I found the necklace in an airport shop in Phoenix, somewhere between a departure board and a cup of bad coffee. It wasn’t the kind of place where you expect to find something meaningful. I was just passing through—like I always seem to be lately.
I’m from California. I left for college in Idaho, thinking it would be temporary, and then somehow it became my life. The mountains, the winters, the quiet—they changed me. Or maybe they just showed me who I was becoming. This trip to Arizona was another in-between moment: here to watch a friend chase a puck across the ice, to meet my dad and run a Spartan race side by side, to prove to myself that I’m still capable of pushing forward even when things feel heavy.
It’s been a hard year. 2025 wasn’t much gentler. Some seasons don’t ask for your permission before they test you. Somewhere in all of that, I’ve been trying to remember that I’m not lost—I’m just moving.
The necklace caught my eye because it felt simple and steady. Not flashy. Not dramatic. Just something you could wear every day and forget about until you needed it. I bought one for myself and one for my friends. I want it to be ours—not as a symbol of where we’ve been, but of where we’re willing to go.
This year we’ll travel together and separately. Different cities. Different starting lines. Different versions of ourselves. I hope the necklace becomes a quiet reminder that even when we’re apart, we’re still growing in the same direction. That adventure doesn’t have to be loud to matter. That light can return slowly.
I don’t know exactly what’s ahead. I’m learning to trust God and His plan, even when I can’t see it clearly. Maybe that’s what this season is about—stepping forward anyway. Choosing hope in small, deliberate ways. Believing that new beginnings don’t always announce themselves with fireworks. Sometimes they wait for you in an airport, asking you to carry them with you.
