Here’s a question I want you to sit with for a moment: If someone followed you around for a week — not listening to your intentions, not hearing your explanations — just watching your choices… who would they say you are? Not who you want  to be. Not who you mean  to be. Not who you describe yourself as on a good day. Just… who shows up. Your identity isn’t hiding. It’s leaving clues everywhere. It’s in how you start your mornings. What you tolerate. What you avoid. What you m

I recently took a Peloton class where the instructor asked a simple, unexpected question: “What’s your milkshake?” At first, it sounded playful. Almost silly. But the more I sat with it, the more I realized—it was actually a brilliant question. Because what he was really asking was this: What is the thing about you that draws people in? Your Milkshake Isn’t Your Resume When we hear a question like that, it’s tempting to answer with skills. What you’re good at. What you’ve tra

I recently returned from a family funeral, and one of the strongest impressions I carried home wasn’t about loss. It was about roots. Specifically, how deep some of them go. The reason I went wasn’t obligation. It wasn’t proximity. It wasn’t even frequency. It was because my cousin and his family hold a special place in my heart—one that was formed early, quietly, and over time. A place shaped by shared years, shared experiences, and a sense of belonging that didn’t need to b

Weddings are filled with possibility. They’re celebrations of what people hope  their lives will become. We gather around intention—love, commitment, partnership, a future that feels expansive and full of promise. There’s optimism in the room. It’s beautiful. Funerals feel very different. They’re not about what someone planned to do someday. They’re about how that person actually lived. The stories shared aren’t aspirational. They’re observational. They reflect patterns, pres