If we're lucky, there are times when the world around us stops and goes quiet, and in that stillness, we are forced to listen to the whispers of our own hearts. For me, it was in this isolation that those whispers began to ring clear. In the absence of all of life's distractions, I could finally see the pattern of my life unfolding before me. Every step, every twist and every turn, led me somewhere I couldn’t yet fully understand—but I knew deep down that I was on the right path. 
I spent time alone, not by choice, but because it was necessary. To this point, I had never been alone and never truly reflected, and definitely not on a level of this magnitude. It was a retreat forced by circumstance, yet it was divinely timed.  

At first, the quiet felt overwhelming, it was the kind of silence that magnifies every thought, and every unanswered question. But slowly, as the noise of the outside world began to fade, and I learned how to listen (which wasn’t easy) I began to hear something else. The soft whispers of my own truth, and the universes quiet guidance. 

Solitude, I learned, is often feared, seen as a space of emptiness and loneliness. But in my isolation, I found it was anything but. In those quiet moments, I wasn’t lost—I was simply learning how to listen. Something I hadn’t done. For so long, I had listened to the people around me, absorbing their ideas of what my life should look like, what success should mean, and what paths I should take. I allowed their opinions to shape the direction of my life, believing that if I followed these well-intentioned guidelines, I would find happiness and fulfillment. But in truth, I had never fully listened to myself, well it had at the very least been since I was a child, and in doing so, I lost the clarity of my own desires. I didn’t know how to find all of the answers within myself yet, or how to trust what I was feeling. But I knew something was happening, something inside me was changing and it was powerful, I couldn’t stop it and I didn’t want to stop it. I had been taught to rely on external validation, the opinions and expectations of others. I needed to be alone to reconnect with myself, to sift through the noise I had let filter into my mind and finally hear the voice of my own heart. This space of solitude became the fertile ground where I could rediscover the life I was meant to live. 

At first, I didn’t know what I was supposed to be listening for. I just knew that I was supposed to be in this stillness, but there were moments when the silence felt deafening. It was as if I was waiting for some divine signal, a sign that would tell me exactly what I was supposed to do next. But nothing came, and it left me feeling uncertain. I had no clear roadmap, no specific answers. Just the quiet. The only thing I could hear was the sound of my own thoughts, swirling around in a haze of confusion. 

But over time, the discomfort softened. The silence began to feel less like emptiness and more like a canvas for something new. I started to understand that I wasn’t supposed to be waiting for a grand revelation, although those would come in their own time, but rather learn to tune in to my own voice, to the gentle whispers of my spirit. It wasn’t a sudden shift—it was a gradual unfolding. Slowly, I learned to trust the process, to allow the answers to come when I was ready to receive them. 

The transformation wasn’t something I had to force; it was already happening the moment I chose to sit with the stillness and trust it. And as I spent more time alone, somethings started to shift, I was beginning to learn that it wasn’t in the asking that transformation happened, but in the stillness itself. I began to realize that true connection isn't about asking for what we think we need, but acknowledging what we already have. And letting the Divine plan unfold naturally. The answers didn’t come in the form of words or requests being granted. Instead, it was in the stillness, in the absence of asking, that I began to hear the truth. I was listening to my soul, to the wisdom that had always been there, waiting for me to trust it. And what I discovered was simple, yet powerful: the greatest connection is rooted in gratitude. It wasn’t in asking for more, but in acknowledging and being grateful for everything I already had. 

In that solitude I was beginning to uncover something unexpected: the beauty of connection. Connection not to others, but to myself. The stillness, which once felt heavy, had now become something I craved, I now had an inside seat to my life, and I began to trace the threads, unraveling moments I had once overlooked or dismissed. Each thread carried a lesson, a purpose, a reason. As they intertwined, they formed a pattern—like a map that had been guiding me all along. 
The dots didn’t just connect; they illuminated. The missteps, the heartbreaks, the triumphs—they all belonged. I realized that nothing was random, and the universe had orchestrated every detail to bring me here, to this moment of clarity.  
Patterns began to emerge, the same lessons dressed in different disguises over and over; until I was ready to understand them. I started to see connections where I hadn’t before, linking events that once at first glance, the circumstances felt unexpected and challenging, as though life had dealt me a difficult hand. But as I sat with those feelings, I began to see it not as an unfair twist of fate, but as an opportunity for transformation. Each one asked me to confront what I had been avoiding and rebuild from a place of truth 

