During my initial blogging era, each summer included a thoughtful list of personal hopes and goals. Curated after my most recent birthday, with a sincere intention to complete each one before aging another year.

Thanks to digital archives, I was able to go back in time and read those posts.

The ones from my early thirties grabbed ahold of my heart. I was going through so much. A divorce, broken heart, moving across the country, living with family, medical issues, and a mind attempting to envision an entirely new life. All through tear glazed eyes.

Oh, how I wish to go back and give myself a big hug.

Maybe a glimpse into the future, too.

A journal was kept, though not as diligently as planned. Writing every single day was a big ask at the time. Still is.

Two companies, divided by services offered, grew and were eventually consolidated into one. Turns out photography, graphic design, and writing can all live under the same name.

Life was certainly simplified. So much so, a van named Dandy became home. And nearly all possessions fit neatly inside a few drawers and under the bed.

Speaking of living in a van, traveling more was aggressively accomplished. More days were spent on the road, outside in nature, and sleeping beneath the stars than under a roof.

Solo travel, hiking boots, creased maps, and beautiful landscapes helped heal a broken heart. Quicker than anyone imagined possible.

Family continued to be a great group. Filled with love, understanding, inside jokes, and daily connection. Surprisingly, a few extra years of hometown living ended up being an incredible gift.

Some friendships faded, others bloomed. During road trip years, everyone was seen as often as physically possible. Lives and schedules grew busier. Time, unfortunately, tends to move too quickly between calls, visits, and texts.

On the medical front, much was figured out. Some resolved. Most lingering for a lifetime. Still processing and sorting through the latter.

The one repetitive intention noted each year, being and staying myself through everything, has mostly held true. In many ways, I am still the same person. Though some change was inevitable, after navigating the unexpected terrain of creating a new life.

As always, thank you for being here.

As my birthday month unfolds, reflecting on growing older feels natural. This is not a big birthday ending in zero, but feels like a milestone, nonetheless. The number, half of ninety, cements me well into midlife.

I have always felt a quiet beauty around aging. The opportunity to see yourself changing through the years. Both in appearance and lived experience. Sometimes, the two intermingled.

In a time where so many try to eradicate defining features of a life with decades in the rearview, I am drawn toward embracing the added character.

An ever-present crease has slowly formed on either side of my mouth. Right where a widening smile greets my cheeks. How many times have I grinned over the years? Countless. Enough to leave unique marks.

The realization has me deepening the lines a little more.

Crinkling eyes accompany laughter on this face. Ripples of visible giggle lines now surround my blue observers with the slightest facial movement. The gift of audible happiness traced each one over the course of a lifetime.

Please keep the jokes coming.

White stress streaks of hair frame my face. One grew in a few years before the other. Previously hidden and stained with dye. Perhaps an attempt to hide defining scars from my past. When the rest of my hair earned silver highlights, embracing all the natural shimmer was an easy decision moving forward.

My hair now sparkles in sunlight.

Tiny red dots slowly decorate pale skin. My dermatologist calls them wisdom beads. Medical books prefer cherry angiomas. As a young girl, I called them rubies while tracing invisible lines on my Granny’s hands and forearms, connecting her vibrant specks.

A gem only in my vocabulary because it was (and is) my birthstone.

Thousands of days on the water as a coxswain, trails as a hiker, and running around yards as a kid thoroughly freckled my canvas. Well beyond the initial genetic collection across my nose and cheeks. No amount of sunscreen could have prevented this outcome.

I chose to live most of my days outside, after all.

Admittedly, fewer aches and pains would be appreciated. Some are basic wear and tear. Others likely from my competitive years as an athlete. Bending, tumbling, and propelling my body as a gymnast. Sprinting laps around a track before acknowledging I never enjoyed running in the first place.

What a gift to have moved so freely.

Mostly, I love how much I look like my parents when they were my age. The overall resemblance to Mom is a bit more obvious. But two of my defining features clearly come from Dad.

I hope they see themselves in me. And all our memories etched in their likeness.

As always, thank you for being here.

Living on an island came with an unexpected sense of wonder and curiosity. My house sat closer to edges of land disappearing into the sea than ones reaching toward mainland. This quiet beauty on eastern Long Island quickly introduced Sunday drives to my life.

Initially, they were short. One town over, then two. Discovering each cove, inlet, and canal. Some stops had convenient parking options, quiet parks, and welcoming trails. Others were dead ends designed for practicing three-point turns.

After thoroughly traversing the South Shore, my Jetta was introduced to the North Shore and forks. Leisurely excursions to the eastern points, with detours along the way, transformed my relationship with exploring locally. Blurring lines between visiting neighboring towns and enjoying vacation destinations.

These mini trips also linked my photography practice to traveling. I planned longer road trips, increasing the distance and time away from home. Until one day, I found myself living on the road in a van with a catalog of photos documenting an entire continent.

Of course, this escalation took years. As did closing the chapter of living on the road. And yet, the act of capturing photos with my Nikon camera remained intertwined with travel.

