Last spring, I wanted to be Fredrik Backman. I don’t mean famous. Or Swedish. Or brilliant. Or a guy. No, I wanted to be the writer whose words could cause a quinquagenarian former high school principal, not prone to emotional outbursts, to weep openly in an auto repair shop full of men to awkwardly examine the ceiling tiles while praying  for their trucks to be done soon. I’ve been devouring his work. His novels knot my heart and mind until I can’t unravel where all the feelings start. I have to pause and do that Navy Seal breathing strategy from TikTok just to be able to analyze how he can turn ten ordinary words into a tornado of universally felt emotion.

“The bluest skies you’ve ever seen in Seattle." That lyric, from Bobby Sherman’s theme song to Here Come the Brides, has been stuck in my head since I was five years old. It is so true and so not true. And I am grateful that it is both. Last night, my husband and I took advantage of a late summer breeze to sit on the patio.

We are strongest where we are broken, AND when we advocate for ourselves, face the problem, and support each other.