This Is What He Remembers About Me? (Is It Still True?)

Long Time, No See

Jeff and I walk into the funeral home in Mississippi. I spot my cousin Mike immediately. He’s four years older than me and has always been much taller than me.

Mike and I haven’t seen each other in years. But I would recognize him anywhere. On this day we’re here together because his dad—my uncle—died a few days earlier.

Mike and I hug. Then we sit on the couch in the lobby to talk.

That’s when Mike says the oddest thing to me:

“You know what always ticked me off about you?”

I have no idea what is coming next.

I respond:

“I have no idea, Mike. Tell me.”

Image: Mike and Lisa 2022

2022

What I Remember About Mike

Looking back, I remember three things about my cousin Mike as a kid:

  1. Mike had an incredible memory for historical trivia
  2. He made funny, clever jokes
  3. He wore the thickest eyeglasses I’d ever seen.

At some age I finally realized why Mike wore such thick glasses.

Mike was born with a sight disorder that caused deteriorating vision.

As much as Mike was treasured by his family members, I somehow understood that the outside world was not as kind to him. Children don’t always respect those who are different.

And Mike was special. I remember that.

Image: Mike and Me 1972

1972

But to me, Mike was different in a good way.
He was intelligent.
He was witty.
He was fun.

As an adult, Mike chose a career serving other members of the seeing impaired community through the Alabama Public Library system.

And after 35 years of good service, Mike retired.

This Is What Mike Remembered

Back at the funeral home, I ask Mike what it was he remembered about me.

Mike says, The thing I remember about you as a kid is you never liked your food to touch. That really ticked me off.”

Whew. I laugh. That’s what Mike remembers.

We chat some more. We attend the beautiful ceremony honoring my uncle. We gather at the cemetery near my grandparents’ country church for the burial. Then we all lunch on a delicious spread provided by the family’s church friends in the fellowship hall.

Mike and I eat at different tables.

Before I take my last few bites, though, I need to do one more thing.

I need to find Mike’s table.

I need to show him my plate. As an adult. Not a kid.

Is what Mike remembered about me still accurate? I let him decide.

On my plate, there is no distinct line between the corn and the peas, but neither are they jumbled up together. The chicken may have rubbed against the potato salad, but not enough to blend together.

My food now touches a little. But still not a lot.

Mike and I both laugh about it.

We can’t always control which facts people will remember about us. But maybe we can influence the sentiment.

What I remember most about Mike is how he made me smile.

And he still does.


What does your family remember about you as a child? Share in the comments.

revised from the archives


When My Gift Is Trusting Your Decision: Keeping Two Cents in My Pocket

The Longing for Something Else

Our friend has been wanting to move for a long time.

She’s been unhappy in her neighborhood. Restless. Disturbed. Ready for something quieter, greener, and more spacious. But her options have been limited.

Two women sitting quietly together on a bench at sunset, symbolizing presence without advice.

So when she told us last December that a perfect opportunity had opened up, we were excited for her. A friend had offered her an empty room in the country with a beautiful view and calm surroundings.

She was thrilled.

And we were happy for her.

But also heartbroken for ourselves. Because we knew what it likely meant: we would probably never see her again.

The Goodbye That Wasn’t

A few weeks ago, on a Monday afternoon, we said our teary goodbyes. It felt heavy and final. We were grateful for our years-long friendship but already grieving the loss to come.

Then the next Monday, when we went back to her apartment complex, our friend was still there.

And the next Monday.

And the next.

Of course we were thrilled for ourselves. But also confused.

She didn’t offer many details. Just that she was waiting. Making sure. Trying to discern whether it was truly the right move.

And that’s when the real work began for us.

Apartment complex representing returning to the same place again.

The Hard Work of Staying Quiet

The hard work is not prodding her, encouraging her to make the “right” decision to move while she can.

It would be so easy to:

  • Say what we would do
  • Point out the obvious benefits
  • Tell her she’d be crazy not to take the opportunity

It takes discernment to know when to speak up and when to be quiet. Sometimes our advice is sound and proper to offer.

But in this case, with this friend, our advice is not what she needs. It’s our respect.

She is older than we are. Wiser. A survivor of trials we don’t even know about. She knows her own mind and is fully capable of making her own decisions.

Our advice wouldn’t actually help her.

It would only help us feel helpful.

Close-up of hands resting quietly behind her back, symbolizing restraint and choosing not to give advice.

