loved it only the way a hopelessly romantic, Christian tween from the Midwest could.

One scene in particular imprinted in my brain, and for reasons that surprisingly had nothing to do with my then-deep crush on Shane West. Spoiler forthcoming, though I think the statute of limitations on spoiler alerts is far below 24 years, which is how long ago this movie came out (phew!). Consider yourself alerted.

Subscribe now

Mandy Moore’s character Jamie is lying in a hospital bed, recovering from complications from cancer, and pulls out a thick book that she hands to her love interest, Landon. She explains that it’s a notebook that belonged to her mother who died shortly after she was born. Her mother used the journal to write down memorable quotes she came across from books, celebrities, the Bible, etc. Jamie encourages Landon to open the book and read a passage, and then insists that he keep it. Related side note to my daughter - if you ever give one of my journals to a person you’ve been dating for 2 months, I will roll in my grave. Landon gives the quote journal (back?) to Jamie’s father after she dies.

This idea that you could capture a part of your inner world in a tangible object that could exist outside of you and persist beyond your death captivated me, even before I fully understood the magnitude of death. Maybe it’s because I’m a Leo, or because I was never sure if I wanted to have any. That concept is a crucial part of the foundation of my journaling practices today.

It took a few years, but in 2011 I started my own quote journal after watching We Bought a Zoo in theaters, where the quote from the first entry is from. I continued to add quotes to it up until a few years ago.

Once I realized how long I have been commonplacing without realizing it, the voice in my head telling me not to start lost a lot of power. So I dove (back) in.

Subscribe now

Some musings on my commonplace practice

I’m planning on my commonplace book to primarily be filled with external information: recipes from the internet, quotes from books, interesting facts from a podcast, a book or movie recommendation from a friend, local restaurants and places to explore. My Sterling Ink Common Planner is my place for memory keeping and mostly internal musings. (I detail how I use my Common Planner more in depth in this post on Instagram as well as this video.) My commonplace book will be objective, where my daily journal is largely subjective.

I do expect some crossover between the two, as I often backjournal in my daily pages by a few - or many - days. I plan to keep my commonplace book quite minimal (for me this means no washi, stickers, photos, ephemera, and very limited colors) so that I can easily capture little nuggets of information as they come up. Then I can transfer certain things over to my daily journal as needed.

I’m also thinking that it will serve as a sort of catch-all for other kinds of journals I’ve considered making but haven’t because I ain’t got time for alladat, like a nature journal or recipe journal.

hesitations hopes

Of course I acknowledge the voice telling me not to do it may be right. It’s entirely possible I’ll hyperfixate on this notebook a lot at first and be diligent about adding entries for a while before fizzling out and not touching it again. It might take a backseat to the many other priorities in my life right now. But I still want to do it.

After all, I had many of these same hesitations when I first started bullet journaling back in 2018, which ended up being my gateway into creative journaling as an adult. A creative journaling practice that I have been consistent with for nearly 8 years now, and that has enriched my life so deeply. As that quote hidden on the wall in the diner where Hilary Duff works in A Cinderella Story says, “Never let the fear of striking out keep you from playing the game.” Hey Siri, remind me to add that quote to my commonplace book later.

Instead of fretting about how it might not work for me, I’ll instead contemplate the ways that a formal commonplacing practice could enhance my life.

1. more intentional digital content consumption

I love the idea of manually filtering the content I consume online into what I actually care about and want to remember. In this digital age we come across vast amounts of information so quickly, and our brains simply cannot keep up with it all. I’d like to be less of a passive scroller. Maybe pausing to physically notate something I want to remember can help break the cycle of doomscrolling.

2. seek out knowledge, and be more aware of knowledge from unexpected places

When I started memorykeeping more distinctly in 2023, I found myself saying yes to more fun outings that I thought would make for good entries in my journal. I also paid attention to the world more closely to determine what I wanted to capture from said experiences in my pages. I became more tuned into experiences, and to small glimmers and inklings that I may have otherwise missed. I think something similar will happen, but this time with objective knowledge vs. subjective experiences.

