Falling All the Way In

A Slow Sunday publication about remembering who we are when we let life in.

Meet me here as I pull the covers up and steal a few extra minutes, cuddled with my dog, reminiscing.

The air’s cool enough to make the blankets feel like home, calling me to linger just a little longer before I move too much and break the spell.

There’s condensation on the window, softening the view outside. Still, the sun’s there, peeking out, claiming the sky like it remembers who it is.

The leaves keep changing and letting go in real time. Each one doing what it’s meant to, in its natural rhythm, reminding me to fall… all the way… into love.

And a nod to Little River Band for bringing in the morning vibes. Because I hear lyrics in my thoughts, “Walking through the park and reminiscing…”

Rooted Revelations

Change is interesting. It moves quietly beneath everything, in subtle ways each second and in bigger ways as we move through minutes, days, months, and years.

It’s constant and real, yet… many of us hold tight, resist, or fear it.

Still, nature is our mirror.

Autumn has always been my season. Soup. Sweaters. Blanket-cozy vibes. Especially the season of change. Change and I have been besties my whole life, while letting go has always been the background singer to my life’s song, humming softly through every verse.

It’s not just about change in its loudest form or the drama of letting go. It’s falling in the sense of allowing. Of removing barriers and resistance. The quiet kind of release that comes when you exhale and stop bracing.

It’s like falling in love.

A surrender that says,

I don’t need to control this moment to be safe in it.

Falling All the Way In

I saw a video this week of a woman listing ways she’s romanticizing winter.

Her list started simple:

• become a regular at a coffee shop,

• always carry a book,

• bake cookies for the neighbors.

I immediately said yes. The bread dough on my counter is already rising for a batch of small loaves that I plan to share with my neighbors.

What she reminded me of is the fun of spending time in a café or bookstore. That third place we used to go to hang out. The place where “everybody knows your name.”

It’s fun. Casual. You get to show up as you are.

Sociologist Ray Oldenburg called them “great good places.” Not because they’re fancy, but because they’re human. It’s where we practice connection without performance.

When did we forget how to linger?

Because the soul of the third place is slowness. It’s sitting in the hum of life and letting it touch you without needing to label it as productive.

That’s how I see falling all the way into love.

Remembering how to show up yourself.

To the café.

To the neighbor’s porch.

To your own heart.

And about Love…

My work bestie got engaged this week, and while I give zero energy to meeting someone, I found myself thinking about partnership.

Bypassing the logistics and landing in the everyday kind of romance that used to make my soul smile.

Listening to music.
Dancing in the kitchen while making food together with our hands.
Sending each other love notes, sometimes silly, sometimes rich with depth and poetry, sometimes just practical reminders of gratitude.

It’s been a lifetime since I walked away from that person. And genuinely, without regret, there are things about me in relationships like that that I miss.

The version of me that softened easily.
That laughed mid-mess.
That wrote love notes for no reason other than to remind someone they mattered.
The me who danced barefoot and let the music say what words couldn’t.

That’s what this season is gifting me.

The reminder that missing something from the past isn’t about wanting it back. It’s a second look at a part of yourself.

A way to reconnect with something you loved about how you show up.

You know that feeling, when something familiar rises up to meet you, reminding you of who you are when you let life in.

Before you rush off. Stay with me, just for a moment. 

Wander the places that bring you back to yourself.

The café that knows your name.
The street that shifts with the season.
The song that reaches for you when you forget you’re listening.

Notice what stirs when you let yourself linger. The part of you that feels alive in connection. The quiet return of your own presence.

This is love, too.

The everyday kind. The kind that lives in showing up, again and again, for the life that’s still here.

And then the world answers back.

A car just honked in the distance. My dog crawled out from under the covers and pawed at me for a walk.

That’s life, doing what it does best. Reminding us that presence doesn’t stay still for long.

So I’ll leave you with another song by May Erlewine, Palm of My Hand.

“Here I am, my heart in the palm of my hand.”

“There’s no use in hiding, I’m standing where I am.”

“A new way begins.”

“I’m learning how to love again.”

It carries the same kind of honesty this season keeps asking of us. To show up bare. To stay open. To let life meet us where we are.

Call it grace, call it timing, or maybe just Good Luck Vibes!

The kind that finds you when you finally stop chasing it.

Kissed by Change,

Michelle