When Helping Means Stepping Back

Sometimes helping means stepping back.

Sometimes love looks like keeping your two cents in your own pocket.

Sometimes the most generous thing you can offer another person is trust.

Trust that they don’t need your fixing.
Trust that their timing is not yours to control.
Trust that they know what is right for themselves.

I recently came across these words that Parker Palmer published ten years ago. But the sentiments are evergreen:

“Here’s the deal. The human soul doesn’t want to be advised or fixed or saved. It simply wants to be witnessed — to be seen, heard and companioned exactly as it is.

   When we make that kind of deep bow to the soul of a suffering person, our respect reinforces the soul’s healing resources, the only resources that can help the sufferer make it through.”

– Parker Palmer, The Gift of Presence, The Perils of Advice

Witnessing. Not advising.

Therein lies our gift.

If She’s Still There on Monday

So next Monday, when we return to our friend’s neighborhood, if she is still there—still waiting, still discerning, still undecided—I hope we’ll simply be glad to see her again.

Two coffee mugs on a small table, representing quiet friendship and shared presence.

No hinting.
No nudging.
No advising, even out of concern.

Just presence. And delight. And the gift of saying, without words, “We trust you.”

And big hugs all around.


A Question for You:

Sometimes our advice is welcomed and needed. Other times, we need to keep our two cents in our own pocket. How do you discern the difference?

I’d love to hear your wisdom in the comments.


What If This Moment Is Asking for a Different Pace?

When Time Feels Manageable

I begin the morning relaxed. I have ample margin built into my schedule—a gift of breathing room to myself. No rushing. No tight deadlines. I’ll arrive at the airport early, sharing an Uber with my friend whose flight leaves a full two hours before mine.

Everything feels calm. Manageable. Under control.

My flight back home is scheduled for 3:15 p.m. I’ll land in Dallas at 6:20, with a comfortable one hour and twenty minutes layover before my final flight home. Plenty of time.

Until the dings begin.

Empty airport terminal at night symbolizing slowing down and waiting

The Dings That Change Things

Ding.

A text from American Airlines. My flight to Dallas is delayed by 15 minutes.

I don’t mind. I’ll still have an hour to get to the next gate once I arrive in Dallas. No biggie.

Ding.

New departure time: 4:00 p.m. Arrival in Dallas: 7:05.

My stomach tightens a little. Now I’ll have to run when I get there. I begin shifting to a hurry mindset.

Ding.

Departure pushed to 5:05 p.m. This won’t work at all . . . except my connecting flight is also delayed. It’ll still be close. Still tense. Still possible—but barely.

Ding.

Really? Now I’ll leave at 5:30 p.m.

I talk to customer service at the airport. They tell me to keep my flight to Dallas and hope for the best. Hope feels wobbly, but it’s all I have.

When Hope Runs Out

Ding.

5:57 p.m.

Ding.

6:24 p.m.

Ding.

The seventh delay seems like a final verdict: 7:07 p.m.

I’m done.

This time, I know I’ll miss my connecting flight.

And then—something unexpected happens.

An Experiment with Pace

Antique watch representing the relativity of time and pace

My February theme I’ve chosen for my One Word Shift is Pace.

Specifically, I want to honor the pace this moment requires. I pull forward the tangible representation from my One Word jar: my deceased aunt’s old watch—a reminder that time is more relative than we realize.

Sometimes altering my pace means I slow down. Intentionally. I’m trying to stop rushing when when rushing isn’t necessary.

Other times, it means I speed up—not letting something linger longer than it needs to.

Like writing this blog post.

I decided to see how quickly I could put it together.

As it turns out: not as fast as I wanted. But also, not as long as it could have taken.

The Moment Everything Softens

Back at the airport, once I know that I won’t make it home tonight, my jitters disappear.

When rushing was no longer an option, something in me finally softened.

The delay is so large that I’m back to having plenty of time again.

The mental math stops. The frantic inner voice quiets down. I’m no longer in rush mode, because there is no rushing something out of my control.

And somehow . . . that’s freeing.

Waiting Is Okay

I finally arrive in Dallas at 10:30 p.m.

I shift back into slow mode.

Waiting for customer service.
Waiting for the shuttle.
Waiting in line at the hotel that night (compliments of American Airlines).

By midnight, I’m in a bed. And by morning, I’m on a new flight home at a leisurely 10:30 a.m.

