Every month, I sit down with my planner and reflect. What was the most memorable part of the past month? What am I proudest of? What are my lessons learned? Who am I grateful for? How am I different?

This pause allows me the time and space to reflect on how I’m living my life, and to take steps to change things I’m unhappy with that are within my control. It gives me vision, inspiration, hope, and courage. It reignites my spark.

Some lessons learned showed up in my monthly reflections more than once, like “I can do hard things, and scary things” and “Sometimes I only have control over how I react to situations”. This year, I also shared multiple times:  “I feel a little braver, and a little wiser”. These reflections tell me that I continued to push myself to grow throughout the year, like a resilient flower growing on the rocky shores of Lake Superior through wind, rain, and crashing waves.

Here is our year, captured through what I learned.

1. I can do hard things.

I continued to grow this year through my travels. For some, travel may come easily, and I am continuously surprised to find that it always pushes me outside of my comfort zone. 

In January, John and I spent three weeks in the Patagonia regions of Chile & Argentina for our honeymoon. It was an adventure of a trip, not without its challenges, but it made us stronger as individuals and as a couple. I was proud of the way I planned such a big adventure on my own.

In March, I was lucky enough to travel to Costa Rica for my job at the Natural Resources Foundation. While I never used to dream of traveling to the tropics, I fell in love with this beautiful country and hope I can return someday.

In June, I returned to Alaska as a naturalist aboard the Disney Cruise Line’s Wonder. This time I brought three friends along, sharing Southeast Alaska, the magic of Disney, and the cruise line experience in a new way.

2. The right thing can feel sad or scary. It doesn’t mean it’s not the right thing.

While reading Maybe You Should Talk to Someone by Lori Gottlieb this summer, I came across a quote that profoundly shifted the way I viewed the emotional roller coaster I’d been feeling: “We can’t have change without loss, which is why so often people say they want change but nonetheless stay exactly the same.”

Leaving Madison was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. How do you leave a workplace and a life that you’re happy in, while actively dreaming of something else? Moving was a heavy and big decision that John and I did not take lightly, and we pondered and discussed it for a long time before making any moves towards action. I could feel deep in my heart that John and I were meant to be in Duluth for the next chapter of our lives together, and I promised myself that I wouldn’t stay the same forever for the sake of avoiding loss.

I still deeply miss my staff at the Natural Resources Foundation of Wisconsin and my community in Madison, but even in May as we moved into the basement of my parents’ house, something deep in my heart told me that I was exactly where I needed to be.

3. My personal passions and projects give me resilience.

The first week of July, we put in our first offer on a house: a log cabin nestled on a river and five beautiful acres of forest. Two days later, we learned there were four total offers, and shortly after our realtor notified us that we had not been chosen. We mourned our first house, but as we found one we loved enough to put an offer in on in just a month, we felt hopeful that there would be more to come.

We were right. Two weeks later, it popped into our email inbox: a dreamy cottage-like house built in 1924, in a quiet neighborhood in town. It was on one of the steepest hills in Duluth—with city-installed handrails on the sidewalk—and it was small, but beautiful: a rustic wood-burning stove, hardwood floors, a new kitchen, and three bedrooms, small but manageable. No garage, but a wooded backyard. There were compromises of course, but we could see ourselves making it our home. I imagined a future there. We visited the house twice and fell in love before submitting a strong offer.

We waited three days while the listing agent advertised for any and all realtors to come see the house that weekend. At the end of two full days of showings, there were three total offers, and ours was not chosen. Though we’d been willing to escalate higher than the winning offer, the winning offer had waived the inspection.

In the wake of losing our second house, I recognized within myself that having personal passions and projects outside of our house search made me more resilient to weathering the storm. It was like having a distraction with a purpose—continuing to move towards my other dreams while waiting for the dream of our future home to materialize.

This time, we were more heartbroken than the first. I was convinced that it was our house, and we’d missed our chance. Nothing else could be as good. Nevertheless, with two houses in two weeks that thrilled us, we were sure that there were others just around the corner.

We were wrong.

4. Community is everything.

Our community showed up for John and I in so many ways this year. Despite sadness, our Madison community encouraged and supported us through our move and transition to another city. My parents housed us for the better half of the year while we searched for a home to call our own. We had many friends and family members to lean on when things were frustrating or felt hopeless.