3. improve my memory

Even if I don’t reference any of these entries in the future, I know that the art of writing something down by hand can help solidify it in your mind. And if I do need to reference something, how lovely to not have to open an app to find it.

Now that I’m done yammering about commonplacing, here’s my new, official commonplace book!

The cover page looks fancy, because I am and have always been a slut for the aesthetic, but I PROMISE that the rest of the book is intended to be minimalist.

I filmed and posted a video to YouTube on setting this beauty up, putting together my fold out key, and making the first several entries. If you’re a visual learning and what to see what some of my idea for commonplacing look like in reality, make sure to watch it or to save for later.

Subscribe now

Have you ever commonplaced before, or thought about it? What kinds of things do you notate in there? Is/was your book more minimal or more decorative? I always love hearing how others approach the same concept.

Thanks for reading!

Until next time,
- Emily

Leave a comment

Share

Though I knew people who had died, none had been close to me personally. This was the same for many of my friends until then. I did what I thought was needed at the time to support Mason, what I had gleaned from my community and from media, which was, in retrospect, not very much.

I attended his father’s funeral, though I had only met him once or twice and was not close to him because Mason was not as close to him in high school. I’m sure I offered to hang out with Mason even more, told him I was sorry for his loss, told him that he could talk to me if he needed to. But I was going through my first break-up around the same time; I had just moved back in with my mom for a bit, and shortly thereafter met my now husband, so I feel certain that I stopped intentionally checking in on him fairly quickly. I’m sure I listened and engaged if he brought it up, but I was passive in my support.

At the time, that was what I knew how to do. And granted, it was better than nothing. But after suffering two of my own deep losses - the death of my grandmother, who partially raised me, in 2021, and the stillbirth of my first baby, Oliver, near the end of 2022 - I wish I would have done more. I see the ways he and others supported me after each of these deaths (and the ways some didn’t), and I can’t help but think of my own early inadequacies.

After my son was stillborn, I immersed myself in grief literature and communities as a way of processing my own profound and complex emotions (yes, I’m an enneagram 5 - how did you know?)

Through my own experiences and those that others have been gracious enough to share with me, either directly in conversation or through their books, blogs, posts, podcasts, etc, I’ve been able to piece together some of the common threads that weave into a sturdy scaffolding of support for the bereaved. I’m sharing these pieces with you today in hopes that we can become a more compassionate and supportive society in the face of deep loss.

I try to be as specific as possible and to offer examples when able, as this specificity, as well as providing options, will lighten the mental load and reduce choice fatigue for the bereaved. Though well intentioned, “Let me know if you need anything" and “I’m here for you” requires additional effort from the bereaved to determine what exactly it is they need and to delegate it out to various individuals offer support. That’s a tall order in the early trenches of deep grief, when just remembering to drink water or to bathe regularly can feel nearly impossible. This post below is an excellent demonstration of what I mean when I say be specific and give options.

You don’t have to do all of these suggestions I’ve shared, certainly not all at the same time. Pick and choose what resonates with you and and what you know about your grieving friend. Some suggestions may not be helpful at one point in a loss, but may offer support further along the journey. Always take the griever’s cue, and step back or lean in with more support as necessary.

The disclaimer is that everyone grieves differently, and even the same person can grieve separate losses differently; therefore the way you support someone who’s grieving should be catered to that person and to that particular loss. The support I needed after my grandmother’s death was different from what I needed after my son died, though there were some common denominators.

*Note: I know firsthand that distance can make it even more difficult to help those who are grieving, but not impossible. Whenever I have a suggestion that can be done from a distance, I’ve added an asterisk after.

Subscribe now

1. Make sure they have easily accessible food

This is one that many of us already know to do, as it’s a relatively easy and tangible way to offer support. But it can make a world of difference in those early days when just getting out of bed feels like an insurmountable feat.

My son was born 2 days before Thanksgiving. I had been looking forward to Thanksgiving food my whole pregnancy; needless to say, neither me nor my husband were capable of orchestrating a whole turkey dinner, but we also didn’t feel like attending any sort of social gathering. Between our friends and my husband’s co-workers, we actually had 3 separate people drop off homemade Thanksgiving food. The food lasted us days, and was a true source of solace during that early mourning period.

