Shannon's Corner

  Valentine’s Day has a way of shining a bright light on relationships. Hearts appear in store windows, social feeds fill with roses and declarations, and the word   love   becomes unavoidable. For some, this day feels tender and affirming. For others, it can stir grief, loneliness, or a quiet sense of disconnection. In times of life transition, Valentine’s Day often presses a deeper question to the surface:  Who walks with me now? Transitions change our relationships. Some people remain steady companions. Others drift away—not always out of conflict, but because seasons shift. Roles change. Capacity changes. Sometimes   we   change. You may find yourself asking: ·         Who do I reach for now when things feel heavy? ·         Who truly sees me in this season? ·         Who feels safe to walk alongside the version of me that is still becoming? These ar...

  After the storm passes, there is often a sense of relief. The wind has died down. The urgency has eased.  The world feels quieter. And yet—everything is still changed. The snow remains. In some places, it is pristine and brilliant, catching the light and inviting awe. In other places, it is smudged and dirty, marked by footprints, plows, and what the storm stirred up along the way. Both are true. Both belong. This is often what life transitions feel like after the initial upheaval. The decision has been made. The ending has happened. The diagnosis, loss, move, career shift, or identity change is no longer theoretical—it has arrived and moved through. But what remains is not nothing. What remains is a covering. The In-Between Is Not Empty Snow covers the ground completely. It doesn’t ask the earth to perform. It doesn’t demand immediate results. It simply  rests there . Transitions often invite us into a similar season—one that our productivity-driven culture doesn’t alw...

  I enjoy the snow. I was genuinely looking forward to the snowstorm predicted to arrive this weekend where I live. There is something about snow that feels both beautiful and grounding—the hush it brings, the way it slows the world, the invitation to pause. Snow transforms the landscape, not by force, but by presence. As I looked out my window, I found myself remembering other snowstorms I’ve lived through—and noticing how closely they mirror the experience of life transitions. Preparing for the Storm When we know a snowstorm is coming, most of us prepare as best we can. We stock up on food, gather supplies, charge backup batteries, and make sure we’re ready in case power goes out or plans change. Some life transitions offer that same kind of advance notice. A planned career change. A move. A retirement. A child leaving home. When we know change is approaching, we can prepare ourselves emotionally as well as practically—tending to what is life-giving, saying meaningful goodbyes, f...