Quiet hotel room reflecting rest and surrender after travel delays

The Real Shift

Experimenting with pace has been interesting. I’m learning that while physical shifts matter, for me the mental shifts matter more.

Timing isn’t always within our control. But knowing when to slow down and when to speed up is helping me better live in the moment I’m actually in—not the one I’m racing toward or the one I’m trying to resist.

Timing isn’t always within our control—but our pace still is.

As it turns out, staying present here is the sweetest time of all.


When have you had to speed up lately? Slow down? I’d love to hear in the comments.


This Month’s Must-Reads for Me: Stories, Connections, and Life Lessons
—February 2026 Book Recommendations

I have lived a thousand lives and I’ve loved a thousand loves. I’ve walked on distant worlds and seen the end of time. Because I read.
—George R. R. Martin

Each of these eight books felt meaningful to me in its own way about connecting with other people and with ourselves, whether through a well-told story or through the wisdom of life lessons.

[See previously recommended books here]

NONFICTION

1. So You’ve Been Publicly Shamed
by Jon Ronson

Book cover of So You've Been Publicly Shamed

What’s your secret? Jon Ronson asks:

Maybe our secret is actually nothing horrendous. Maybe nobody would even consider it a big deal if it was exposed. But we can’t take that risk. So we keep it buried.

I found this to be a totally fascinating topic about how ordinary mistakes can explode into viral outrage and public humiliation (examples included in the book). It makes you wonder about how and why our modern culture uses public shaming as a powerful—and dangerous—tool.

2. Secrets of the Killing State
The Untold Story of Lethal Injection
by Corinna Barrett Lain

Book cover of Secrets of the Killing State

I highly recommend this one, especially for readers in the U.S., where executions still occur regularly.

My state of Alabama has one of the most active—and most botched—execution systems, so this book felt especially important to read. I learned even more through a virtual book club with the author, whose research takes apart the myth of lethal injection as humane. She finds instead a system full of secrets, incompetence, and deep human suffering among people all along the process, not just those sentenced to death.

3. Rule Makers, Rule Breakers ***
Tight and Loose Cultures and the Secret Signals that Direct Our Lives
by Michele Gelfand

Book cover of Rule Makers, Rule Breakers

Do you live in a country with a tight or a loose culture? This book shows how different regions perceive rule-following, and how those differences shape everything from daily behavior to politics and relationships.

4. All in This Together
Stories and Teachings for Loving Each Other and Our World
by Jack Kornfield

Book cover of All in This Together

This is a collection of stories and teachings that remind us of our shared humanity and the importance of tapping into our goodness, especially in uncertain times. Although Kornfield draws from Buddhist wisdom, you don’t have to be a Buddhist to appreciate his guidance about connection and compassion. I read the review copy (thanks, NetGalley!).

5. Beyond Belief
The Science-Backed Way to Stop Limiting Yourself and Achieve Breakthrough Results
by Nir Eyal

Book cover of Beyond Belief

Beyond Belief shows how many of our limits are psychological, not physical, and how reshaping those often unconscious assumptions can create real shifts in our lives. I was able to participate in a Zoom call with the author and found it fascinating to hear how other readers are putting his science-backed strategies into practice—for me, that gives the book more weight.

6. Real Love
The Art of Mindful Connection
by Sharon Salzberg

Book cover of Real Love

Real Love shows how ancient Buddhist wisdom can help us experience love more fully—with ourselves, others, and life itself (again, you don’t have to be a Buddhist to appreciate these writings). It also offers practical mindfulness exercises for cultivating more authentic connections.

FICTION

7. The Frozen River
by Ariel Lawhon

Book cover of The Frozen River

Very good story and storytelling. The Frozen River follows Martha Ballard, an 18th-century midwife in Maine (based on a real person!). When there’s a suspicious death on the frozen river in her town, Martha has to overcome obstacles to uncover the truth.

8. The Names
by Florence Knapp

Book cover of The Names

Such a fascinating concept for a novel—I loved it. The Names follows Cora and her family based on a single decision—the name she gives her newborn son. The book reads like three separate stories, based on three alternate life paths over thirty-five years determined on which of the three names she chose. It was a little hard to follow at times, but completely worth the effort to think it through.