What this might look like:

• “Hi friend. I made you all a pot of my favorite soup. No dairy! I can drop it off on your porch this evening if you don’t feel like talking to anyone, or I’m more than happy to come in and chat for a bit if you’re up for company.”

• organize a meal train*

• Send then a link to an online menu from their favorite spot. “I’m putting in an order here and a bit. What would you like? I will drop it off tonight around 5:30 p.m. on my way home.”

• load them up with gift cards for food delivery*

Of course, be sure to ask if there are any food accommodations like allergies, preferences, or certain diets.

2. Offer to do some chores

Common household chores like dishes, laundry, and cleaning could easily fall by the wayside in the face of overwhelming loss. Maybe there’s a task that their loved one used to do and they can’t bring themselves to do it in their place yet, or they simply lack the willpower to keep up with usual routines.

Offer to help with a few standard tasks. Consider completing the task without asking, such as setting their trash on the curb/bringing it back, or doing some lawn care.

What this might look like:

• Can I come do your dishes? You can hide in your bedroom if you need to, or you can come chat while I clean.

• I set your trash on the curb this evening. I’ll be by tomorrow afternoon to bring it back up.

• Do you need any groceries? I can go to the store later and drop them off, or can pick up your order if you want to place one online. I can set them on your porch if you don’t feel like chatting, or of course I’d love to see you if you’re up to it.

• I’ll come by tomorrow morning around 7 to take the dog for a walk.

Don’t be afraid if they decline. Some people cling to their routines even more fervently in the face of turmoil, and it’s possible they might find comfort in the mundanity of cleaning and other chores. Still, they will likely appreciate the offer.

3. Assist with childcare

Offer a few times during the week when you could take the kids for an hour or two, or stay there at the house with them, depending on what is most helpful. Again, be specific!

What this might look like:

• I’m free all day Wednesday and on Saturday afternoon; do you want me to take the kids for a few hours one of those days? We can go to the zoo/park/museum etc. if you want some alone time at home. Or I could also come play with them at your house.

If you are unable to assist with childcare much, or you don’t live nearby, consider reaching out to some of the individual’s community to set up a rotation of childcare options for a period of time.*

4. Send them a comfort package.*

Collect an assortment of comforting objects, such as:

• their favorite snacks and beverages

• a candle

• a new mug

• a book

• a notebook and new pens

• gift card to a hobby place

• face masks

• small blanket

• new slippers

The possibilities are endless. These items may seem trite in the face of such profound loss, but the small joy of receiving a box of unexpected goodies someone curated for you can mean a lot.

The morning after we returned from the hospital after delivering my son, belly and arms empty, I heard a knock at the door. When I opened the door, there was an enormous basket brimming with all sorts of goodies. A small blanket, a cup, some snacks, some tissues, chapstick, tissues, a candle, and some breastfeeding related items to help ease the pains of my milk coming in. The note in the basket read “We are so sorry for the loss of your son, Oliver. We are thinking of your family during this time. Please know we are here for you in any way we can be. Sincerely, your neighbors.”

The most touching thing about this gesture is that I don’t recall ever speaking directly to either of these neighbors prior to this. I had seen them in passing and had waved or smiled at them, but our interactions had been limited the year and a half we had lived there. Their kindness moved me to tears, and that basket and its items brought me many small comforts amidst my sorrow.

There’s only one thing you absolutely should include no matter who the basket is for or what kind of loss their suffering, and that is ample amounts of tissues.

5. Ask what dates are toughest for them, and add them to your phone calendar as a reminder to check in.*

This could be a wedding or death anniversary, a birthday, a due date, or anything really. Add these dates to your digital calendar, your planner, your random post-it notes, whatever it is that will actually remind you that said date is approaching or is here.

More importantly, check in on these tough days as well as the ones leading up to them. From my experience, the days leading up to certain anniversaries are usually worse than the days themselves, but any amount of extra support around that time will be appreciated.

This is of course important during the first year, but some of those days will stay significant forever. If you can continue to show up on that day for years, it will mean a lot, as many people who swarmed to help that first year tend to fade into the background as time goes on and the griever’s arbitrary mourning period expires.