My desire to press the shutter button slowly faded as life and chronic illness kept me at home or on medical campuses. Truth be told, I have not created a new image with my professional camera in nearly five years.

I gasped doing the math, too.

The camera currently resides in the last backpack I wore hiking on a road trip. Wrapped in a protective case, like a time capsule from my previous life.

Only recently did I start missing the weight of it in my hands. And the small viewfinder revealing new worlds to my eyes.

Perhaps a Sunday drive close to home is the best way to become reacquainted.

As always, thank you for being here.

Once upon a time, when they were younger, I would sing my nieces and nephews to sleep. No matter the number of miles between us.

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I am lucky beyond measure to be an aunt to six beautiful, fun, smart, creative, growing up too quickly, big-hearted nieces and nephews. They are my sweet babes. And over the years, most have needed me to sing them to sleep during brief periods of their young lives.

The first was during babysitting duty. I was instructed, by a three-year-old, to sing “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star” as many times as necessary, until they were fast asleep. Approximately thirty minutes later, the little babe was in dreamland and my voice was hoarse.

When my sister came home, I told her I couldn’t believe she sang so much each night. She burst out laughing and informed me the house rule was singing the song five times total.

Clever child.

News spread quickly that Aunt Alaina would sing “forever” at bedtime, but it had to be the “Twinkling” song. And so began a little tradition of me singing to different babes, at different ages, on video calls when they wanted a little extra help drifting off to sleep.

No matter the time of day or where I may have been, if a text with a twinkling star emoji came through, I was singing a few minutes later.

One time from a Grand Canyon overlook. Another standing behind my camera on a tripod, preparing to photograph mountain peaks at dusk. Randomly outside a wedding reception, in a quiet alcove. Or my personal favorite, while hiking in a forest several time zones away.

Most were from the comfort of my home or Dandy. Each call serving as the highlight of an otherwise routine evening.

Since the babes are reaching double digits, one by one, at a pace quicker than I could have ever anticipated, my nighttime singing days have faded from necessity. As they should.

I do still occasionally catch myself humming the song, when the sun goes down and stars begin to twinkle in the night sky.

As always, thank you for being here.

And there I was, unexpectedly smiling. Remembering there was still plenty of beauty around and within me to cherish.

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I still remember noticing this butterfly in the garden. Drawn in by the soft light illuminating each block of color. At first, missing the asymmetrical mosaic. Disrupted by a torn wing.

As if reading my mind, wondering if flight was still possible, its wings began to open and close. Slowly taking off, with extra effort and coordination. Landing a short distance away. Same tree, different leaf. One small trip after another, until a flowering bush was within reach.

I watched in silence, camera down, solely focused on the mission to reach blooms. As every other butterfly soared around us, this broken winged beauty patiently rested along a much slower path.

At last, arriving. Enjoying hard earned, sweet nectar.

Perhaps a lesson in perseverance. When the ease of movement becomes more challenging, requiring a slower but reliable plan.

Or maybe a simple acknowledgement. The act of taking the time you need to reach a destination, new goal, or simply starting altogether, is a viable way forward. Especially when everyone else seems to be accelerating with ease.

This beautiful encounter was a month after deciding to end my marriage. I was completely heartbroken and thought a walk with my camera might be a nice distraction.

And there I was, unexpectedly smiling. Remembering there was still plenty of beauty around and within me to cherish.

I arrived home with the realization moving forward could be less painful if I focused on one decision at a time. Instead of trying to figure out every step of my rapidly changing future all at once.

There were certainly missteps along the way. And some moments could have been more graceful. But I found my way to a beautiful new life, one little leap at a time.

Seeing this photo today brings me joy, knowing how far I traveled over the years. Physically. Metaphorically. In all ways imaginable and unimaginable.

Those outstretched, mismatched wings are also a reminder to slow down once again. As I meet another opportunity to shape the next chapter of my story.

As always, thank you for being here.

Whether the fourteenth of this month brings grand gestures of love or a hush of absence, perhaps an opportunity exists to notice everyday deeds from the heart.

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The year, season of life, current relationship status, an aversion to hearts, or startling color of red can all shift Valentine’s Day expectations. Maybe your perspective changes from year to year. Or the day for proclaiming love is marked with a big heart on your calendar, every single February.

Mine have varied. I was deeply in love for quite a few. Definitively (and happily) single for most. Heartbroken at least twice. Probably managed to forget the day arrived and passed more than once.

Remarkably, always loved. By someone. Family. Friends. A man with or without a label.

Although gestures of love accompanying mid-February may be expected, this year I found myself reflecting on quieter acts. Ones easily overlooked or taken for granted.

Like receiving flowers from my dad, after a series of bad days. And the ongoing gift of morning light dancing across each petal, as I contemplated staying in bed a little longer. A nudge to get up and bask in the sunshine, too.

Mom texting goodnight with a string of emojis. Every single night. Since cell phones developed the ability to send text messages. Sleeping under the same roof? A goodnight in person and text to follow a few minutes later.

