The Comet

October 13, 2025

Last year, I had a business lunch with a man I’d known professionally for years.

He first came into my life during a crossroads—

when I was stepping into my new role as co-owner and store manager at Tatsuda’s,

and stepping out of my marriage with three very young children in tow.

He was, and still is, the most handsome man I have ever seen—

but it’s his empathy and supportive heart that have always been magnetic.

From the beginning, there was an immediate connection—

a chemistry that brushed the edges of professional,

but never quite crossed them.

Though my heart may have wished for more in the early years.

He was the first person outside of my parents

to tell me that I was amazing—and truly mean it.

And at that time, I couldn’t see what he saw.

I felt like a broken mess—two versions of myself

trying to coexist:

the strong woman the world saw,

and the one inside wrestling with darkness and doubt.

His presence then was catalytic.

Something about being seen through his eyes

helped me rise into the woman I was meant to be.

Our paths diverged,

but over the years, he’s been like a comet shooting through my atmosphere—

appearing without warning,

offering words of affirmation, taking supportive action,

and then disappearing back into the galaxy.

Always reminding me of what’s possible.

Around this time last year,

he sent an unexpected invitation to lunch.

He’d taken a new position and wanted to draw on my retail experience,

my community connections, and leadership insights.

I hadn’t seen him in years, and I love talking about leadership—so I said yes.

It wasn’t curiosity about him that drew me there,

but curiosity about the conversation.

I was in a relationship, fully committed to it. And I know the difference between real life and fantasy.

I was thoughtful about my outfit that day,

never expecting the conversation to unfold the way it did.

We talked business, his new role, his vision.

He asked more than once if I’d work for him—

even joked that he’d pay me a million dollars to be his manager.

We laughed.

And then, as these things sometimes do,

the conversation deepened—

to the loss of my family store,

to love, to missed chances, to the strange, beautiful ways we evolve.

And somewhere in that conversation, he said,

“Katherine, you are like a baby deer who has gone through multiple wars.”

It stopped me cold.

Because that’s exactly how I’ve always felt—

fragile and fierce, tender and battle-worn.

He named what I could never quite explain:

that my softness was not weakness,

it was proof that I survived.

In that moment, I felt completely seen.

He reminded me that the confusion I felt in my relationship

was a red flag waving wildly for my attention—

that I was worthy of more.

And then, true to form,

he asked for a few job referrals, smiled,

and vanished again—off on his next orbit.

But not before calling me a stunning stack of sunshine.

It’s funny how people are placed in our lives for different reasons.

Some are great loves.

Others, painful lessons.

And then there are the celestial ones—

the rare souls who drift in and out

on divine timing,

reminding us of who we are and what we are worthy of,

and quietly propelling us toward the next version of ourselves—

like a comet returning to pass once more.