Each moment, no matter how painful or how joyous, were all part of the same tapestry, each one of them teaching me something essential, each thread preparing me for the next step, guiding me toward the life I was finally ready to step into. 
I thought back to my time as a competitive figure skater, a time when that felt like the pinnacle of my existence. I couldn’t see past the idea of not being a figure skater. My identity was tightly woven into my success on the ice, and the persona that skating created for me off it. But now, looking back, I realize that skating wasn’t just a sport—it was the universe’s first way of revealing my gifts. It taught me resilience, artistry, and the courage to stand alone. It was in those hours of practice and performance that I learned to face fear and failure head-on. Skating taught me to keep going, no matter what, and to always seek the bigger picture, not just focus on the small details. These lessons, though I couldn’t fully grasp them then, would serve me in ways I never could have imagined. 
I was brought back to a time when I thought I had it all, love and security, yet my marriage was full of betrayal, and what appeared to be love was a delicate facade. I learned that love does not mean alignment. Both parties need to love themself fully in order to show up. I learned that two people could serve a profound purpose in each other’s lives without the need for the relationship to last forever.  
I also thought about the relationship that followed and nearly broke me—the one that, in truth, saved me. The moments of despair, the nights I felt like I was losing myself, the mornings I wasn't even sure I wanted to wake up, but those were actually the moments I was being guided back to who I truly was. That relationship taught me about real boundaries, about the strength it takes to say, this is not love. It was a lesson in self-respect and self-worth, acceptance of others, and what real true self love is, though I couldn’t see it then. 
The realization that even my darkest moments had a purpose was both humbling and exhilarating. I could see how every choice I’d made, every person I’d met, every challenge I’d faced, and how I had handled those things had contributed to who I was becoming. The universe, in its quiet way, had been guiding me all along, even when I couldn’t see it. It wasn’t just by chance; it was part of a larger plan, one that had always been there, waiting for me to trust it. 

As I continued to grow in my understanding of stillness and solitude, nature became my grounding force. It wasn’t that I had never spent time in nature before, but this felt radically different. It wasn’t just the absence of distractions that brought me clarity—it was the presence of the world around me. The trees, the sky, the ocean, the rhythm of the wind and waves, the sunsets, and the soft hum of life in every corner of the earth—they all reminded me now that I was a part of something far greater than myself. I began to see how everything is interconnected. 
 
In those quiet moments, I truly began to understand the magic of the universe. Nature deepened my sense of gratitude in ways I never imagined. It wasn’t just the beauty I saw; it was the deeper knowledge that everything—even the smallest detail—had a purpose. The seasons changed, the leaves fell, the rain nurtured the soil. I witnessed the delicate balance of life and felt the divine flow of energy that connects us all. The simple act of stepping outside each day, feeling the earth beneath my feet, and watching the world cycle through its natural rhythms filled me with peace. 
 
I no longer took these miracles for granted. Each moment spent in nature reminded me to appreciate its presence, its magic, and its lessons. I learned to stand in awe of the world—not as something distant or separate from me, but as a reflection of the very life I was living. We are made of the same particles that created galaxies and oceans, and I began to see humanity in a brand-new light—a way that felt true to my soul. 
 
My whole life, I had sensed something bigger, something beyond the simple rhythms of daily living. It was an inner knowing, always lingering just beneath the surface—a whisper from the universe reminding me that I was a part of something far grander. This wasn’t just about surviving or even thriving; it was about aligning with the very energy that created everything around me. This deeper understanding of our connection to nature, to one another, opened my heart in ways I hadn’t yet experienced, and it changed everything. 

 It was as if the more I opened my eyes to the beauty and interconnectedness of everything around me, the more gratitude I felt. I realized that being in awe is not just about wonder—it’s about understanding, recognizing, and honoring the precious gift of life. As I absorbed that truth, my heart opened wider, and I began to see the universe itself as a living, breathing, supportive force in my life. 

 
 This book is currently in Publication

Leave your email address here if you want to stay up to date!!