WHAT I’M READING NOW

  • The Look
    by Michelle Obama
  • The Unfolding: Poems
    by Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer
  • All the Way to the River
    by Elizabeth Gilbert
  • The Extinction of Experience
    Being Human in a Disembodied World
    by Christine Rosen
  • Truly
    An Inspirational Journey Through the Life of a Musical Legend
    by Lionel Richie
  • Year of Wonders
    by Geraldine Brooks

*** Books from Daniel Pink’s 21 Favorite Books list; you can find it here. I’m working through the list. I’ve read 15 so far, and have 6 more to go. Getting closer!

Have you read a good book lately? I’d love to hear in the comments.

I’m sharing at these linkups


On the Blog – January 2026

Here are brief summaries and links to posts on the blog, Lisa notes, from January 2026.

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See previous months’ archives here


Noticing the Shift: What Keeps Blooming When We Pay Attention
—Share Four Somethings January 2026

I’ve been intentionally watching for shifts this month—some subtle, some more noticeable. Life is always changing, moment by moment.

This month’s four somethings all circle around what happens when we show up to the shift—so life can keep blooming.

Each month in 2026, we’re sharing these 4 somethings at Jenn’s blog.

1 – Something I loved
2 – Something sustaining me
3 – Something carrying me forward
4 – Something I’m making space for

I’m also sharing my last month’s One Second Everyday video . . .

Video of One-Second-Everyday for December 2025

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Something I Loved

  • A reminder that beauty can return again and again 

I was given this amaryllis a couple of months ago. I assumed it would bloom once and be done.

But instead, new shoots keep popping up, followed by new blooms—and I’m surprised every time. Just when I think it’s finished, there it goes again.

Amaryllis plant continuing to bloom indoors, symbolizing noticing small shifts

Sometimes the stems can’t hold the weight of the blooms and they start to fall over. When that happens, I cut them and put them in a vase, where they stay beautiful for another week or so.

My plant people here can confirm this for me, but I read that once the foliage dies back, I should remove the bulbs and store them in a cool, dark place until fall. Even though it’s a houseplant. Is that right?

I can’t quite imagine this cycle continuing for me with a houseplant—but I’m willing to try. There’s a shift here I’m learning from: beauty doesn’t always arrive once and leave. Sometimes it keeps coming back.

 ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Something Sustaining Me

  • Relearning the power of being together

The world continues to recover from the aftereffects of 2020 and COVID isolation. Even now, almost six years later, I’m realizing how attending events in person has been far more nourishing than I ever realized prior to 2020.

Jeff and I attended an annual conference on the East Coast last weekend, and as usual, it was so uplifting. There’s something about being in the same room with other people—breathing the same air, singing the same songs, laughing at the same jokes—that gives me life.

Online connections matter; don’t get me wrong. (See “Gifts of Online Gatherings: Finding Community Through Zoom”) I don’t want to live without those! May they live on and on.

But there’s been a shift in my awareness: having my body gathered with other bodies carries a special kind of energy—and I don’t want to ever take that for granted again.

People gathered together at an in-person event, sharing connection

sweet friends we see each year at Southern Lights (Instagram photo)

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Something Carrying Me Forward

  • The comfort of continuity across generations

The older my grandson gets, the more he enjoys playing with some of the same toys at our house that his mama and aunt once played with when they were children.

The same games.
The same playsets.
The same books.

Grandchild playing with toys passed down through generations

Different child, different era—and yet, it feels so familiar. (See “Is There a Hidden Ripple Right in Front of You?”) This shift from one generation to the next feels very satisfying to me. Time seems to relax for a moment, as if it’s reminding me that love and connections don’t disappear—they are simply carried forward through new hands.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Something I’m Making Space For

  • Making room for meaningful connection

While traveling through the Midwest a couple weeks ago, Jeff and I wondered if we could shift our schedule enough to make an extra stop—to visit a dear blogging friend along our route.

I’d never met Lynn in person before. I truly never thought I would, even though I wished I could.

And now I have! I’m forever grateful for the space that opened up for it.

Friends meeting in person after years of online connection

Getting to see Lynn in person—hearing her voice, seeing her home, being present in her everyday world with her precious family—was priceless. (And her husband’s carrot cake? Amazing!) Even though we were only together a couple of hours, those moments will stay with me for years.

Maybe the thread tying these four somethings together this month is this: when we pay closer attention, beauty appears and new things become possible.

A plant still blooming.
A room full of people.
Toys passed down.
A friendship in the flesh.


A Question for You:

What’s something in your life that keeps blooming?

Share your thoughts in the comments.

I’m linking at these blog parties