Starting the New Year Seeking Glimmers

The New Year often arrives with pressure. New goals. New habits. A new version of ourselves we feel we should become by January 2nd. But this year, what if we started differently? What if instead of striving for a complete overhaul, we began by simply seeking glimmers?

A glimmer is the opposite of a trigger. While triggers activate stress, fear, or overwhelm, glimmers gently signal safety to the nervous system. They are the small, meaningful moments that bring joy, peace, gratitude, or connection. A quiet morning. Laughter that catches you off guard. The way sunlight spills across the floor. A deep breath that reminds you that you are here and you are okay.

Glimmers don’t demand big changes. They invite awareness.

Why Glimmers Matter at the Start of a New Year

January is often framed as a time to fix what’s broken. But many of us aren’t broken—we’re tired. Overstimulated. Carrying more than we realize. Beginning the year by seeking glimmers allows us to start from a place of compassion rather than correction.

When we intentionally notice glimmers, we train our brains to recognize safety and goodness. Neuroscience tells us that what we pay attention to grows stronger. The more we look for glimmers, the more our nervous system learns that calm and joy are available—even in imperfect days.

This doesn’t mean ignoring challenges or pretending life is easy. It means giving equal attention to what is life-giving.

Glimmers Are Small and That’s the Point

Glimmers are not grand moments. They don’t require perfect circumstances or a vacation or a major achievement. In fact, they often show up in the most ordinary places:

• The first sip of coffee in the morning

• A text from someone who thought of you

• Music that matches your mood

• A moment of silence between tasks

• The feeling of your feet on the ground

These moments are easy to miss when we’re rushing toward the next thing. Seeking glimmers asks us to slow down just enough to notice what’s already here.

A Gentler Intention for the Year Ahead

Instead of resolutions rooted in pressure, consider this intention: I will practice noticing what nourishes me.

This might look like:

• Pausing at the end of the day to name one glimmer

• Keeping a simple glimmer journal or note on your phone

• Sharing glimmers with a friend or family member

• Taking a breath when you notice a moment of calm

Over time, these small practices can reshape how you experience your days. Not by changing everything, but by changing what you see.

Let This Be a Year of Presence

As you step into the New Year, you don’t have to have all the answers. You don’t need a perfect plan. You only need willingness—to notice the quiet moments that remind you of who you are and what matters.

May this be the year you stop rushing past your life.
May this be the year you honor small joys.
May this be the year you seek glimmers and let them guide you home to yourself.

Happy Thursday lovelies,

-srt

CaliGrl

The first time Cali flew clean, from the hilltop to the pond without clocking me with a wing, she hit the water like a silver skater, skimmed, and turned back to us with that proud, "I did it" honk. We had been yelling “Cali, fly!” for weeks, and that day, she did.

She was not supposed to be ours. Before Cali, the farm already belonged to George and Martha, resident Canadian geese who nested anywhere ridiculous, the archery target, a hay pile, the pond’s edge. We finally built them an island, and by year twelve, a floating island, and they raised brood after brood.

Their sons, Ryan and BRyan Gosling, were trouble from the start. BRyan once wedged himself in a fence post hole while George flapped and honked like I was the villain. I told him if he pecked me I would choke that neck. He thought better of it, and I pulled BRyan free. BRyan and Ryan later paired up and chose the neighbor’s barn roof for a nest, romantic, disastrous. Every spring, the wind returned their nest to the ground.

One year, after another wind tossed mess, two of their eggs survived. The neighbor knew we had been incubating chickens. “Want to try?” Sure, why not. Only one egg hatched. Out slid a wrinkly, platypus looking creature who would become CaliGrl.

We planned to raise her gently and send her to George and Martha’s flock. That lasted five minutes. Cali struggled to eat, so we hand fed her. She hated being alone, so she lived inside my sweater. I slept on the floor with her tucked against me. I sang her to sleep,

“I love you, CaliGrl, oh yes I do,
I love you, CaliGrl, that is true…”

"You Are My Sunshine", "Hush Little Baby", every lullaby I could remember. The songs glued us together. Even now, if I start a tune, she comes running from anywhere in the yard, honking, flapping, flying straight to me.

Early on, she roomed with two chickens, both Aman Ceymani, who accepted their role as minions. Then came Daisy, a scruffy mallard duckling rescued from the park. We meant to take Daisy to wildlife rehab, but under our roof she thrived and fused herself to Cali. Goose and duck, best friends. Wherever Cali went, Daisy waddled.

We decided to hatch a dozen of our own eggs so the odd couple could have a crew. Twelve in, twelve out. Instant chaos. Cali and Daisy became mom and mom, herding fuzzballs while the two original chickens focused on food like it was a full-time job. Four chicks turned out to be roosters, Cali’s sworn enemies. She hated the crowing, the strut, the whole rooster lifestyle. Mornings produced naked butt chickens, their tail feathers plucked by an indignant goose. We rehomed the boys, and the temperature dropped back to peaceful.

