Porchlight

Some days still carry the faint scent of smoke from old wreckage, like a memory that the air refuses to fully release. Not because I’m anywhere near the blaze that made it, but because some winds have long memories and like to tell stories as they pass through. It’s like a distant storm or passing siren; I’m aware, but untouched. I used to think that survival was limping away from the blast and never looking back to forge a new path forward. But that’s not quite right. To live life fully, we must look backward and forward. We need to reflect on that experience and let it chart our course. Survival is construction. It’s choosing what stays, what gets dropped, and what gets reshaped into something useful. The fire took what it was going to take, and that’s ok. That’s life. We learn from it. We grow. What’s left isn’t fragile or haunted. It’s intentional.

I also know that for me, it means building a place where other people can set their bags down. One of the things that I value about myself is my ability to stay calm. Sure, when the fire broke, I flailed for a moment but eventually found my footing and my path out. I’ve used that same energy to build my world now. Life is quieter now. Not empty-quiet, just steady enough to be a soft place to land.

Every so often, life sends an invitation that feels too small to matter: a walk, a room, a folding chair with your name on it. You show up anyway. You stand there with your old smoke in your lungs and realize you’re surrounded by other people who walked out of their own burning buildings. Anyone who’s lived a life worth living has scars. We’re human. We’re also meant to be connected.

So, I’ll be here, continuing to do my own healing in the background so that, when someone tired of storms wanders into my orbit, they don’t find more weather. They find a person who can hold the umbrella, read the map, and sit with them on the curb until the shaking stops.

I don’t have it all figured out. I just know that I’m not rebuilding a fortress this time around. I’m building a porch light.