Early in June, my family made a collective deep exhale. We made it to summer. We spent time in our woods and by the creek, soaking in the bliss of summer’s arrival. And, soaking in the rain.
We huddled under our tarp in camp chairs, eating sandwiches and whoopie pies while thunder rolled down our valley. Cold raindrops smacked our skin when the wind shifted. Mist danced over the water. Like so much of our life, it was messy and magical at the same time. During a lull, as the rain softened to a patter of drips from the leaves above, I crouched under the Rhododendron with my daughters to see who else was seeking shelter.
Wet wings are not good for flying.
Insects tuck themselves away during storms. They know when it’s time to be still.
In that quiet pause, with my girls beside me and the earth breathing rain, I was acutely aware of the feeling of seeking. Not the triumphant finding, but the often uncertain, sometimes aching search. A lifelong rhythm of asking questions and following hunches, of peeking under leaves and wondering what else.
Maybe you know that rhythm too.
Some of us were born with a compass that won’t stop spinning. We are seekers.
We read too many books, ask too many questions, try on too many identities. We can’t quite settle into “this is just how life is,” because somewhere deep down, our hearts whisper, But what if there’s more?
We seek joy, meaning, healing, a sense of home. We seek knowing ourselves.
We seek the selves we used to be and the ones we haven’t met yet.
When I was diagnosed with cancer, I sought to just get through. Survival will do that. The world narrows. You learn to live between blood draws and lab results, chemo days and yet another round of scans, ups and downs. But afterward deep seeking came roaring back. The questions felt heavier.
Who am I now?
What do I want from this life?
Where did everyone go while I was trying to survive?
No one warns you how restless survivorship can feel. How many moments you’ll sit by a creek and think, Okay… now what?
Seeking is not a flaw. It’s not a sign you’re behind, broken, or ungrateful. It’s a pulse. A rhythm. It’s a current that hums through the nerves of your curious and resilient body. It’s what moves you to stretch, to wonder, to try again, or try something new. To sign up for a class. To cook a new recipe. To gasp when a dragonfly lands out of nowhere on your arm.
What we seek isn’t out there waiting to be found. It is already making its way to us. Indeed, healing and transformation meet us in the looking. In the crouch under the Rhododendron. In the mist after the rain. In the moments we choose to show up with curiosity instead of wanting answers.
Over time I have learned to shift my seeking. To open myself up to more than the answers.
I seek experiences.
The scent of basil on my fingers, the thrill of a fish biting my fly, the feeling of my body moving in rhythm with breath, the taste of the season’s first sweet corn, the grounding joy of adventure with my kids.
I seek places.
Trails I haven’t walked, rooms filled with kind laughter, shorelines and coolwater lakes for swimming.
I seek people.
Tender-hearted, wide-eyed, gently cynical folks who know what it is to lose their innocence and lean into the wisdom that replaces it.
And sometimes, I seek rest. Because even seekers need to soften their gaze and stop trying to figure it all out.
Perhaps today’s seeking found you a bite of something good from your garden, a walk that cleared your mind, or a moment in time and space where you felt more like yourself. These moments bring the real beauty seeking offers us- delicious nourishment, a peaceful heart, quiet strength. They’re how healing and transformation meet us in the looking.
And maybe, just maybe, they’re how we begin to find the wisdom we’ve been carrying all along
.