What this might look like:

• Hi there. I know Penelope’s birthday is coming up at the start of next week. How are you feeling about it? Do you have anything in particular planned that day, or just taking it as it comes? If you’d like to get together to honor them, or just sit and cry and eat ice cream, I’m here for any and all of that.

6. Volunteer with or donate to a foundation or organization in honor of their person*

Here’s a few questions to consider when thinking of where to volunteer or donate:

• Is there an illness they struggled with?

• Was there a specific cause close to their heart during their life?

• Are there any organizations they were involved in?

• Did they have a favorite animal that is endangered or needing more research?

Around Oliver’s first birthday, a couple we’re friends with made a donation to the World Wildlife Fund and “adopted a sloth” for us, as sloths are something we came to associate with him. It was a sweet gesture, made sweeter by knowing it helped more than us.

As our son was stillborn, we also would have appreciated donations to organizations like Star Legacy Foundation, PUSH for Empowered Pregnancy, or Count The Kicks, all of which aim to prevent stillbirths and advocate for more research around them.

If you’re unsure of what organization would be meaningful, do not be afraid to directly ask your friend.

7. Help coordinate the cremation or burial

Though it will look different for everyone, deciding a final resting place is universal when it comes to the death of a loved one.

While I was in the hospital being induced to deliver my son, a nurse handed me a sheet with a list of local funeral homes. She told us that we needed to decide on a home, and return the list to them before we left the hospital. At the time, I couldn’t even begin to wrap my head around that task. What were we supposed to ask them?

I snapped a picture and sent it to my brother and my sister-in-law, asking if one of them could call some of the homes for us. My big brother called 13 homes and compiled a spreadsheet of the information we needed about cremation costs, urn options, and some of his personal notes about the conversations and his impressions.

I know that was not an easy task by any means, but the weight it lifted from our shoulders cannot be overstated. Instead of slugging through 15 phone numbers in between contractions and blood pressure checks and bouts of sobbing, we were able to go with the first home we contacted.

What this might look like:

• Compile resources from local funeral homes about prices and other details*

• Offer to attend the meeting with the funeral home director

• Help select an urn or casket

• Offer to go with them to pick up the ashes

• Help decide on a final outfit for the deceased

8. Help plan a funeral or memorial service

We flew back to my hometown around Christmas the month after Oliver was born. My sister in law, with the help of my immediate family, planned and organized a small memorial for my son with some of our close friends. She planned the menu and made most of the food, coordinated with my family to find a place to meet, and bought and named a star after him that we could all view that evening under the sky. I am endlessly grateful to them for orchestrating that gathering.

When it comes to planning these ceremonies, there’s a lot the bereaved may want to handle themselves, and that’s okay. But if there are any jobs they are willing to delegate, be open and willing to step in.

What this might look like:

• Help decide a location for a service

• Put together a slideshow of videos/photos of the loved one*

• Assist with writing or editing a eulogy*

• Posting details of the service online or disseminating the information another way*

• Create and print a program for the service*

• Help them pick out an outfit for the service or memorial*

• Contact florist about flowers for the service or memorial*

9. Compile additional resources for them*

Supporting the bereaved should not be the responsibility of any one person. To ensure additional support for your friend, compile a list of resources for them to pursue when they feel ready.

This could be a list of nearby grief therapists and contact information, or a support group for their specific type of loss, either online or in person. You could even put together a list of media that addresses grief and/or their specific kind of loss. You obviously can’t force them to use any of these resources, but making them as easily accessible as possible increases the chance that they will utilize them when they are ready and able.

What this might look like:

• Hi, friend. I know you expressed interested in seeing a therapist. I made a spreadsheet of a few grief therapists near you that take your insurance, contact information, and a little about them from their website. When and if you feel ready, you can contact one to schedule a consultation to see if they’re a good fit.

10. Help decorate a gravesite or memorial area

If there’s a gravesite for the loved one of your friend, offer to help replenish the flowers on it, or add a decoration or two for different holidays. If you have access to this gravesite on your own, consider going to do this unprompted. Show up and decorate it, and send a picture to your friend to remind them you have not forgotten about them or their loved one.

