An overdue letter from my heart to yours.
Hello, friend,
It’s been quieter around here than I ever intended.
I’ve thought about this little space so many times over the past several weeks. About the words I wanted to write, the stories waiting patiently in my notebooks, and the people who have found their way to this corner of the world.
I’ve missed being here.
Life, however, has a way of rearranging our plans without asking permission.
These past few months have brought some rather serious health challenges, hospital stays, and long stretches of illness at home. There have been days when the simplest things required more strength than I could gather. Days when the distance between my bed and the bathroom felt impossibly long, and sitting down with my beloved cup of coffee and a notebook seemed almost beyond reach.
For someone who has spent so much of her life finding meaning and connection through words, there is a particular kind of loneliness in not having the energy to reach for them.
I had things I wanted to say. So many things.
But wanting to write and having the strength to write are not always the same.
And somewhere in the middle of all this, I’ve been thinking about absence.
About the messages we mean to answer, the friendships we worry we’ve neglected, the unfinished pages waiting on our desks, and the quiet guilt that sometimes accompanies simply being unable to participate in life the way we once did.
Something came to me while writing to a dear friend recently:
Friendship isn’t measured by how often we speak, but by the love that remains between conversations.
I’ve been carrying that thought with me.
Perhaps the same is true of the spaces we create together.
Perhaps connection doesn’t disappear simply because the conversation grows quiet.
Perhaps some doors remain open, even when the person who usually welcomes everyone inside needs a little time to tend to herself.
When I created Voice With a Purpose, I wanted it to be a place where people could arrive without having to explain themselves. Where no one needed to be polished, productive, cheerful, or particularly brave to deserve a seat.
It would be rather strange, wouldn’t it, if I couldn’t allow myself that same kindness?
I’m not going to pretend everything is wonderful now. I’m still navigating some difficult things, still learning what my body can manage, and still finding my way through days that don’t always cooperate with my intentions.
But I’m here.
I still have stories to tell, poems waiting to be written, little gifts to make, and thoughts I want to share over an imaginary cup of coffee.
And I’ve missed you.
Whether you’ve been here since the beginning or have only recently found your way to my porch, thank you for being part of this little gathering of souls.
There may still be quiet days ahead. I won’t promise otherwise.
But this space was never meant to be about keeping up with the world.
It was meant to be about making room for one another within it.
So, come in, friend.
Sit down.
Take what you need.
The coffee may need warming, there may be a little dust on the bookshelves, and I’m fairly certain I’ve misplaced a few of my thoughts somewhere along the way.
But the porch light?
Oh, that beautiful little light.
It’s still on.
With love, gratitude, and a little glitter,
Casey
Voice With a Purpose
There’s room for you here.
