Before long, houses up and down the block were proudly displaying ‘We’ve Been BOOed’ signs in their windows. Suddenly, even in the midst of fear and isolation, we didn’t feel quite so alone anymore. That first BOO bag was more than just a festive surprise. It was a lifeline—a reminder that even in times of trauma and uncertainty, small acts of kindness can rebuild community and restore hope.

I didn’t get up because I had unwavering faith that everything would be okay. I didn’t get up because I was eager to march into battle, full of fight. What finally got me up was something quieter: the knowing that sitting on the sidelines was no longer an option, and that with whatever time I have left, I want to tend my small patch of the world better than I found it.

As a kid, I was called 'alien boy' because of my pointy ears—and even after surgery to 'fix' them, the bullying didn't stop. It took decades to realize the real wound wasn’t in my appearance—it was in the way I talked to myself. This is a story about how I reclaimed my self-worth, one mirror at a time.

It took some time, distance, and tenderness to understand that this, too, was part of the journey. That not every sacred space will crack us open. That sometimes the most spiritual growth comes not in the fireworks of revelation, but in the silence of unmet expectation.