Universal Notifications

Sometimes the real post isn’t written—it’s painted. But this reflection needed words, too.

new work in progress

This morning, I woke up with two clear messages—like gentle notifications, not from my phone, but from something deeper. The kind you don’t swipe away. The kind that ask you to pause.

One was about my daughter Shannon. I haven’t reached out in a couple of weeks, and a quiet nudge rose: Be more curious about her world. Reconnect.

The second was about a close friend. I’d invited him to have drinks with a mutual firned on the rooftop, and he declined. He said, No, I think I’ll sit out front and water the plants. I just want to be quiet.

That moment, too, was a notification—from the universe, from life, from the deeper part of me that’s always listening.

He is changing. Not just physically—though that’s happening too—but spiritually. He’s protecting his peace. Choosing solitude over sugar. Choosing his mindset over mingling. And in that quiet choice, I saw a reflection of what I haven’t been doing for myself.

Lately, I’ve been pulled deeply into my young friends orbit. His projects, his vision, his energy. And while that’s not wrong, I can now see how much I’ve been standing in his world… more than I’ve been standing in my own. That, too, was a notification. A gentle internal whisper: Come back to your center. You have your own soil to tend.

Which is why, this morning, instead of writing a full post, I poured my coffee and walked straight into the studio. The painting called first.
The brush reached for me before the page did.
So instead of reading or writing, I’ve been listening in color.

That, too, is a kind of notification—the call to create, to quiet down, to let soul lead.

We don’t always get alerts with banners and sounds. Sometimes the signs are subtle: a skipped invitation, a flicker of memory, a feeling you can’t shake.
The point isn’t to overanalyze them. The point is to receive them.
Reflect.
Ask.

And this—this is also why I don’t use a content calendar.

I know that’s not how most people run a platform. But I’ve learned that I can’t plan what I’m going to write tomorrow, because I haven’t had tomorrow’s conversation with the universe yet.

Every morning, before I write a single word, I listen. I let the truth come to me—not as an assignment, but as a message. And when it arrives, I follow it. That’s my rhythm. That’s the dance.

And it has freed me from the weight of performing, of producing on schedule, of pushing.
This isn’t content.
This is communion.

So, if today’s message feels like it stirred something in you… trust that. That’s your own notification. A whisper from your own life saying, come closer. You’re not off track. You’re being invited in.

This morning, the universe sent me two notifications.
I opened both.

And now I’m painting.
And breathing.
And returning.

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P.S. If you’ve been getting those stirrings too—those quiet nudges that it’s time to return to yourself—come visit the Resource Table. You’ll find guidebooks and tools to help you move forward with faith, clarity, and lightness, one true step at a time.