We gathered to cowork together, finalize projects, clear our minds, and expand. This expansion didn't come without many heart to hearts, time alone on the dock, and working late into the night.

Prioritizing Connection

But we prioritized the time, each other, facing our challenges, and above all... LETTING GO. We started a ritual at this retreat to let go of what was holding us back. It felt so good to acknowledge and release the parts of ourselves that didn't serve us anymore. Sometimes you just need to take time to heal and reconnect with what matters.

Take Action

Don't let your ideas sit in a spreadsheet. Go on the trip. Take action on your dreams. When you're feeling captured by the west or called by nature, answer that call.

Final Thoughts

Work retreats in nature offer something different. They give us space to cowork, connect through heart to hearts, find solitude on the dock, and push through late nights together. Most importantly, they create room for letting go of what no longer serves us.

The ritual of releasing what holds us back can be transformative. Prioritize the time. Prioritize each other. Face your challenges head on.

Don't wait. Go on the trip and take action on your dreams today.

When you step foot into the rural Ozarks, you are one and the same with the folks around you. What matters more than the clothes you wear, the wealth you hold, or the fancy words you speak is your willingness to be part of the community.

Maybe it is a survival technique, but being a hugger, asking how someone’s mom is doing, and inviting people into your home for an undefined amount of time is simply the culture. If you do not already have a baked good waiting in the kitchen, you are making one, and everyone is expected to stay. Whether the wait includes coffee, tea, or lemonade, you are stuck on a couch, never thirsty or hungry, with an open invitation to Sunday dinner.

Connection is woven directly into the culture. It is not a curated experience or something people strategically seek out. It touches the fabric of who we are as humans. Porch swings, churches, big smiles, strong hugs, and comforting meals are built-in entryways into belonging. They are the kinds of things we never have to consciously think about because they are already embedded into everyday life.

Traveling out West showed me that connection can feel like a luxury, and community can easily fall flat in a city known for the “Seattle Freeze.” However, one exception to this observation has been the quaint wine town of Woodinville, home to more than 130 tasting rooms. Interestingly positioned within King County, Washington wine country has created its own modality for connection. Wine becomes more than a beverage here. It acts as a gathering point that brings together local vintners, growers, artists, entrepreneurs, nature lovers, and neighbors into shared spaces.

Wine is the intentional thread that ties together nearly every sector within the Woodinville community. Whether you are a wine drinker or not, there is a purposeful effort to create experiences that linger in people’s memories and keep them coming back.

When the sun finally makes its appearance on this dreary side of the country, multigenerational groups gravitate toward tasting rooms nestled among flower fields, brick buildings, and riversides. On clear days, Mount Rainier emerges in its own grandiose power, standing as a symbol of the beauty, adventure, and exploration Washington is known for.

The roar of laughter, the clicking of heels on sidewalks, romantic conversations softly drifting across patios, and children playing in the distance create an atmosphere that compels you to join in.

The wineries, tasting rooms, intertwined trails, live music, and community events create opportunities for people to slow down long enough to truly see one another again.

Growing up in the Ozarks taught me a version of connection that was inherited and embodied. Woodinville has shown me a version that is intentionally cultivated.

One part of the country was built on shared hardships, tradition, church steps, and proximity. The other is being shaped through unique experiences, gathering spaces, vineyards, and a deep appreciation for what nature and craftsmanship can bring to the human experience.

At first glance, the similarities between these places may seem difficult to pinpoint, yet both understand something deeply rooted in human nature: we are healthiest when we are connected to one another, welcomed through shared experiences, and invested in the outdoors that surround us.

Woodinville Wine Country Woodinville Creative District City of Woodinville, Washington #woodinville #seattle #community #winecountry

In places like Woodinville Wine Country, where wine is woven into the culture, the experience is meant to extend far beyond taste and smell. But too often, it dissolves into the noise within us until the moment slips past and we’re left unable to name something we never fully felt.

A wine tasting should take you on a journey through the life of the wine. But how can we connect with something living if we aren’t connected to ourselves first?

Last Thursday, I experienced my first sound bath performed by Sukrutha Krishnegowda with Earth & Grain and wine tasting at Sparkman Cellars. Within minutes, everything softened. The noise of the day quieted, replaced by a sense of calm that made space for something deeper.

A sound bath is an immersive meditation of vibration and sound, designed to slow the body and settle the mind.

What I didn’t expect was how much it would change the way I experienced the wine.

The meditation brought me back into my senses, not just taste and smell, but awareness. It opened a space for presence, for curiosity, for a kind of attention I hadn’t realized I’d been missing.

