Hello beautiful people,

 

Some of my happiest moments these days come from conversations with my children.

They’re adults now.

We don’t have the same conversations we did ten years ago.

 

These days, we talk about leadership.

Taking risks.

Big decisions.

New beginnings.

 

Of course, there are moments when I miss being the one with all the answers. (Then again… did I ever?!)

But those moments are more than replaced by the joy of being invited into the conversation.

 

Those of you who’ve been reading along know that about eight months ago, Grace took over the leadership of Dogeared—a big and emotional milestone for both of us.

 

There have been plenty of tears.

More than a few “what if” conversations.

Moments of excitement, moments of uncertainty, and moments when we both wondered if we were doing the right thing.

 

But little by little, something has shifted.

 

Lately, Grace has immersed herself in wholesale and fulfillment—two areas filled with enormous opportunity, plenty of complexity and a lot of moving parts.

 

One of my favorite things is sitting beside her while she works.

I’ll offer an idea.

She’ll ask another question.

I’ll remember something from thirty-five years ago.

She’ll see a possibility neither of us had thought of yet.

 

Sometimes I’m still finishing a thought while her fingers are already flying across the keyboard—researching, organizing, connecting dots and turning our conversation into action.

Somewhere along the way, I stopped watching my daughter learn the business.

 

I started watching a leader come into her own.

 

One night, after Grace and I had spent more than a few hours together, we shared a new idea with Merlin.

When we finished, he wrapped his arms around me, kissed me and said,

He was right.

 

I hadn’t realized just how happy I was.

I was flying.

The last few months have held a lot of grief.

I’ve shared some of that with you here.

 

Grief doesn’t take away your joy, but sometimes it bumps into it and takes up more room than usual.

So when joy arrives this fully, you notice.

 

It wasn’t really about the idea.

 

It was sitting beside my daughter.

Thinking together.

Dreaming together.

Watching her trust herself.

Watching her grow into the leader that was already inside her.

 

She doesn’t need me to build Dogeared anymore.

But she still wants my perspective.

I never want to stop appreciating that.

 

My conversations with Jordan are completely different, but they bring me the same kind of happiness.

 

At my book launch, the party was supposed to end around nine.

 

It didn’t.

 

By eleven, a group of us was still gathered in the backyard, talking and enjoying the night. We hadn’t seen Jordan for a while and thought he had probably gone in for the evening.

 

Then he appeared and said, 

He hadn’t announced it.

He hadn’t made it a thing.

He had simply gone into the kitchen, looked at what we had on hand and made the most delicious pasta for everyone still there.

 

And suddenly, there was another moment.

Bowls were passed around.

People settled back in.

The conversations continued.

The last guest didn’t leave until one in the morning.

 

It wasn’t really about the pasta.

To me, this is la dolce vita.

Knowing when a beautiful moment deserves to last a little longer.

 

I’ve seen him do it before.

 

Whether he’s making homemade pasta with his grandmother on an ordinary Tuesday while Italian music plays in the backyard, or quietly feeding a backyard full of friends after my book launch, Jordan has a remarkable ability to notice what a moment needs.

 

Not because he’s the one lingering around the table the longest.

He’ll usually be the first one finished eating, and he’s always been much more comfortable one-on-one than entertaining a crowd.

 

But he creates the moment...

and then quietly lets it belong to everyone else.

 

That is one of his gifts.

 

Now our conversations are often about what comes next.

A new opportunity.

A new idea.

The next leap.

 

He doesn’t need me to tell him what to do.

But he still wants to talk it through.

And I get to listen, ask questions and offer the perspective that comes from having taken a few leaps of my own.

 

Watching both Grace and Jordan has reminded me that becoming who we’re meant to be isn’t something that happens all at once.

It happens conversation by conversation.

Decision by decision.

Step by step.

 

And maybe the greatest joy is getting a front-row seat to watch it happen.

 

The conversations have changed.

The love hasn’t.

 

And these days, some of my happiest moments come from simply being invited in.

Love,

mmc

 

P.S. Around here, the conversation doesn't end when the newsletter does. If this brought something to mind, hit reply. I read every email.