Who is in Your Orbit?

Friendship, Stories &

Unexpected Connections

“We Are All Made of Stars” was originally inspired by a desk that found its way into my home, and how a friendship found its way into my life.

Who is in your orbit? Who is part of your constellation?

Eighteen months ago, I wrote these words as part of Tattered and Mended. At the time, I was reflecting on a desk. Or at least, I thought I was.

Looking back now, I realize it was never really about the desk at all.

It was about connection.

It was about the curious way our lives intersect with people we might never have met otherwise. A conversation. A purchase. A shared story. A simple exchange that somehow grows into something much larger.

The desk came from a woman named Sherri.

Like many things that find their way into my studio, it arrived with a history already attached. Scratches from use. Evidence of a life lived. Marks left by hands I would never know. I brought it home because I could see possibility in it. I could imagine what it might become.

What I did not expect was that the desk would introduce me to a friend.

Sometimes life unfolds that way.

We think we are collecting objects when, in reality, we are collecting stories.

The older I get, the more I believe that none of us travel through life alone. Every person who crosses our path leaves something behind. A lesson. An idea. A memory. A piece of encouragement. Sometimes a wound. Sometimes a blessing. Often both.

I have met people because of a race track, a quilt, a candle, a piece of jewelry, a class, a blog post, or a simple "hello."

Many of those encounters lasted only a season.

Others became friendships.

A few became family of the heart.

Looking back across the years, I can trace my life through these connections. Like stars scattered across a dark sky, each one may seem separate on its own. Yet when viewed together, they form a constellation.

The pattern reveals itself only after enough time has passed.

When I met Brian, I could not have known how profoundly his life would shape mine.

When I lost him, I could not have known that grief would eventually lead me toward healing work.

When I enrolled in massage therapy school, I could not have known it would introduce me to sound healing, yoga, and a community of people seeking wellness.

When I met a kind gentleman who was living in Murphy, North Carolina, I could not have known that Jim would become the twine to my kite, helping me stay grounded while still encouraging me to fly.

When I bought a desk from Sherri, I certainly did not expect to gain a friendship.

And yet here we are.

Life has carried us both through new chapters since those early conversations. We don't see each other as often as I'd like, and we're long overdue for a visit. As it does for all of us, life has been busy unfolding… bringing joys, challenges, changes, and growth. But some connections have a way of enduring, even when time and distance stretch between visits.

And that friendship remains one of the unexpected gifts that desk brought into my life.

Every one of those moments felt ordinary at the time.

Most stars do.

A single star rarely captures our attention. It is only when we step back and look at the whole sky that we begin to see the pattern.

Perhaps that is why I love old things so much.

Old quilts.

Old photographs.

Old letters.

Old furniture.

Each one reminds me that everything and everyone carries a story.

The desk now serves a different purpose than it once did. Like so many things in my life, it has been repurposed, reimagined, and given a second chapter.

Maybe that is what we do, too.

We gather pieces from those who came before us. We carry forward the wisdom, kindness, creativity, and courage that others have shared with us. We add our own experiences to the mix. Then we pass something meaningful on to the next person who enters our orbit.

A friend.

A student.

A child.

A stranger.

A reader.

A fellow traveler.

The truth is, none of us shine alone.

We are illuminated by those who loved us, encouraged us, challenged us, taught us, and walked beside us. We are stitched together from countless encounters, conversations, and acts of grace. We are connected in ways we rarely recognize while they are happening. And perhaps that is why this story still resonates with me all these months later.

Because a desk became a friendship.

A purchase became a conversation.

A conversation became a connection.

And a connection became part of my constellation.

When I look up these days, I am reminded that the same elements that formed the stars are found within each of us.

Maybe that is why we are so drawn to one another.

Maybe we recognize something familiar.

Maybe we are all carrying little pieces of light.

Maybe we are all made of stars.

Who has become part of your constellation? I'd love to hear about the unexpected friendships, chance meetings, or ordinary moments that changed the direction of your life. Leave a comment below and share your story.

