It’s been a minute since I posted. The last one – Turning a Corner: A Goodbye Without Words – was exactly that. A quiet shift. No dramatic send-off, no fireworks. Just the realization that some chapters end in silence, and that’s okay.

Since then, I’ve stayed off the blog, not because there was nothing to say, but because I’ve been saying it to myself instead.

There were a few half-written drafts; one about running for cover during a thunderstorm with Sadie (who, for the record, refuses to go outside in anything wetter than a heavy mist). Another about getting trapped in an elevator mid-storm, which felt both metaphorical and like a scene from a sitcom. But those moments didn’t quite feel ready for the world yet. I wasn’t sure where the story was headed.

What I have been doing is turning that energy inward. Less spiraling over what didn’t work, and more attention to what does:

• Early mornings with coffee and a book.

• Evenings that don’t need to be productive to be peaceful.

• Slowly making this new place feel like home. Progress report: I now have real furniture and most of the pictures are finally off the floor. (Though I may have misjudged just how little wall space I’d have for all my “moments worth framing.”)

• Long walks. New beaches. And discovering that putting your toes in Florida sand while gently teasing the local sharks might actually be its own form of therapy. (Don’t worry, I keep it playful. Just a light “You sure you want this kind of emotional baggage?” vibe.)

And honestly, healing doesn’t always look like a grand reinvention. Sometimes it looks like getting your Florida driver’s license, closing out divorce paperwork, and finally realizing your apartment isn’t just a temporary stop…it’s your fresh start.

As for Mr. S… well, there are still moments that ache. And memories that sneak up when I least expect them. But as Morgan Richard Olivier wrote:

“Sometimes peace is accepting what apology never came, what closure didn’t close, and what conversation will never be had.”

I read that, and felt my shoulders drop just a little. That kind of peace doesn’t come loudly. It sneaks in when you stop looking for a different ending and start creating a different beginning.

So if you’ve been wondering where I’ve been, I’ve been here. Turning the page. Letting the quiet do its work. Letting go of stories that no longer need retelling.

And if the sharks come? They’re going to have to get in line, life’s already tried to eat me alive. I’m still here.