Day 36:

Some days don’t come with a headline. No big lesson, no drama, no magic spark. Just a few scattered moments that gently thread together — easy to miss if you’re not looking, but solid all the same.

Today started with a school lunch for Jessalyn’s birthday. I brought her Chick-fil-A — the good kind of birthday lunch — and we sat at one of those long cafeteria tables that always feel like they were made for chaos. Kids were everywhere. The noise was high. Cafeterias are basically tiny airports — trays clattering, people yelling, and somehow one kid is always running with a milk carton like it’s a boarding pass. Somewhere between the smell of ketchup packets and the sound of thirty juice boxes popping open, I thought: yep… definitely don’t miss teaching. Not even a little. She smiled through bites of nuggets and sauce, and even though there wasn’t a candle or a cake or any grand gesture, it felt like a celebration. A quiet one. The kind that doesn’t announce itself but still stays with you.

After lunch, I headed back to Sam’s Club for round two of the ongoing phone transfer saga. What started out earlier this week as a “quick errand” had morphed into a full-on logistical experience, complete with password confusion, missing account access, and a different employee every time who swore this time it would be simple. It wasn’t. It never is. At this point, I half expect them to issue me a loyalty punch card — “Buy 10 failed phone transfers, get your 11th one free.” And honestly, I think Sam’s Club thrives on keeping you there long enough to start browsing 6-foot inflatable Santas in September.

Once I got home, the rest of the afternoon slipped into motion. Raelene was flying in tonight, and even though the house wasn’t messy, I felt the need to get everything just right. Not in a performative way — not scrubbing baseboards or alphabetizing tea — but in the kind of way you clean when you care. When you want someone to feel welcome. I fluffed the couch pillows, wiped the kitchen counters, lit a candle. Guest prep is a funny ritual: you start by wiping down the counters, and suddenly you’re questioning whether your throw pillows are communicating the right emotional message. I even caught myself debating if the “good hand soap” belonged in the bathroom or if that was overkill. (Spoiler: it went in the bathroom. My guests will always smell expensive, even if I don’t.)

There’s something tender about preparing a space for someone you love. Like you’re saying, without needing to say it: I thought about you. I made room for you here.

That was the tone of the day — not urgent, not slow, just moving. I didn’t do anything particularly remarkable, and nothing really demanded deep reflection. But the rhythm was there. That subtle sense of momentum I’ve been building over the past 36 days… it’s still holding. And that’s the part I almost missed.

Because I could’ve written today off as forgettable. A blur. But then again, maybe that’s what makes it beautiful — the fact that I moved through a full day of life, met all the moments as they came, and didn’t need to chase anything down to prove I was making progress.

The thing about consistency is it sneaks up on you — like how you suddenly realize you’ve been humming the same song for three days straight and didn’t notice until someone else pointed it out. That’s what consistency is starting to feel like. Not a performance. Not a sprint. Just a steady, lived rhythm that holds me upright — even when the day feels ordinary.

There’s a quiet kind of power in that. And I’m learning to trust it.