When Your Past Shows Up With Pom-Poms

In case you somehow missed my subtle hints (wink), I’ve written a book. Or two. Or… listen, at this point I’ve lost count and I’m just rolling with it.

And while this whole author adventure has brought me joy, chaos, and a newfound respect for anyone who has ever wielded a red pen professionally, there was one thing I absolutely did not see coming:

The reunion tour.

I’m talking:

• My kindergarten teacher

• My 3rd‑grade teacher

• Folks from my old neighborhood

• The entire T‑Bell crew and members of Girl Scout Troop 214

• Sorority sisters

• Community members I haven’t seen since the Reagan administration

All popping up like, “Hey girl, we see you.”

Let me tell you — that hits different.

Because these aren’t people who see me every day. They’re not obligated. They’re not in my group chats. They’re not borrowing my air fryer or texting me memes at 11 p.m. They’re just… showing up. Out of kindness. Out of memory. Out of genuine support.

And then — as if my heart wasn’t already full — the local newspapers and Haven, our beloved indie bookseller, gave me space to share my work. Me. The woman who fully admits she did not write the great American novel. I wrote something I’m proud of, something I’m having fun with, something that feels like mine.

And people still said, “Come on in, we’ve got room for you.”

That kind of support? That’s the good stuff. That’s the “I need to sit down for a second and take this in” stuff.

So, here’s my little love note to the people who aren’t in my everyday orbit but still reached out, cheered me on, bought a book, shared a post, or simply said, “I’m proud of you.”

Thank you. Thank you for remembering me. Thank you for rooting for me. Thank you for showing up just because.

It’s humbling. It’s heartwarming. And it feels really, really nice.