We also had friends weathering immeasurable challenges, and I was grateful to have energy and light to share with them when they needed it most.

I have always kept close connections with long-distance friends, and this move will prove to be no exception. Now that we are in Duluth, we look forward to slowly building our local community, even if the nurturing takes time.

5. Listen to your intuition.

There are few times in my life that I have a clear view of my own intuition, and looking back at our fall house search it’s clear that I listened to it.

From mid-August to mid-September, the housing market slowed, and we didn’t visit a single house. In early October, we visited a house that had been renovated: beautiful hardwood floors, a gorgeous bathroom, finished basement. The yard was big enough for Sylvie to play frisbee at a long distance. It was smaller than we were hoping for, but we’d been searching for six months already, and wondering which of our hopes needed to be compromised to realistically get into a house in our price range. There was nothing truly wrong with this house—it would be a lovely place to live. We didn’t love the layout, but what house is perfect? We let our realtor know we’d put an offer in. Later that night, John and I were sitting with the questions from our realtor, basic pieces of an offer like down payment and total price. I stared at the screen, my stomach in knots and discomfort, and said, “Something just doesn’t feel right.” 

“What do you mean?”

“This is a nice house, but we’re only putting an offer in because we feel like we should. It’s at the top of our price range and it’s beautiful and still we feel like we’re settling.” Was I waiting for a spark that may never come?

We decided to wait.

Mid-October, another similar house. This one was dated, but clean, and it had a wooded backyard and room for easy improvements: retiling a bathroom, removing wallpaper, changing out the hardware in the kitchen. I didn’t love the corner windows in the bedrooms, half of the backyard was boggy moss, and it needed some work, but I thought I could live with it. We told our realtor we would put in an offer.

Again, we felt like we were settling near the top of our price range. If we were going to feel like we were settling, we thought, shouldn’t we try to come in at a lower cost? We looked through photos again and I realized there was no good place to put a dining room table. While I did not dream of large houses, I did dream of easily hosting gatherings with enough space for a large dining table. I didn’t have many good reasons to dislike this house, and I feared we were becoming too picky. But again, we discussed, we weighed the pros and cons, and we did not make an offer.

6. All we have is today.

On October 28th, we received a house listing that looked promising: a cute traditional home in a neighborhood near Lake Superior. But I’d been disappointed by enough houses (nearly 40) at this point that I didn’t get my hopes up. We were able to secure the first showing the next afternoon and asked my parents to join us. 

The moment I walked in, it was like a star had collided with my heart. My mouth fell open at the high ceilings, the exposed staircase, the spacious living room, dining room, and renovated kitchen. Cozy nooks and wood accents highlighted the best parts of the house. A fenced yard for Sylvie. Two bathrooms, three bedrooms, and an office—more than we could have dreamed of finding for our price. It was built in 1894 and had a bluestone foundation unique to Duluth. It was like the house on the hill we had lost in July, but better. And not just because it was beautiful, but because it felt like us. Somehow the spirit of our 1800s Williamson Street apartment was alive in this house, and we could feel it.

Earlier in the summer, we had agreed not to tell our realtor we wanted to put an offer on a house without checking in with each other first, to ensure we were on the same page. Many hours of visiting houses all summer told me that this house was severely underpriced, and I grabbed John’s arm and pulled him into the garage for a secret word when we were outside.

“Okay, so I know we have another showing after this… but what do you think?” I whispered.

John paused only long enough to process my question, before quickly saying, “I think we should buy it.”

I smiled. “Me too.”

We submitted a strong offer later that same night (our first time submitting an offer after only one showing), as high as we could comfortably go with a letter we poured our hearts into. For the next two days, the other scheduled showings went on as planned. We were to hear back regarding the sellers’ decision on October 31st between 5 and 6pm.

It was the spookiest Halloween of our lives. We walked outside together, I meditated, we watched Halloween movies to distract ourselves from the worry.

And then at 5:50pm, we received a call from our realtor.

We’d never received a call before.

Even with six total offers, and four of them waving inspections, the sellers still chose us.

