I Just Had One Simple Question

Some days I honestly think the Universe has a strange sense of humor.

Actually, scratch that. I'm pretty sure of it.

Because every once in a while, something so ridiculously ordinary happens that you couldn't possibly imagine it changing the direction of anything. It feels like one of those tiny moments that barely deserves a second thought. You ask a question. You follow a thought. You make a comment over lunch. Nothing dramatic. No lightning bolt. No angel choir. No burning bush in the backyard. Just a small, ordinary moment that quietly wanders into your day and somehow rearranges the furniture.

This was one of those moments.

It all started because I couldn't remember the name of an organization.

Seriously. That was the entire beginning.

Back in 2023, during my own little breast cancer adventure, I received one of those information packets they hand you after life has suddenly taken a hard left turn and everyone is trying to be helpful. Tucked inside was a flyer for an organization that offered free energy healing sessions to people going through treatment. I remember thinking it was a beautiful idea, and then I filed it away in that mysterious cabinet inside my brain labeled, "Really cool information I might need again someday."

Apparently, someday had arrived.

The organization came up during lunch the other day, and my friend shared that she had actually worked with them. As she described how everything was set up, I found myself listening with two completely different parts of my brain.

One part simply appreciated the kindness behind it. Offering comfort and support to people navigating cancer is a beautiful thing.

The other part...

Well...

It wandered off.

Not because I thought anything needed fixing. Quite the opposite. My brain simply picked up the idea, turned it over a few times, peeked underneath it, and quietly asked, "I wonder..."

I've learned there are two kinds of people in the world. The first ask a question, find the answer, and carry on with their day. The second ask one innocent question and somehow end up redesigning half their life before dinner.

I belong firmly in the second group.

Whether that's a gift or a personality flaw probably depends on who you ask... and whether they've ever had to wait for me while I "just make one quick change" to something.

The more I thought about it, the more another possibility began taking shape. What if the Happiness Matters Foundation could someday help provide free healing sessions for people who genuinely couldn't afford them? What if donations covered the cost so practitioners were honored and paid for sharing both their time and their expertise? What if those practitioners continued doing what they already do so well, and if someone wanted to keep working with them afterward, they simply could?

The Foundation wouldn't need to own the relationship.

It would simply open the door.

Sometimes that's the greatest gift we can offer another human being.

At first, I thought I was simply exploring an idea.

Then the idea started exploring me.

The more I sat with it, the less it became about one future program and the more it became about building a community. A community of practitioners who believe hope should be accessible. People willing to share their gifts while also being valued for the work they do. A place where generosity and sustainability could actually work together instead of feeling like opposing ideas.

Then, completely uninvited, two words quietly walked into my brain.

Hope Collective.

There wasn't a brainstorming session.

No whiteboard.

No committee meeting.

No marketing workshop.

The words simply showed up, sat down, and acted like they'd been living there all along.

The moment I heard them, something clicked.

Almost immediately, another phrase I'd been carrying around for quite a while finally found where it belonged.

Hope in Motion.

I've loved those words for a while, but until that afternoon they always felt like a beautiful idea searching for a home. Suddenly, they weren't just words anymore. They became the heartbeat of the Foundation.

Hope in Motion isn't about wishing things were different.

It's kindness that actually moves.

It's compassion that rolls up its sleeves.

It's people helping people because they can.

And once I saw that...

I couldn't unsee it.

Which is where my innocent little afternoon took a sharp left turn.

Because suddenly the Happiness Matters Foundation website didn't fit anymore.

Nothing was wrong with it.

It simply belonged to yesterday's version of the Foundation.

Once I could see today's version, I couldn't unsee it.

After thirty-seven years of marriage, Jeff has become remarkably fluent in Sabine.

He knows that when I casually announce, "I'm just going to make one quick change to the website," I'm almost certainly lying.

Not intentionally, of course.

I genuinely believe it when I say it.

He just has thirty-seven years of evidence suggesting otherwise.

So he didn't ask how long it would take.

He didn't ask what I was changing.

He simply smiled that patient smile of someone who's seen this movie before, made sure I'd had coffee, reminded me to eat something eventually, and quietly accepted that whatever I thought I was about to do had already left the building.

He wasn't wrong.

One page needed a little updating.

Then another page needed to catch up.

Then the mission suddenly felt too small.

Then Hope in Motion needed somewhere meaningful to live.

Then the Hope Collective deserved its own space.

Then one paragraph led to another.

Then another...

Somewhere along the way, I realized I wasn't making little edits anymore.

I was watching the Foundation become more fully itself.

Before I knew it, my "quick little website tweak" had somehow turned into a complete rewrite.

Again.

The funny part is, I wasn't frustrated.

I was fascinated.

It never felt like I was inventing something new. It felt like I was uncovering something that had quietly been waiting for me to notice it all along. Every small change revealed the next one. Every question uncovered another possibility. The vision became clearer with each page, and by the time I leaned back in my chair, I couldn't even remember what I'd originally opened the computer to do.

That made me laugh.

Because that's pretty much my life in a nutshell.

I start with one simple question...

...and end up somewhere I never expected.

Field Note

When I started writing Notes from the Wild, I imagined they would mostly be stories about getting back out into the real world. Adventures with Persephone. Accessibility discoveries. Museums. Pizza. Basil lemonade. The occasional operator error. You know... the usual.

This week, however, I made an unexpected discovery.

Apparently, my mind is pretty wild too.

It turns out some adventures don't require leaving the house. Sometimes all they require is one forgotten name, an innocent lunch conversation, and a neurospicy brain that never received the "keep it simple" memo. Before you know it, you've accidentally reimagined an entire nonprofit and completely forgotten what you originally sat down to do.

If you've enjoyed this little Field Note, I'd love for you to wander through some of the others. Some take place out on the road with Persephone. Some explore accessibility through the eyes of someone determined to keep living life to the fullest. Some challenge ideas we rarely stop to question. And now, apparently, some happen entirely inside my own wonderfully wild mind.

And if today's story made you curious about the Happiness Matters Foundation, Hope in Motion, or the Hope Collective, I hope you'll come take a peek. Watching this next chapter unfold has been one of the greatest joys of my year, and I have a feeling it's only just getting started.

One thing is becoming very clear.

The wild isn't always a place.

Sometimes...

It's a perspective.

Shift happens...

...and apparently, so do field notes from inside my own head.