𝐏𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨 𝐏𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐅𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐀𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐱 𝐏𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨, 𝐀 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐊𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐖𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠

The past couple of weeks, I’ve struggled to find the energy, or maybe the heart, for my daily Patio Ponderings. Things outside my creative space have been weighing on me, and I’ll admit, my vanity wasn’t helping either. The lack of interaction from readers made me wonder if these reflections still mattered.

But this morning feels different.

Different because I learned that my words 𝘩𝘢𝘥 mattered. They had helped someone I respect; someone who had never shared their own struggle; someone who quietly read my posts and drew strength from them during a difficult season.

Last night, a friend pulled me aside for a quiet conversation. They opened up about the elimination of their position, their frustrations with today’s hiring process, and the clunky, impersonal world of unemployment systems. I wish I could say I was surprised, but their story mirrored much of my own: ghosting, false enthusiasm, and job postings that lead nowhere.

In the midst of it all, they kept moving forward. They tackled much-needed home remodeling projects while continuing their job search; projects that had been started before the job elimination, ones that left their home in disarray and had to be completed for their own sanity.

Our conversation ended with good news. They’ve accepted a new position with a great local company. But what struck me most was when they said my writings, shared on LinkedIn and Facebook, had helped them stay grounded. Helped them keep going.

That small note of impact was enough to bring me back to the keyboard this morning; that, and the beautiful spring flowers popping out of their winter slumber.

So here I sit at the Annex Patio (my terra-level executive suite), tapping out another Patio Pondering. Maybe these few words will help someone else get through their day. Maybe they won’t. But today, I’m reminded that it’s worth the effort, because sometimes the quiet readers are the ones who needed it most.

𝐏𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨 𝐏𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐈’𝐦 𝐍𝐨𝐭 𝐆𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐈𝐧𝐯𝐨𝐥𝐯𝐞𝐝

My coffee this morning is not as satisfying as usual.

Maybe it’s the weather and the incoming rain; maybe it’s the midnight text that still lingers in my mind.

Or maybe it’s the slow surfacing of thoughts I’ve wrestled with for months.

𝐈’𝐦 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧𝐯𝐨𝐥𝐯𝐞𝐝.

I know the data they’re using is wrong; but I’m not getting involved.

I know the truth about the interaction; but I’m not getting involved.

I have a solution; but I’m not getting involved.

I was in a conversation where I could’ve told the truth; but I’m not getting involved.

We’re supposed to be a “team”; but I’m not getting involved.

We’ve been friends for over twenty years; but I’m not getting involved.

Where do we draw the line in the sand?

When do we speak up: for truth, for integrity, for our relationships?

Have we become so focused on self-preservation that we’ve forgotten how to get involved when it matters most?

This morning, the coffee just tastes… muted.

Maybe because my conscience isn’t.

𝐏𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨 𝐏𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐆𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐜 𝐈 𝐅𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐨𝐭

Some of you know that when I am home, I make my own salads for lunch. And not the dump-a-bag-of-lettuce-and-drench-it-in-ranch kind. I start from scratch—olive oil, vinegar, fresh garlic, a little sugar—then layer in vegetables and meat until it feels like a masterpiece. Since it’s made from scratch, no two are exactly alike.

Today, something was off.

The texture was good, the crunch was there, but the flavor did not hit right. After a few bites, I figured it out: I forgot the garlic. And the sugar. The base was missing. The part that sets the whole thing up.

Then it hit me again.

While making my salad, I had been on the phone with a friend. It was a deep, intense conversation—the kind that pulls you in and stirs your thoughts. And in the middle of that meaningful conversation, I skipped the most essential part of my routine: crushing the garlic.

Some days, we can multitask just fine. Today wasn’t one of them.

It made me wonder: how often do we miss the base layer in our work or relationships because we’re distracted—even by something important? How often do we forget the garlic?