This is a little trickier if the deceased was cremated, as the memorial space is likely set up in their home. But it’s still possible. You can send them flowers, or decorative items, and let them know that they are for so-and-so’s memorial space.*

After my son’s stillbirth, I connected with another mom, Morgan, who lost her first baby shortly after mine. Like me, she has a few shelves in their home dedicated to her son Flynn’s urn, photos of him, and other memorial objects.

While they were away over what should have been Flynn’s first Easter, Morgan’s mother housesat and cared for their pets. On Easter day, she sent a photo to Morgan of Flynn’s shelves, which she had adorned with Easter related decorations, books, and cards. After seeing the photo, Morgan said “Nothing makes me happier than knowing he is included on special occasions, thought about and incredibly loved.”

11. Speak with them about their person who died*

It’s easy to avoid bringing up the person who died for fear that it may trigger sadness from your friend/family member. But the truth is that they’re already sad, whether they talk about it or not. And more often than not, the chance to talk about their loved one and what made them so special is not only desirable but necessary for them to process and externalize their grief.

What this might sound like:

• Do you have any favorite photos of them?

• What reminds you of them? A particular food, flower, song, animal, etc?

  Pay special attention to their answers here. If there’s a symbol they associate with their loved one, consider buying them things related to the object or making them yourself, and maybe incorporating it into one of the anniversaries. Or, when you spot one of these object out in the wild, snap a photo and send it to them to let them know you are helping keep the memory of their loved one alive.

• What’s your earliest memory with them/how did you meet?

• Tell me about a time they made you laugh.

• If you knew the person as well, you can also share any photos or memories you have of them.

12. Let them be sad

In a culture riddled with sayings like “good vibes only” and “look on the bright side,” it’s easy to see why so many of us are ill-equipped to deal with negative emotions, both from ourselves and in others.

One of the most powerful things you can do for the bereaved is to simply witness their grief, whatever shape it takes, and to not shy away, or shape it into something more palatable. Let them cry, or scream, or punch a pillow, and don’t rush in with positive affirmations or “everything will be okay.” Simply acknowledge that yes, this sucks, and sit with them in the suck as they move through it.

13. Keep them distracted

While it’s healthy to engage with the tougher emotions that grief creates, it’s also impossible to fully engage with them constantly. We simply don’t have that kind of stamina. Sometimes distraction is a welcome reprieve. What this looks like will be heavily dependent on the mood of the griever, so be sure to ask them, and offer a variety of suggestions if they’re unsure themselves.

What this might look like:

• Take them to the beach or pool

• Go on a walk

• Go shopping

• Bring over some board games, cards, or puzzles

• Parallel play - hang out in the same space together doing your own activities separately

• Play virtual games with them*

• Go to the zoo or aquarium

• Take them to a movie

• Watch a movie at home with them

• Go out to dinner

• Cook dinner together

• Meet up with another friend or two

14. Be awkward

Too often when confronted about their lack of support for someone who is grieving, people state that they just didn’t know what to say. While this is likely true, it should not be an excuse to disengage from the bereaved. Showing up and saying the wrong thing, or being there but saying nothing at all, or telling them directly “I don’t know what to say, but I want you to know I am thinking about you and ways I can support you” is infinitely better than the silence that too many of us experience in the wake of loss. I can assure you that the few moments of awkwardness that this may cause pales in comparison to the hurt of no direct communication at all.

While this is the end of my list, it’s important to remember that grief from the death of a loved one doesn’t ever truly end. Don’t put an expiration date on your friend’s grief or on the support you offer. They will likely need less support over time, but if you can continue to hold space for their grief as the years continue, I’m sure it will be greatly appreciated.

This post contains affiliate links.

Thumbnail photo is by Sue Carroll on Unsplash

While reflecting back on these pages, I started thinking about how some of these glimmers occurred regularly, almost routinely. And how much more influential they have been in my life than the big, contained events, like my daughter’s birth or our move to Hawaii.

