It’s the smallest things that open the biggest spaces in life.
For me, it starts early. I wake while the house is quiet and write for an hour. The words don’t always come easily, but even the attempt fills me with energy and joy. It’s like oiling the hinges on my day — everything swings more smoothly afterwards.
Then the dog and I head out. The dogs love chasing each other — ours has about six regular friends in the neighbourhood. Funny thing: I often know the dogs’ names but not always their owners’. Still, there are waves and nods and smiles. These tiny connections remind me that life is shared, and belonging is built one greeting at a time. It’s a good way to start the day.
Later, I make it a habit to sit and eat with someone I haven’t spoken to in a while. A student, a colleague, a neighbour. I want to know how they’re going. I hope they know that I care — because I do. These meals are small hinges too, opening doors into deeper friendship.
Writing, walking, eating together — none of these are dramatic. But together they turn the heavy door of life wide open, and on the other side is joy, community, and care.
The Afterword 
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