Lately, I’ve been noticing how the most ordinary moments can hold something steady and life-giving when I need it most.
These are not big, life-changing events—just small moments that remind me who we are to each other… and how much our presence still matters.
I wanted to share two of those moments with you today.
My hope is that, as you read, you might begin to notice your own—and feel a little more steady as you move through this spring season in a world that feels heavy and uncertain.
Closer Than I Thought
My young adult daughter is a few months from college graduation and finds herself facing a difficult and unexpected shift in her future plans.
“Would you come spend the weekend with me?” she asked.
I excitedly made the 2.5-hour drive. When I pulled into her apartment complex, I was surprised to find her waiting outside, standing at the top of the drive, waving in the sunshine.
My eyes filled with tears.
Suddenly, I felt so much compassion for my younger self — the mother who was learning to love herself while raising this strong, independent child.
So many times, when I knew I’d let us both down, I’d say to myself, I’m not where I want to be.
But I stayed in it… learning and trying, apologizing and loving my way through each day, hoping that someday I would get to a place I could be proud of.
Seeing my daughter waving me into a parking spot, inviting me into her world, felt like arriving somewhere sacred.
I was right where I wanted to be: fully human, fully present, ready to meet her uncertainty with love.
And I couldn’t help but feel how this is true for all of us:
You actually may be much closer to “where you want to be” than you think.
The willingness to show up for yourself and for those you love is taking you farther than you realize.
Keep going.
Part of Something More
I went to a high school baseball game the other night with my husband. Our 17-year-old neighbor recently made a highly competitive varsity team, and we wanted to show our support.
His parents saved us spots for our pop-up chairs. They hugged us and thanked us profusely for coming. As parents, we understood. When people who aren’t obligated come to support your kid… well, it feels like a gift you can’t quite repay.
For six innings we cheered for his team, waving to him in the dugout, hoping he might get a chance to play.
It wasn’t until the bottom of the sixth that his coach sent him in as a pinch runner. As he took his position at second base, his mom leaned in and said, “I know he doesn’t look fast, but he can run.”
I knew his hitting game had gotten off to a rocky start this season. I found myself holding my breath, wanting this small chance to go well.
The batter sent a line drive into right field. Our neighbor rounded third and headed for home. It was going to be close.
He dove headfirst across the plate.
He was safe!
The team ran out of the dugout and surrounded him. His parents were on their feet, hands in the air.
And me, the woman who was just there to support her neighbor?
I got teary, the same way I did when my daughters played high school sports… lump in my throat, pride swelling.
Afterward, I had that familiar emotional high that comes from rooting for something.
It struck me on the drive home that nothing about the evening was extraordinary. It was just a regular-season high school game. A pinch runner. A close play at the plate.
And yet it felt bigger than it was.
Because showing up for someone else’s child is one of the purest ways we practice being human in a time that can feel isolating and fractured.
It comes from sharing snacks in the stands.
From holding your breath until they make it home.
From caring about an outcome that isn’t ours.
I went to bed Friday night knowing I need more of that in my life—
more reasons to cheer for someone else’s joy,
more moments that pull me out of myself and back into us.
My hand in yours,
Rachel
P.S. Have you noticed any small moments that brought you back to what is steady and good?
I’d love to hear about them.
🌷 If your current season is bringing change or uncertainty, and you’d like support as you navigate it, I’d love to invite you into my upcoming Zoom gathering in Rachel’s Treehouse on Tuesday, March 31st at 8pm Eastern.
This month, I’ll be guiding us through something many of us are living right now: how to support the people we love without taking over, fixing, or losing ourselves in the process. This teaching is inspired by my personal experience as a parent of a high school senior who was not on the same timeline as everyone else—and what it required of me to stay present, trust, and let go of outcome.
These monthly supportive gatherings are part of my Treehouse community ($5/month), where we practice this work together in real time, with replays available the next day. There is also a free tier which includes my essays on midlife—the shifts, the letting go, and what it means to dream again. If you’ve been asking, “What now?” this is a space to land, reconnect, and rediscover. Join the community here.
One final exciting note… if you have been waiting for a time to bring Soul Shift into your life—or to share it with someone you love—it is being released in soft cover on April 14th and is now available for pre-order wherever you like to buy your books, including Bookshop and Amazon. If you happen to be a Barnes & Noble Rewards member, use the code PREORDER25 at checkout for 25% off Soul Shift through March 26th.
One of my favorite reviewers had this to say:
“The other day, a teacher friend said he thought we needed a new modern day Mr. Rogers to emerge in our culture. Author Rachel Macy Stafford brings this type of patience and encouragement and hope to her readers. She encourages grown-ups and young ones alike to be real with our feelings and thoughts. She honors our reality while shepherding us along towards a brighter future. Somehow, she does this while not diminishing our pain and struggle. Her work is a gift to our culture. She helps mend the frays in the fabric of our communities and our relationships.” -Jen ht