As 2024 ended and a new year began, I’m sure that your social media feeds, like mine, were filled with people sharing these big moments: the moves, pregnancies, births, engagements, weddings, promotions, trips, etc. Moments that likely have some sort of documentation - a photo, video, souvenir, or maybe some sort of paperwork - to accompany them and solidify their significance.

Although these moments are undoubtedly important and often pivotal, they are really such a small part of what comprises our lives.

Most weddings last less than a day, barely 0.25% of the whole year, but the daily interactions with your partner are what make or break a marriage.A child is only born once, but the minutiae of the routines and habits and environment created by their parents are the tiny threads that weave together the fabric of their lives.

Today I wanted to share some of the small and precious moments that shaped me this year.

01.

Ever since her FOMO (fear of missing out) kicked in around 3-4 months old, my daughter MJ has not been the most affectionate or cuddly baby. At this stage, crib naps are more reliable for us than contact naps.

Before every bedtime and nap, I sing “Colors of the Wind” to her as the last part of our routine. I start singing. I pace the room with her upright over my shoulder, Hatch sound machine on playing wave sounds in the background and glowing with yellow light. At the start of the second verse, I turn the Hatch to red light and white noise. And then I turn off the overhead light at the start of the refrain.

There’s a point in the last chorus of the song, usually around when I sing “for whether we are white or copper-skinned,” where she will gently lay her head on my shoulder, or nuzzle it into my chest beneath my chin. It only lasts about 45 seconds before the song ends and I lay her down in the crib, but when it happens, I feel the anxieties of the day melt away as I become fully present.

I tune into the warmth of her little body pressed into mine, the soft suckling noises from her pacifier, the gentle rise and fall of her breath, the red glow of the sound machine mingling with the daylight trickling in around the curtains. For those moments, I bask in the purest form of love.

02.

Dakota and I make an effort to properly hug at least once per day. When I say properly, I mean both arms, head in chest (a huge benefit of having a partner a foot taller than me), eyes closed, at least 10 seconds long. 10 seconds doesn’t sounds like a long time, but in hug seconds, it’s actually pretty long. If you don’t believe me, I dare you to count how long your next hug is. And I mean really count: 1 Mississippi, 2 Mississippi etc.

I often welcome these hugs and the respite they provide. But sometimes I’m resistant when he initiates them, especially since bringing MJ home. I may be overstimulated or touched out or focused on something else, painfully aware that my time is not fully my own anymore. Whatever the reason, I try my best to lean into them, and I almost always come away feeling a little lighter, like he has magically absorbed the edges of my tension.

03.

I cherish the mornings when I’m able to wake up before MJ and journal or read while I sip my coffee in silence. This morning peace is something I have always enjoyed when it’s happened, but as a chronic night owl, it was never something I prioritized. Now it’s something I strive for everyday, although the reality of having an infant whose sleep is chaotic means I sometimes (okay, often) choose sleep instead.

Still, even 30 minutes of this buffer period in the morning leaves me feeling more attuned and patient for the rest of the day. Although the act itself has not changed much from before MJ was here, there’s something about having a tiny human who could shatter that silence at any moment that makes me savor its sweetness all the more.

04.

Sometimes instead of reading before bed like I normally do, I’ll opt to cuddle with Dakota in bed while we scroll TikTok together. I know, I know - classic millennial brainrot goblin mode, choosing a dopamine dumping, quick-scrolling video platform over the sophisticated art of reading. Sue me. But it’s often the only time we connect with each other one-on-one without MJ there to draw our focuses.

Every now and again, we will come across a video that makes us belly laugh for full minutes, tears streaming out of our eyes and clutching our middles, before we are able to calm down. There is something so all-encompassing and cleansing about this kind of laughter. It is well worth the 30-40 pages it might put me behind my reading goal.

05.

The combination of us living on a tropical island and popular vacation spot as well as bringing our daughter home means that we have had several friends and family visit this past year. I will never get over the way that the big, shit-eating grin feels on my face when we’re at the airport picking up loved ones we haven’t seen in months, maybes years, knowing that they are nearby but not yet in sight. Or the pure excitement vibrating between us when we finally spot one another.