We collapsed with gratitude. Were we the highest offer? It felt unlikely, but possible, as we had learned a lot from our two failed offers earlier in the summer. Was it our letter? Our quick commitment to offer? We may never know. But our dreams had come true at exactly the time they were meant to. As our realtor told us all summer, “what will be, will be.”

The inspection went smoothly and everything was nearly in place. Then on the Monday before Thanksgiving, just two and a half weeks before we were to close, John suddenly and unexpectedly lost his job. He had no warning, no indication that this was coming, and we both felt like the rug had been pulled out from under us.

Though we were shell-shocked, together we swung into action. With the upcoming holiday, there was no time to lose: if we wanted to keep our house, John needed a job—immediately. With a refreshed resume and polished interview prep, we had numerous applications and calls out the door in less than 12 hours, and an interview scheduled for Wednesday at 7am. The night before, the first snow storm hammered Duluth, dumping eight inches of powder on the forests and roads. I woke at 5am to help John dig out his car—with the questionable roads, his 40 minute drive doubled.

Miraculously, his first interview ended in an offer—though a 45-minute commute and 6am start time would have been challenging long-term. We were grateful, but John continued searching for his last day before the holiday. At my encouragement, he walked into a company he had submitted multiple applications for the night before and asked for an interview. The man who greeted and accepted him was the general manager, and they talked through John’s resume and experience for nearly an hour and a half. Whether a stroke of good luck or a touch of fate, John was genuinely excited about the work and the opportunity this new position could afford us. The following Monday he had a second interview and received an offer. One week later, just four days before our closing date, he started his new job.

The rest of the week went smoothly as we felt too afraid to hope for the best. The morning of our closing on December 12th came with a flurry of snow, adding magic to the day that felt as joyous and life-changing as our wedding.

On Saturday we woke up to temperatures 15 degrees below zero. With the help of my parents, my brother, and his friend, Bryce (who generously volunteered to help us move in the middle of a polar vortex), we emptied our storage unit and moved in all in the same day. Towers of boxes filled the basement and the rooms, we had an air mattress for a bed, folding chairs in our dining room, and I didn’t care. We’d made it. 

Living here so far has felt like a dream, maybe in part because we are still coming off of the stress and anxiety of the past month. It’s hard to believe what we made possible in the matter of a few days. We couldn’t have predicted it, could only have reacted as one worst-case scenario came true. It was a reminder that life can turn upside down in an instant, and yet our mortgage officer said it was the best he’d seen anyone react this kind of adversity. John and I came together stronger than ever, and learned how to support each other better along the way.

In the midst of it all, a friend told me, “All we have is today”. And he was right. No matter what future date my mind wants to wander towards, all I know and have for certain is the moment I am sitting in right now. Recognizing this helped me practice mindfulness and gratitude for all I have in the present moment.

7. Embrace uncertainty.

Sitting on our kitchen shelf in Madison, a small letter board spelled the words “EMBRACE UNCERTAINTY” in capital letters. It was my mantra at the beginning of the year, as John and I set our sights on a new future while aiming to intentionally enjoy the present.

Uncertainty is scary. Questions of how, when, or why. The when can be the hardest question. When will our life change forever? When will we know it’s right? So much anxiety can live in uncertainty. And then I found a quote online, called The Uncertainty Pledge:

“Whenever I feel the anxious, queasy energy of uncertainty and notice myself overplanning, overthinking and grasping for control, I place my hand on my heart and gently remind myself, ‘Uncertainty is where possibility lives. Uncertainty is where freedom lives. Uncertainty is where hope lives.’”

Wow, I thought. Possibility. Suddenly I was dreaming up all of the different paths our future could take, and it wasn’t frightening, it was exciting.

In the midst of the love and chaos of this year, we had some pretty beautiful moments: skating on the lakes and ponds of Madison, a February cousin weekend in Grand Marais, visiting Minneapolis in April, our Madison bucket list (including a 13-mile bike ride along the lake, complete with pit stops at friends’, ice cream shops, and breweries), presenting a facilitation workshop and a writing workshop, time with family, a new job, a Fog Family Reunion, concerts, celebrating our 1-year anniversary up the north shore, attending our first Renaissance Festival, learning how to use an apple cider press, camping in Grand Marais, and a trip to Seattle.

To 2026, and the possibility of it all.

Lindsey