Another year is closing softly, quietly, like a storybook page turning under warm lantern light. And as I sit here reflecting on everything that unfolded, I feel both humbled and deeply proud. This year stretched me, transformed me, held me, and taught me. It asked me to rise in new ways while also returning to pieces of myself I thought I had outgrown. More than anything, it reminded me why I tell stories in the first place: to create connection, to offer comfort, to leave a little light for someone else to find their way. Here are the moments that shaped my year and what I’m carrying with me into the next chapter.

There’s something about fall that always feels like a beginning. The crisp air, the swirl of red-gold leaves, the way even the simplest rituals… a steaming mug of chai, a knit scarf tugged close, a walk past a row of glowing porch pumpkins — seem to whisper: you’re home. For me, autumn has always been the season of stories. It’s when I pull old favorites off the shelf, light a candle that smells like cinnamon and clove, and let myself sink into the kind of tale that feels like comfort food for the soul.