When the Curtain Lifted

Sometimes the stage teaches you as much as it lets you speak. Inspiration can flow both ways.

September 24, 2025

Today carried many layers. My nervous system felt shaky, pulled out of balance, yet I also had moments of real connection, conversations where people saw my pain and didn’t turn away. They validated me. They reminded me that what happened to me wasn’t my fault, that his reputation is his own, and that others had wondered what he was even doing with me. The funny thing is, I never had to say his name. And one person who has read my work even encouraged me to turn my words into a book. That feedback mattered.

I also had meaningful exchanges with leaders in my community. I attended the city council candidate forum and learned about some of the pressing issues facing us, engaged in strong conversations about the school district with voices of influence, and chaired a school board meeting that left me unsettled, underscoring the weight and responsibility of the work we do.

But the most profound moment came in a place I wasn’t expecting: the high school peace assembly. Its purpose was to plant seeds of resilience, peace, and better choices in the students. Yet I walked away the most inspired person in the auditorium.

The vice principal spoke with a presence and clarity that felt almost otherworldly, as if she had been a motivational speaker in another life. She asked the students not just, “What do you want to be when you grow up?” but “Who do you want to be?” That shift pierced straight through me. She reminded us all that it’s easy to be a bozo, but hard, and profoundly necessary, to be a person of character, integrity, and courage.

Then she played a video of a military leader speaking about the grueling training of marines. He told stories about sharks in the water, about standing your ground, about finding the grit to keep going and the courage to strike when necessary. He opened and closed with the same instruction: “Start your day by making your bed.” It was simple, grounding, unforgettable.

Something in all of this lifted a curtain I hadn’t realized was still hanging between me and my own light. It reminded me that I am not just someone who has endured, but someone who embodies hope, resilience, and strength in ways that ripple outward.

The students may have been the audience, but the message landed squarely in me:

I get to choose who I am.

I get to decide to stand with integrity, to show up with courage, to be counted on.

And when the sharks circle, I have it in me to face them directly, nose to nose.

I am ready.

Even those of us who carry light for others need to be reminded of our own glow. Today it came through the steady voice of a vice principal, the spark in her eyes, and the laughter and applause of students as she left the stage.

Inspiration returned to me, unexpected, unplanned, undeniable. Tomorrow, I will rise with that reminder. I will make my bed. And I will keep shining, steadier, brighter, and with hope enough to share.