It’s been almost a year since I first had the idea of Follow Your Shiny Thing. Back then, I thought it simply meant noticing what sparks joy or curiosity and letting it pull me forward, even when I didn’t know where it would lead. I had no idea how much it would change me.
Following my shiny things opened doors I never could have planned. At work, I was promoted to Data Annotator for our machine learning group. I became Vice President of Public Relations for my Toastmasters chapter, started volunteering as an event coordinator for our charity group, and launched a peer‑mentoring Lean In Circle.
Outside of work, the adventures kept unfolding. I was gifted a seven‑day Caribbean cruise. I saw Mayan ruins and visited a healing center. I learned to make tortillas the old‑fashioned way. I watched sunrises and sunsets melt into the ocean, danced for hours, swam in warm blue water, and checked off a bucket‑list dream: swimming with dolphins.
I reconnected with old friends. I made new ones. My world expanded.
But the most meaningful moments weren’t the big ones. They were the quiet ones.
I’ve spent countless hours walking my dog and sitting beside the pond near my condo. Spring brought an ever‑growing family of ducks — first a handful, then babies, then more babies, until I lost count. Just when I think I’ve spotted them all, another one emerges from the tall grass.
And then there was the goose. For about a week now, it has simply… joined them. When the ducks swim, the goose swims. When they sit in the sun, the goose sits too. Watching them, I realized something: family isn’t always about DNA. Sometimes it’s about who chooses to swim beside you. Who sits with you in the sunshine. Who becomes part of your flock, even if they weren’t part of your original story.
I relate to that goose. I don’t live near my blood family, yet I feel surrounded by family. For those who don’t know, my daughter and I lost her father, Dan, to cancer in 2014. When he passed, I lost more than a partner — I lost the part of myself that loved writing. Dan was an amazing writer and that become our dream, not just mine, and when he was gone, I let that dream go too.
My passion shifted to raising my daughter and being strong for her. She was only eight. Now she’s about to start her sophomore year of college. She has her own car, her own job, her own strength. This weekend she’ll ride in a charity bike race, Pelotonia to raise money for cancer research — determined that no other eight‑year‑old should lose her father the way she did. I am so proud.
And with her growing into her own life, I’ve had space to rediscover mine. To find out who I am without the labels: mother, wife, sister, daughter. Even without the labels of writer, VP of Public Relations, or Data Annotator. Who am I when I lie down at night and it’s just me and the sound of my breathing?
I used to think this was growth. Now I know it’s remembrance. I’m reconnecting with the part of me that was always there — I’m simply still enough to hear her.
A year ago, I thought following my shiny things was about finding effortless joy. Today, I understand it differently.
Every shiny thing led me somewhere unexpected. But the most important place it led me was back to myself. The woman I was searching for was never lost. I just needed to become quiet enough to hear her.
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