Apparently, people weren't kidding when they said time flies when you're having fun.

I happened to glance at the calendar the other day and realized it had been a couple of weeks since I wrote my last Field Note. A couple of weeks! That's a little unusual for me because, normally, if life even looks at me sideways, I'm over here thinking, "Oooo... there's a story in that." My first thought was that I'd been slacking. Then I started replaying the last few weeks in my head and realized something.

Turns out, I haven't been avoiding writing.

I've just been too busy living.

The funny thing is, I couldn't even tell you where the time had gone. There wasn't a vacation. Jeff and I didn't suddenly decide to road-trip across the country. Persephone behaved herself for a change. There wasn't one giant moment where everything changed. It was more like one good thing quietly bumped into another, and before I knew it, the calendar had somehow sprinted ahead without asking my permission.

Looking back, I think it all started back in April when I decided to check out the All Things Spiritual monthly Monday morning meeting here in Colorado Springs. I'd seen posts about it before and always thought, "One of these days..." You know... that magical little place where dreams, projects, and exercise routines all seem to hang out together while waiting for us to finally get around to them.

Mr. Finite absolutely loves "one of these days." It's one of his favorite neighborhoods.

Thankfully, he lost that argument.

I remember rolling in that first Monday morning not really knowing what to expect. I figured I'd meet a couple of people, drink some coffee, listen for a while, maybe have a conversation or two, and then head home. Nice. Easy. Low commitment. My favorite kind when I don't know anybody. Worst case, I'd have a pleasant morning and be home before lunch. Best case... honestly, I hadn't thought that far.

The funny thing is, if you'd asked me while I was driving home whether my life had just changed, I probably would've laughed.

"It was nice and I met some really awesome people."

That would've been my answer.

We had interesting conversations. We laughed. We wandered down wonderfully weird rabbit trails that would've probably made perfect strangers at the next table slowly back away with their coffee. In other words... my kind of conversations.

Then I drove home.

That was it.

Or so I thought.

Apparently, life doesn't usually announce, "Attention! Core memory being created!" It just quietly gets on with it while we're busy wondering what's for lunch.

So I went back the next month.

Then I went back again.

Actually... now that I think about it, I don't even remember what we talked about during those first few meetings. You'd think I'd remember the conversations if they turned out to be so important. Apparently not. My brain filed away something much bigger without bothering to tell me it was doing it.

Somewhere along the way, people stopped feeling like strangers.

Conversations picked up where they'd left off the month before. I'd recognize faces as I rolled in, and before long they started recognizing mine. Every meeting introduced someone new, another fascinating conversation, another "Holy Shift... that's an interesting perspective." It became one of those mornings I genuinely looked forward to, not because I knew exactly what would happen, but because I never knew who I'd meet or what rabbit trail we'd end up wandering down.

Now that's a sentence I never thought I'd write.

Then it hit me...

I wasn't going to a meeting anymore.

I was going to see my friends.

Holy Shift.

I actually had to sit with that one for a minute.

You know, I wrote an entire book called Square Peg Round Hole because that's exactly how I've felt for most of my life. Not broken. Not wrong. Just... trying to convince myself I was supposed to fit somewhere I clearly didn't. After a while, you start wondering if maybe you should sand off a few corners. Spoiler alert... that doesn't work nearly as well as you'd hope.

Then, without even realizing it, I rolled into a room full of other wonderfully shaped pegs.

Some were square.

Some were triangle-ish.

A few were probably whatever shape a platypus would be if it became a peg.

And somehow...

We all fit.

Not because we were the same.

Because nobody expected us to be.

Looking back, I don't think finding the group changed me.

I think it gave me permission to stop trying so hard.

And that's when things started getting really interesting.

The more I relaxed into simply being me, the more everything else seemed to fall into place. I'd be working on the Happiness Matters Foundation website, moving something from one page to another, and suddenly I'd just lean back in my chair.

"Holy Shift..."

That was it.

I'd stare at the screen for a second, wondering why I hadn't seen it before, make another couple of changes, and then laugh because the whole picture suddenly made perfect sense. Hope in Motion stopped feeling like a dozen different ideas I was trying to organize and started feeling like one story that had been patiently waiting for me to catch up.

Life seemed to respond the same way every time I said yes.

"Oh... good. You're ready for this part now."

One afternoon I caught myself working on the very first QHHT Group Experience and burst out laughing.

I've been wanting to do this ever since I became a QHHT practitioner.

Not just thinking about it.

Actually wanting to do it.

Every time I'd get excited about the idea, life would politely hand me another perfectly reasonable excuse.

Timing.

Logistics.

Broken Ankles.

Confidence.

Life.

Mercury probably got blamed once or twice.

Then one day I opened my calendar, picked a date, sat back in my chair, and just stared at it.

Holy Shift...

I'm actually doing this.

SQUEEEEEEEK!!!

Seriously... I don't even care if I sound like an excited five-year-old.

I am an excited five-year-old and I cannot wait.

Then, because the Universe apparently looked at all of this and thought, "Well... let's really make her smile," another little dream quietly wandered in.

For years I'd imagined what it might feel like to walk into a store and see one of my books sitting on a shelf. Not because I expected people to line up around the block to buy them.

Although... let's be honest... if they ever decide that's a fabulous idea, I certainly won't stand in their way.

It was simply one of those quiet little dreams you tuck into your heart and visit every now and then.

Well...

Three of my books are now sitting on the shelves at Drops of Fae.

The best part?

I never asked.

One of the owners asked me if I'd bring them in.

I still grin every time I think about that.

Funny enough... That connection came through the group too.

Actually... Now that I've sat here remembering all of this, I think I finally figured out where the last few weeks disappeared to.

They disappeared into Monday mornings.

Into coffee.

Into conversations.

Into hugs.

Into laughter.

Into saying yes a little more often than I used to.

Most of all, they disappeared into something I honestly wasn't sure I'd ever find.

My people.

The kind of people who don't expect me to be anyone other than exactly who I am.

Looking back, I think that's what I've been searching for all along.

Not another place to fit in.

Not another room where I could quietly sand off a few corners and hope nobody noticed.

Just a room full of wonderfully weird humans who'd look at my square peg, shrug, pour me a cup of coffee, pull up another chair, and say...

"Oh good...

You're here.

We've been wondering when you'd finally show up."

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.