If that’s not enough, I also have the pleasure of watching their faces light up when they officially meet MJ for the first time, regardless of how tired or stressed they are from the hours of traveling. Many of them mourned our first baby, Oliver with us, and have eagerly awaiting meeting a baby of ours for years. The warmth and comfort I feel knowing that there are so many good people in our lives whose love for our daughter is so plainly displayed on their face mere moments after meeting her is bone deep.

06.

Snorkeling is one of my favorite new hobbies since moving to the island. Though the sounds of ocean waves from a beach are soothing and serene, it doesn’t compare, in my opinion, to the quiet of the world below the surface. Every time I snorkel, I am filled with a powerful sense of wonder and connection to the universe and all her creatures - as long as my mask is appropriately sized, that is. I try to carry that sense of wonder and connection with me when I leave the water.

This above-ground wonder has primarily led me to looking up, in the form of birdwatching and rainbow seeking. It’s been so calming to learn about the birds in the area and spend time identifying, observing, and photographing them. I’m almost ashamed of how much pride I feel being able to identify various birds to friends and family. Almost.

Similarly, every time I see a rainbow in the sky, I’m overcome with awe. They always fill me with a pure and childlike joy, like watching the first snowfall of the season from my window as a kid and anticipating a snow day. I enjoyed this practice so much in 2024 that I decided to make a “rainbow tracker” in my 2025 planner to ensure I continue searching the skies and chasing rainbows this year.

07.

Since I spent a majority of the year raising a baby, I also spent an inordinate amount of time consuming media. Primarily television shows, books, and movies. Every now and again I come across a piece of media that, at the time, feels like it fuses into my soul and becomes an inextricable part of me. Maybe a movie that I saw at exactly the right time, or a book that fully drew me into its world at a time when I needed a distraction from reality. Or a new song that comes on and so perfectly matches the mood of the moment, or even shifts my mood to match it.

These are the pieces of media that did this for me this year:

• Queen Charlotte (TV Show on Netflix) - By far the most superior season of Bridgerton. I watched it while in the throes of newbornhood and breastfeeding woes; it gave me something to look forward to during those long, seemingly never-ending nursing session.

• The Wild Robot (movie) - This movie is delightful for anyone at anytime; however, I watched it for the first time at the end of a particularly hard day of mothering. It was the exact movie I needed to see, and is inarguably a new comfort movie. And that DAMN soundtrack… Kris Bowers did not need to go that hard, but he did.

• Legendborn by Tracy Deonn (book) - I’ve never considering myself to be much of a fantasy girl, but this book shifted that opinion. The world-building was spectacular, the characters were relatable and lovable, and I was so invested in the plot. Bonus points for amazing representation and for discussing themes of grief.

• A Sky Beyond the Storm (Ember in the Ashes #4) by Sabaa Tahir (book) - While this entire series was pretty great, the finale was by far my favorite of the four. I always worry about how series’ will end, since the ending is so crucial to how I remember a piece of media (looking at you, Game of Thrones). But this series couldn’t have had a more perfect ending.

• Dancing by Way by Wyn Starks (song) - We have had countless impromptu kitchen dances to this song this year.

• Āina Hānau / Birth Land by Brandy Nālani McDougall (book) - I picked this poetry collection up during our first visit to Hawaii at the end of 2023, the trip I left from with a miniscule sized group of cells inside me that eventually grew into MJ. I didn’t read it until January of 2024, a few months before we moved to the island permanently and while 4 months pregnant. I read a lot of the poems out loud, and often when I did, I’d feel MJs soft little kicks of approval.

• This Wish (Disney Orgel version, song) - The Disney orgel albums were the soundtrack to MJs naps for a few months. I’ve never heard the original version of This Wish, but now I can’t hear the Disney Orgel version without tearing up a little. It came on once while I was holding MJ while she napped, and it felt like such a beautiful externalization of the feeling of serenity and love I had at that moment.

I could go on endlessly, but for now I’ll conclude this list here.

I hope this piece inspired you to reflect on the little moments from your year that may have fallen between the cracks. If you think of any, I would love to hear about it. Please leave a comment (in the Substack app) or respond to this e-mail, if you’re reading in your inbox, if you’d like to share!

Subscribe now