The Yes I Would Choose Again

There are choices in life we make with confidence. Some arrive with spreadsheets and pros-and-cons lists, practical plans, and neat little timelines.

And then there are choices that arrive more like weather. They sweep in unexpectedly. They rearrange furniture in your soul. They alter landscapes you didn't know existed.

Love has always felt more like weather to me.

Lately, as I continue reflecting on the stories within Tattered & Mended: Soulful Stories of Life, Love and Legacy, I found myself sitting with Brian's chapter again. The chapter The Tattering and Mending I Didn't Choose. Even the title still catches in my throat a little.

Because if I'm being truthful, there were many things in that story I would never have chosen. I would not have chosen illness. I would not have chosen fear. I would not have chosen hospital rooms, hard conversations, or watching someone I loved walk a road I could not walk for him.

No one stands in line asking for heartbreak.

No one says, "Give me the chapter that will split me wide open."

But here's what I keep coming back to:

I chose Brian.

And if given the chance... I still would.

Every time.

Life has a funny way of asking us questions long after a season has passed.

Would you do it again?

Would you choose the person if you knew the ending?

Would you step toward love if you knew it would one day ask everything of you? Those questions feel easy when life is light. Harder when you've lived enough years to understand the cost of loving deeply. Because love always costs something.

Time.

Presence.

Pieces of yourself.

The willingness to be changed.

I think when we're young, we imagine love as arrival. We imagine the wedding photographs, anniversaries, family vacations, and growing old together with matching rocking chairs and inside jokes. But real love? Real love turns out to be built in ordinary Tuesdays.

In showing up.

In staying.

In learning a person's laugh.

In understanding their silences.

In memorizing the shape of their joy and the geography of their pain.

Love becomes thousands of tiny yeses.

Not one.

Thousands.

And looking back now, I realize Brian gave me things that never disappeared when he did. He changed the trajectory of my life. Not all at once. Not with grand speeches. But in small ways that became mountain-sized over time. There are people who enter our lives carrying gifts they don't even realize they hold.

Some hand us courage.

Some hand us perspective.

Some hand us healing.

Some hand us a mirror and quietly show us parts of ourselves we hadn't met yet.

Some leave fingerprints on your soul that no amount of time can erase.

Brian was one of those people.

His story inside Tattered & Mended is, of course, his own. And I won't give away all the pages here because some stories deserve to unfold in their own timing.

But I will say this: The chapter isn't only about loss.

It isn't only about grief.

It isn't only about the mending I never wanted.

It's also about choosing.

And choosing again.

About discovering that some loves become woven into us so deeply they stop feeling separate from who we are. Years later, I can still trace the threads.

I see them in my work.

I see them in the way I care for people.

I see them in the way I sit beside pain rather than run from it.

I see them in my understanding that life is fragile and sacred and wildly beautiful all at once.

The story changed me. But then again, maybe love always does. Perhaps that's the risk we quietly agree to when we say yes to people. We allow ourselves to be altered.

We hand another human being a needle and thread and say:

Here.

Help stitch yourself into my story. And maybe that is what I understand now that I couldn't have understood then. The tattering wasn't the whole story. The mending wasn't either.

Love was.

Still is.

If I had known every twist. Every ache. Every impossible moment. Every goodbye. I still would have said yes.

I would still choose him.

And perhaps that is one of the bravest things our hearts do. Not that we love. But that after being broken open by love, we remain willing to say yes again. Maybe that's where healing begins.

Not in forgetting.

Not in undoing.

But in honoring what was beautiful enough to choose twice. Or a thousand times over.

Some stories leave scars. Some leave gifts. Sometimes they leave both.

And if you're carrying a love that changed you, perhaps today is a good day to ask yourself:

Knowing all you know now...

Would you choose them again?

And perhaps, somewhere in the answer, you'll discover something about who you've become.

If you feel inclined, and have not purchased your copy you can find it here. If you have read this, I would love to hear your take on it. Possibly share if you have had a similar experience?