An Adventure, Apparently

A Torn Calf and Other Unexpected Invitations

My mom had a way of saying things that made everything feel less frightening. New school? Adventure. Big change? Adventure. Uncertainty? Still an adventure. It didn’t mean things were easy—it just meant they weren’t the end of the world either.

When life interrupts, I've learned to begin something new.

I grew up with a fair amount of upheaval—moves, transitions, new chapters that arrived whether I felt ready or not. And instead of learning to panic, I learned to look for what might be good on the other side of change. That perspective—whether she realized it or not—became one of the most valuable things my mom ever gave me.

As an adult, that mindset has been tested more times than I would have preferred. Some seasons were painful. Some were deeply disappointing. Others felt unfair or out of my control. But over time, I noticed something: I wasn’t losing my hope. I wasn’t losing my joy. And I wasn’t losing myself. I began to see that resilience often starts with finding good in hard times.

Part of that resilience comes from my upbringing. An even greater part comes from my faith. Since becoming a Christ-follower in my mid-twenties, I’ve held tightly to the belief that God wastes nothing—not seasons, not suffering, not even detours.

“And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose.” — Romans 8:28 (NIV)

Looking back, I can see how I was being prepared long before I knew what I would face.

Which brings me to my current situation.

I have a torn calf muscle. It’s inconvenient. It’s limiting. And it has temporarily taken me out of things I enjoy—like pickleball and caring for my animals. Not ideal.

But here’s the unexpected part: this forced stillness finally nudged me into starting this blog. Something I’ve thought about for years. Something I kept circling but never quite began. So here I am, propped up on the couch, typing away, realizing that this interruption may have been an invitation all along.

Sometimes doors don’t slam shut. Sometimes they simply block your path long enough for you to notice another direction.

There’s another small example of this mindset playing out right now. My husband is out of town. While I miss him, I’m also enjoying the quiet in a way that feels honest and healthy. Time to myself has never frightened me. In fact, I’ve learned to see it as a gift.

I once made a list of my favorite things about being alone—simple pleasures like choosing my own schedule, diving into a project uninterrupted, playing music all day, or staying up too late watching whatever I want. It isn’t about isolation. It’s about space. Breathing room.

I know aloneness can be hard for some. If that’s you, I hope this offers a gentle reframe. Sometimes solitude isn’t loneliness—it’s restoration.

When I step back, I can trace so much of this perspective to my mom. Her cheerful voice. Her refusal to panic. Her ability to say, “This will be an adventure,” and truly believe it. She didn’t deny difficulty—she just didn’t let it define the story.

I’m still learning that lesson. Still practicing it. Still discovering that even the hard things can carry unexpected gifts.

Apparently, it’s all part of the adventure.