Watching sweatshirts, sweaters, and fleece jackets from the back of my drawers become my nieces’ and nephews’ favorite articles of clothing. After attempting to give them to my sister because she is always cold.

Siblings spending hours by my side, regardless of their original plans, because my body landed me in the ER. Again.

Friends sending photos or videos from somewhere beautiful. Sharing their favorite travel moments from a place I may never see for myself. Exclaiming, “you would love it here!” Or asking, “have you ever seen this type of flower?!”

Video chats. A handmade card in the mail. Mums on my doorstep. Escalating hilarious memes. In the neighborhood hellos. Pressing play on the same movie, at the same time. Random old photos from childhood friends. Book recommendations, minutes after turning the final page. Remember when story times. Impromptu evening walks.

Quiet love notes. Arriving any day of the year. Some simpler than others. All received with a grateful heart.

I hope you feel loved today, tomorrow, and every single day after.

As always, thank you for being here.

Brief moments meeting neighbors and experiencing their kindness, during the coldest days of the year.

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Winter arrived in full force this year. Nearly a foot of snow and, even worse, ICE. Temperatures have been well below freezing every single day, except a few glorious hours when the thermometer read 33 degrees. Thankfully, the power stayed on and dripping sinks kept pipes from freezing. Wearing blankets as capes also helped increase coziness.

Dandy, on the other hand, has been parked outside. Greeting all the snow.

Shovels and brooms, still leaning by the front door, have served us well. I found cleaning a few inches at a time worked best. Instead of waiting for the storm to fully pass.

As a promise to my mom, I never stand on Dandy’s roof while clearing snow. Careful bottom sliding is the safest way to move around. Even if it takes a bit longer.

Turns out, scooting around the roof of a large purple van, ten feet in the air, was an opportune time for meeting neighbors. All popping outside or walking over after shoveling to say hello. Making sure I was being safe and had a way to get down.

“There’s a sturdy ladder on the back!”

My personal favorite was the man a few doors down. As I tossed the last shovel scoop of snow aside, he walked over saying, “HONEY. I looked out the window and was like, oh my heavens! Our little purple neighbor is on top of her big purple van shoving snow off the roof!” We both laughed and offered warm wishes, while hurrying back inside.

Though brief, these friendly encounters were appreciated. Always nice to know neighbors care about your well-being. Or were entertained by your snow removal choices.

Each one graciously offered to help, too.

I have long believed small acts of kindness reverberate from one individual to the next. Whether immediate or down the road, kindness travels.

I hope you are doing well, staying safe, and have a reliable way to move away from slippery situations. May the warmth of kindness find you each day.

As always, thank you for being here.

Spreading joy everywhere we go was never my intention. But my goodness has it been a delightful addition to road trips and drives closer to home.

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When deciding to paint Dandy purple, I never considered the amusement from onlookers. I simply wanted a van showcasing my favorite color and easy to spot in a crowd of mostly white vans on the road.

I remember standing in the Maaco office, laughing and confirming several times the bright swatch was the one to use. Instead of the darker, much more subtle swatch they made me take home a few days prior as a second option.

When the paint job was finished, we were all delighted with Dandy’s new color. Vibrant purple on such a large vehicle instantly made us smile.

Turns out, that was the case for strangers across North America, too.

Dandy received the name Purple Oregon, from a sweet Canadian couple, while driving through Wisconsin and Michigan during a late summer road trip. We kept stopping at the same national parks and campsites over the course of a week. They said hello one evening and we have stayed in touch over the years (hi M & W!). I think it is safe to say Dandy’s cheerful color sparked this lovely friendship.

On a few occasions, I have driven through small towns while the local elementary school was outside for recess. The reactions were always the same. Groups of children running to the fence pointing, excitedly yelling, and dancing around with a sudden burst of extra energy. There is always so much joy on both sides of these unexpected encounters.

The most waving and smiling happens in my hometown. A combination of friends knowing I am behind the wheel and kids recognizing Dandy from the children’s book, Dandy the Van. After driving through town, several messages and texts are waiting when I park. Each letting me know Dandy was spotted. I giggle every time.

Even now, with excursions mostly close to home, I still find myself experiencing similar joy driving Dandy around town.

Parked at the grocery store, a woman decked out in purple walked over to say my van was her favorite shade of purple. Mine too, new friend.

Leaving the hospital for a routine appointment, I noticed a young woman and toddler doing a walk around. Giggling, pointing, a finger swipe on the paint from the little one, confirming the purple goodness was real. We smiled and said hello while passing one another. Me walking to Dandy, them heading inside.

And yesterday, when the daily onslaught of news was too heavy, I went for a drive. While at a stoplight, a truck driver preparing to pass by was hanging his head out the window waving at me. Right after rolling down my window, he yelled, “I love everything about you, purple girl!” I quickly yelled back, “thank you!”

I smiled the entire way home. A beautiful, simple act of kindness brightened my day. I hope seeing Dandy (and me in a matching purple jacket) brought some light and happiness to his day, too.

As always, thank you for being here.