Light I Carry With Me
I carry pieces of these lights with me — in how I show up, in what I notice, in what I believe is possible. Some are icons. Some are unexpected. All of them remind me that joy matters, that care is powerful, and that originality is a kind of love.
Elmo
Elmo leads with love — every single time. His wonder, empathy, and silly delight remind me that connection is always possible. He’s not just for kids. He’s for anyone trying to be more present, more kind, more curious.
Dolly Parton
Dolly radiates joy, gratitude, and generosity. She’s a force of light — making people feel seen, welcomed, and lifted. She reminds me that you can be playful and profound, sparkly and sincere, and that doing good in the world can come from a place of real warmth.
Missy Elliott
Missy makes innovation look effortless and joy feel unstoppable. She’s fierce, playful, and always ten steps ahead. She reminds me that originality isn’t just about standing out — it’s about being fully, fearlessly yourself.
Björk
Björk reminds me that the weird, the tender, the feral, and the holy can all live in one voice. She creates entire worlds from sound and feeling. Her work gives me permission to feel deeply and make something strange and true.
Mister Rogers
He spoke softly and still shook the world. Mister Rogers showed us how to be gentle without shrinking, and kind without pretending everything’s easy. His steadiness, sincerity, and deep care continue to shape the way I move through the world.
Anne Frank
Anne reminds me what it means to hold on to light in the darkest places. Her words carry wisdom beyond her years, and her hope continues to echo across generations. She believed in the goodness of people — and somehow, her light still reaches us.
Thich Nhat Hanh
Thich Nhat Hanh reminds me that stillness is powerful — that peace begins with the breath, and that even in exile, compassion is still a choice. He spoke with quiet clarity, never raising his voice, yet his words changed lives. He taught that presence, offered gently, is its own kind of light.
Kintsugi
Kintsugi reminds me that healing doesn’t mean hiding what broke. It’s the Japanese art of mending pottery with gold, turning cracks into something radiant. It teaches me that the things that once shattered can become even more beautiful — not in spite of the damage, but because of it.
