An Open Letter of Gratitude
Dear Season of Renewal and Hope,
Thank you for being such an integral part of my life right now.
This has been a difficult season for me in so many ways. And yet, spring has arrived, bringing quiet renewal with it.
This year, renewal has not looked like a dramatic reinvention. Instead, it has felt like a steady return to myself.
I’ve been building a life filled with softness, care, and meaning in small daily ways: early mornings spent in prayer, cozy routines with my husband and my fur babies, creating whimsy instead of rushing past it, allowing myself to rest without guilt, and making space for joy and grief to exist together.
This spring feels less like becoming someone new and more like remembering who I am underneath exhaustion, pressure, and survival mode.
It has reminded me that tenderness is strength, that home can be sacred, that nurturing others does not require abandoning myself, and that healing often looks ordinary long before it looks miraculous.
There is hope in the way I’ve continued planning for summer with warmth instead of dread. Hope in how I still seek beauty in stories, old-fashioned names, roadside attractions, pet celebrations, and little traditions. People who lose hope often stop reaching for whimsy.
I haven’t.
Even the painful parts of this season, especially anticipating saying goodbye to Lois, reveal the depth of my love. Spring has not removed sorrow, but it has shown me that love still blooms beside it.
Some of the quiet renewals I’ve noticed this season include reclaiming gentleness, reconnecting with creativity, trusting slower rhythms, letting my home and my pets anchor me, and realizing I am allowed to build a life that feels comforting instead of merely productive.
And maybe the greatest hope spring has given me is this:
I do not have to force myself into a harsher version of adulthood to live a meaningful life. The soft, whimsical, nurturing parts of me are not distractions from my purpose.
They are part of it.
Sincerely,
Ricki
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