Welcome to this ever-evolving online journal, a space for renewal where I share healing messages to spark hope + joy. What you read here is a reflection of the whispers that echo in my heart, which I’ve done my best to distill with clarity and grace. My overarching mantra: “Love is my North Star.” My underlying intention: to create content that feels like honey for the heart.
A quick note on healing, and what you can expect here
Healing feels sacred when it’s honest, so that’s what this space is about: authenticity in the healing process, no matter what we’re healing. Granted, sacred doesn’t always mean comfortable. As painful as embracing everything can be, it imbues a certain richness that makes the whole trip worthwhile.
I absolutely know how disenchanting healing our wounds can be, and that’s why I also know that if you take the initiative to walk into the dark unknown, then you are your own hero. You carry the lantern. That kind of conscious transformation—that willingness—involves consistency of courage, curiosity, compassion, and honesty.
This is your path and these are your answers to discover, but you don’t have to be alone while you go exploring.
Here, we are safe to wonder, together, and go deeper into those personal explorations. The possibilities are endless. And the questions can be just as beautiful to live as the answers.
As I explore my own answers, I share the treasures I’ve unearthed in the form of poetry, affirmations, (journal) prompts, quotes, lists, and open letters. I publish a new blog post/journal entry every weekday morning, with the occasional “day off.”
Writing to heal/discover/transform is my favorite.
I’d love for these messages to feel like honey and hope, golden light and grace—love, really. Because it feels like this is where they come from.
This is an intimate window into the heart—mine and yours.
Why I write
I write to evoke healing inner dialogue because that’s where sustainable positive change starts: inside.
Specifically, I write because my brother (Mark) committed suicide in 2011 and this is how I honor him. This entire archive of writing couldn’t express how much I miss his voice, the way he cared, his goofy grin; I still feel his love, and for that, I am eternally grateful.
From tragedy, the seeds were planted for something to expand within me. The wound became an opening into a new way of living.
When my biggest fan, Dad, passed away in 2016 I wasn’t sure how I would continue. But I did. I am also forever grateful for his support, and if his laughter echoes in my heart alone, I will write as though that is enough.
I write for the brokenhearted and the people who want to help. I write to inspire hope and renewal, to awaken joy, and to connect. I write because healing is a process, not a one-time event but an evolution. This writing is a complementary process that serves as nectar for wholeness.
I’m not celebrating the suffering. I’m bringing purpose into it, healing through it, and working with it. This is a promise that we endure. We can stitch the patches together—together. What I am celebrating is life.
I don’t write to tell you your answers, but to encourage the both of us to navigate the questions with a little more love.
I speak from my own experiences and I cannot speak for others who may have experienced trauma on another level—but I would love it if they spoke for themselves. That’s the thing about baring one’s light: when one person shares their story, it’s encouragement for others to share. That’s how we heal ourselves and each other.
Aim Happy is my dedication to what matters, and what’s possible.
What Aim Happy stands for
To be honest, if I were to choose a name for my life’s work today, I might not go with Aim Happy. I have grown and gone deeper since the birth of this work, but the name has grown on me.
In my view, happiness is something we have the capacity for, but it’s not a “something”—it’s no thing. Happiness is a state of being, the release of resistance, an accumulation of decisions, a conscious direction of living.
Certainly a practice and a voyage, what I like to call “aim-happy-ing” creates an opening where we can explore new ways of living lightly, expressing ourselves, being supported, offering our gifts, and discovering richer connections. Developing an awareness of how we’re showing up in the world is a must; happiness in this sense is just as much about what we’re giving as it is about what we’re receiving—it’s about how we’re living.
I’m not intent on being happy all of the time; I’m just continuously opening to the glimmers of light that peek through the night sky. They remind me that not all is lost, that the world may be dark but we can learn to love the stars.
This brings me to joy, which, to me, is more of a divine experience, one that plays off of a quiet gratitude, a greater reverence for life and to everything a union deeper than physicality. It’s that sensation of discovering true treasure hiding in an ordinary-looking moment (like a rock crystal secretly sparkles for those who go inward).
I appreciate how Frederick Buechner writes about the whole experience of it, that “joy is a mystery because it can happen anywhere, anytime, even under the most unpromising circumstances, even in the midst of suffering, with tears in its eyes.”
This is the kind of treasure I love writing about: joy, even still.
Aim Happy symbolizes a journey of forging pathways with presence. Intentional abundance. Growing resilient as we walk. Realizing the destination in each step. Excavating. Making life new by rediscovering truth all over again. Shifting perspectives. Helping. Smiling through the tears.
Like my dad always said, either with a hearty laugh or a hurting heart, not despite his lifelong health complications or the fact that he lost his son, but surely because of everything: “Keep smiling.”
On the heart, the night’s guiding lights, and new growth (Aim Happy’s logo)
One day, the phrase “Love is my North Star” swept through me, so quickly I still wonder at its source. Following in its wake appeared this beacon of love, dripping from the moon, complete with a heart-forming swoop. I recognized it as soon as it popped into my head: this is my life’s work. This is why and how I write and heal.
I envision love as my northernmost star. It’s not something to reach for and hold, but something to light the way I’m walking. In this light-drenched field, happiness drops its illusion of being a landmark and flowers fill in the cracks. Healing reveals a direction, one marked by courage. Mainly, the courage to stay, to grow and go deeper, and to continue.
The beautiful thing about courage is that it can be practiced and built.
Love guides, growth reaffirms, and joy stitches together the moments where we discover grace in an unlikely place.
On staying: Prickly and claustrophobic as suffering can be, we learn to move through the thorns after we stop thrashing. We gain clarity first by learning how not to run away. We create space by being with what’s showing up—by showing up.
On growth: We look up to the moon for courage and the stars for guidance. We try braving the night by shining ourselves, and we understand how to expand, roots and branches, one glimmer of hope at a time. We bare our light, redefine and un-define ourselves.
On continuing: Bravery doesn’t always roar, and so we navigate together, helping each other out while we’re here, walking in stardust whether or not we’ve figured it all out (we haven’t).
Another revelation through this concept is that love isn’t something to lose. Like a light in the sky, it’s there, always available, never lost, not even in thick fog, fear and confusion. It highlights the best way home. Until then, it’s nice to till the soil and unearth the mysteries, even if we don’t get to know all of the answers.
Oh, and one last thing: while you’re out exploring, leave a light on in the window of your heart so you can find your way back home. That light is always there too; we’re made of the same stuff that makes the stars, after all.
Thank you for being here. Your presence is never taken for granted.
Love and light,
Photos: Amanda Arnberg.
Logo design: Ryan Logan.