Our final flock felt like a sitcom cast, Cali, Daisy, the two originals, and eight new chickens, ten characters in a perfectly chaotic little family. That is when Cali decided walking was not enough. She wanted to fly. Not just once, fly, land, fly, land, on repeat. The afternoon chore route turned into flight school. We would sprint the hill above the pond, chanting, “Cali, fly!” She would launch, sometimes smack me with a wing, crash land, then try again. Little by little, the crashes smoothed into circles, then into the glide I can still see, wings set, water shimmering, a graceful skid and a triumphant honk.

Middays are for picnics. We spread a blanket in the front yard, Cali grazes while I sip water, or sometimes a Monster, and nibble crackers. She talks the entire time, about her day, about the other birds, about the state of the grass, as if I were her secretary.

The grandnephews love it. They hold full conversations with her. Once, after nine neighboring geese invaded the pond, squawking, flapping, making life miserable, Cali screamed for backup. I ran over, “They are not nice. Do not try to be their friends.” Later, Emmett crouched beside her and said, “Girl, why did they do that to you, that is sooo mean, you are beautiful.” I got it on video.  Previewing it I laughed so hard I nearly fell over. Emmett is a natural sunshine maker, and I could hear him saying that to any kid at school who needed it. Cali heard it too. She settled, nibbled grass, and kept up her running commentary like a news anchor who had survived breaking news.

Cali came to us from a fallen roof nest, survived and thrived.  This little being, a wrinkle of a thing who became a yellow puffball, then a gawky brontosaurus, then a sleek, confident goose. With Daisy and the chickens, she built a neighborhood out of misfits and snacks. She is gardener, guardian, flight instructor, songbird, picnic companion, and family, wrapped in feathers.

When I sing, she still answers. Sometimes she flies first, then lands and tucks herself against my leg while I finish the last line. The farm is richer for it, our island, our hill, our pond, and the chorus we made together,

“I love you, CaliGrl, oh yes I do,
I love you, CaliGrl, and you knew.”

Happy Thursday all,

-srt

Celebrating Success and Learning to Toot Your Own Horn, Humbly

Last year, I was invited to speak to a group of high school girls about celebrating success and how to toot your own horn, humbly. It is a topic we do not talk about nearly enough, especially with young women who are just beginning to discover their strengths. We tell them to work hard, to be grateful, to be team players, but we rarely teach them how to confidently recognize their own accomplishments without feeling like they are bragging.

So, I shared my own journey. I talked about what I have learned in corporate America and how I had to grow into a leadership style that balances humility with self-advocacy. And I read them the speech below. It reflects the path I have walked, the lessons I have learned, and the pride I have learned to stand in.

Here is the speech I gave.

Speech: Celebrating Success and Tooting Your Own Horn, Humbly

Good afternoon everyone,
and thank you for the opportunity to share a bit of my journey.

When I look back on my career in Corporate America, what stands out to me is not just the big milestones but the learning that came with each step. For a long time, I believed that if I simply worked hard and stayed focused, the results would speak for themselves. And sometimes they did. But many times, they did not. I had to learn that sometimes the work needs a voice. Sometimes you have to speak up for your own contributions so others can truly see the impact you are making.

That is where I learned the art of celebrating my own success while also lifting up the team around me. It is not bragging. It is not being the loudest in the room. It is acknowledging the truth of your efforts and the difference they created.

I am proud that I launched the first vendor scorecard at my place of business. That scorecard allowed us to move from assumption and storytelling into fact-based conversations with our third party and fourth party vendors. It created transparency, it created accountability and it strengthened our operational relationships.

I am proud that I completely rewrote the roles of the first line, the second line and the third line of defense. I built out a playbook that helped each group understand its purpose and stay within its swim lanes. That clarity changed the way we worked together, and it protected the organization in meaningful ways.

I am proud that I stepped in and took a leadership role in ISO 20022. During conversion weekend, our preparation and teamwork allowed a successful integration with SWIFT. It was complex work, it was high pressure work, and the outcome reflected strong collaboration and calm decision making.

And most of all, I am proud of my leadership style. I am proud of my ability to stand firm when senior management pushed us to move faster, and to report back with a steady, fact-based risk lens. Leadership is not about reacting to pressure. Leadership is about grounding decisions in what is responsible, what is true, and what supports the long-term health of the organization.

Through all of these experiences, I have learned that celebrating myself does not diminish the team. It actually honors the work we accomplished together. Every win was possible because of the people around me. When I share what I achieved, I am also celebrating what we achieved.

Humility is not silence. Humility is standing in your truth without exaggeration and without apology. And when we celebrate our successes openly, we show others that they can do the same. We create cultures where people feel valued, seen and motivated to grow.

So today, I stand proud of my contributions and grateful for the teams that helped make them possible. And I encourage all of us, especially the next generation of women leaders, to celebrate your wins boldly, to celebrate your teams generously and to never be afraid to let your work speak through you.

Thank you.

Sharing this message with those high school girls reminded me that confidence is a skill we build, not something we wake up with one day. If we can teach young women to honor their achievements early, to speak proudly about what they bring to the table and to do it with humility and gratitude, we help create a future where their voices are not only heard but expected. My hope is that each of them walks forward knowing that their success is worth celebrating and that their story, just like yours and mine, deserves to be told.

Happy Thursday lovelies,

-srt