The Threads of Continuity

Life has a way of surprising us with moments of clarity when we least expect them. Sometimes, it’s in the warmth of family gatherings; other times, it’s in the quiet courage of stepping out of your comfort zone. As I look back on this past year, I’m struck by how much I’ve learned—not just about the people around me, but about myself. From reconnecting with my roots over Thanksgiving to navigating the challenges of building a life in a new city, this year has been a journey of growth, reflection, and unexpected connections.

This year was the first time I was away from my family. As my plane pulled into the jet bridge and I landed back in Michigan for Thanksgiving. As I walked through Detroit Metropolitan Airport a familiar pull hit me—something about it just felt like home. But it wasn’t the airport itself. It was the quiet comfort of belonging, the feeling of stepping into a place you know so well.

Later, at the dinner table with my family, that same peace washed over me. It was noon, and everyone was gathered—some more engaged than others. My grandma, as always, was flipping through the coupon section of the newspaper. My cousin busied herself feeding her kids. At the far end of the table, my aunt scrolled through her phone. I sat there, fully present, observing the moment, when it suddenly struck me: everyone here—four generations—came from my grandmother. It was a thought I’d never deeply considered before, and yet it felt profound. I wondered if she ever reflected on that, on how she was the thread tying us all together. In that moment, I felt a deep sense of continuity. It made me think about my own life—what I want for my future, for my children. I realized I wanted to work harder, to create a secure foundation for my family, just as my parents did for me. Being away from them all this time made me appreciate family in a way I hadn’t before. I hadn’t even realized how much I needed that connection, that sense of home.

Lately, I’ve noticed a recurring theme in my conversations with others: the overwhelming desire to fit in. It’s everywhere—the need to blend in, to avoid standing out. Being an outcast? That’s never the goal. But here’s the thing I’ve learned: being an outcast doesn’t make you less interesting. In fact, it often makes you more magnetic. I’ve met people who are okay with not fitting in. They don’t care if they’re criticized or laughed at. They’re willing to sacrifice comfort to be themselves, to stand out. And honestly? I find that inspiring. The world is full of people willing to do anything for acceptance. The more people I meet, the more I realize how many are afraid to go against the grain. It’s easier to conform than to risk rejection. While reflecting on this, I remembered a quote I came across on Instagram. After some searching, I found it again:

"I’d rather be the one that tried and got laughed at, doors slammed in my face, calls unanswered. I’d rather be him than the guy who chose to sit back, play it safe, and fall in line just to make sure I don’t look weird."

— Langston Galloway

That sentiment deeply resonates with me. I see so many people avoid bold moves—not because they lack ability, but because they’re afraid of being ostracized. They choose comfort over risk. And while I don’t blame them, I sometimes envy them. I envy them because sometimes I need to take more risk. I need to get out there and capture the world. What I found is they are content with the mundane, with life’s small victories. That is not the way I am wired. I want more.

This year, I’ve started to embrace a new side of myself—a quiet confidence I never thought I’d have. For most of my life, I doubted my abilities. But something’s changed. I’m in a season of growth, accomplishing things I once thought impossible. One moment stands out vividly. Back in February, I had just moved to Tampa and was looking to meet people. I found an event called “Wake Up Tampa Bay,” focused on meditation. It felt like a safe place to start. But when I arrived late, I immediately felt self-conscious, as if I’d disrupted the vibe. During the meditation exercise, we were asked to partner up. Unsure what to do, I sat awkwardly alone until a guy named Andrew approached me and asked if I wanted to pair up.

We introduced ourselves, and it turned out he was from Flint—just an hour away from my hometown in Michigan. The exercise was to stare into each other’s eyes for five minutes. At first, it was painfully awkward. We couldn’t stop laughing. But as the minutes passed, the weirdness melted away. That shared vulnerability turned into a memorable connection. Andrew and I have remained friends, and to this day, he’s the only person I truly consider a close friend in Tampa. It’s funny how the most uncomfortable moments can lead to the most meaningful connections. If you would have asked me last year if I would be doing things on my own and pursuing new friendships I would have said "You are crazy.". Not because I thought I would never get there, because I never saw myself as someone who could go out of their way to talk to someone. That just wasn't in my nature. My nature was to bite my tongue and go about my mundane existence. Turns out I was wrong.

As I look back on the year, I realize how much I’ve grown—how my confidence has flourished in ways I never imagined. I’ve come to see that something as simple as striking up a conversation can be a skill, one that has opened new doors for me. And maybe that’s what life is all about: embracing the moments that feel awkward, leaning into discomfort, and finding the beauty in connection—whether it’s at the family dinner table or with a stranger at a meditation event. Maybe that was a piece of life I was missing? The piece of the puzzle that I wouldn't have gotten if I was still in my hometown.

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On Potential, Comparison and Flying too High

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The Art of Noticing: Reflections on Life, Loneliness, and the Subtle Clues We Miss