In moments of difficulty, people often search for the right response. They bring flowers, send gifts, offer gestures. Each one an attempt to bridge the distance that pain can create. And while those offerings matter, I have learned that sometimes the most powerful thing someone can give is far simpler.

There are places in Minnesota that feel stitched into family memory like legacy resorts with aging cabins, multigenerational photo albums, and the comforting nostalgia of summers long past. I understand why people return to them year after year, carrying childhood stories like talismans. But as I explored those resorts, I felt an immediate knowing: this is not my terrain.

There comes a moment when the shimmer of admiration dulls, and we see not the myth, but the person. The revelation can sting.

On a bright afternoon walk, I admired a small brown snake stretched across the path. Its body was a ribbon of earth with silken stripes, muted glimmers, and patterns written in scales. To me, it was breathtaking. I took a picture, the way one does when moved by beauty.

I watched a clip of sharks feeding the other day. The video was layered with suspenseful music and voices filled with alarm. I used to join in with that reaction — oh my gosh, how vicious, how wild.

But this time, I saw something different.

This morning’s delight arrived as a cube-shaped croissant, dusted with sugar and crowned with a swirl of mango–passion fruit cream.