And within that space, the wine expanded.

After experiencing wine through stillness, I found a new appreciation not just for the glass in front of me, but for the act of returning to myself. Wine has a life of its own. But meeting it there, fully present, without distraction, transforms it into something else entirely.

Not just something to drink. An art form to connect with. Without the noise, I could finally meet it where it was, an aged expression of time, place, and craft.

And more importantly, I could meet myself there too.

The wine didn’t change.

I did.

You could end the call there. Instead, you pause and ask how they are, in a way that invites a real answer.

Something shifts. Their voice softens. The conversation opens. What was transactional becomes something more.

That moment changes the relationship.

Not because you solved anything, but because you made space for them to be human.

Intentional connection elevates business relationships.

When people feel seen beyond what they produce, ideas move more freely, collaboration becomes more honest, and trust builds in ways that cannot be forced.

This kind of connection does not require a grand strategy. It comes from small, intentional choices.

What this looks like in practice

Genuine interest (Stay long enough to actually hear the answer)

• Ask what is bringing them energy lately
• Ask what they are looking forward to outside of work

Following up

• Check in before something important and let them know you are thinking of them
• Follow up weeks later on something they shared
• Send a simple message that shows you remembered

Thoughtfulness

• Send them a podcast episode or video clip that you think they would enjoy
• Acknowledge how they showed up, not just what they produced
• Leave them a handwritten note that has an inspirational message

None of this is complicated, but it is rare. And because it is rare, it matters.

These are the moments that build relationships people stay in. The kind that hold when things get hard, where people are more willing to contribute, to be honest, and to keep showing up.

If we want stronger teams and more meaningful work, we have to stop treating connection as an afterthought and start treating it as part of how we operate.

The next time you are in a conversation that feels routine, pause before you move on.

Ask one real question. Stay long enough to hear the answer.

See what changes.

After years in public health, I now realize how complicit many of us became in making the truth more palatable. I don't believe in alarmism, but somewhere along the way we stumbled into a culture where discomfort was softened instead of confronted.

Broken Promise

Starting my own work as a community builder, I've reflected back at the system I trusted. Public health was supposed to be the discipline that brought sectors together in pursuit of collective strength. Collaboration was the doctrine. Alignment was the promise.

In practice, it often became the opposite.

The more we tried to collaborate across agencies, departments, and institutions, the more diluted responsibility became. The result was a machine that moved slowly, spoke cautiously, and struggled to admit uncertainty when people needed honesty the most.

Hard Realizations

After my government exit, I realized the following:

• I should have spoken up more when something felt wrong.
• I should have been less attached to outcomes and more committed to truth.
• When people were afraid during the pandemic, I could have been more hopeful instead of measured.
• When coworkers were struggling under the pressure, I should have invited them over for dinner and simply listened.
• When people in my community asked for answers, I should have had the courage to say, "I don't actually have them."

Sudden Loss

Nine months ago many of us turned in our badges and stepped into a new world overnight. The system lost an enormous amount of experience in a single moment: scientists, strategists, creatives, and future leaders suddenly gone.

The progress we built didn't just slow down. Some of it vanished.

After spending years inside an overworked, underpaid, hierarchical bureaucracy, I worry just as much about those who remained as I do about those who left.

Deeper Brokenness

What haunts me most is this: If the people responsible for strengthening communities cannot sustain one inside their own institutions, something deeper is broken.

We went from being trusted stewards of tax dollars and public progress to wandering tax-paying citizens ourselves, unaware of the real progress and grasping at how to be public health crusaders in the real world without a government or nonprofit behind us. Now it's time to heal and figure out what comes next.

Moving Forward

Here's what I've learned: speaking up matters, honesty matters, and community matters more than any institution. Sometimes we are socially hungover from systems that asked too much while giving too little.

The work of strengthening communities doesn't end when you turn in your badge. It just looks different.

If you've been through something similar, I'd love to hear your story.

That is the difference between simply renting a desk and joining a real coworking community.

I came across a line from operators at HubHub Prague, quoted in a study by Matthias Orel on coworking spaces as talent hubs:

“So, the aim is not only to move our business forward but also to move their business forward and to enrich one another, and all in all to move forward.”

That line captures it perfectly.

The research highlights three simple truths:

• Talent naturally clusters when skilled people share space.

• Ideas multiply when conversations happen in hallways, not just in meetings.

• People help each other move forward, even when there is nothing in it for them.

This is not just theory. I see it every week at Coworking Tuesdays with the Bothell Kenmore Chamber of Commerce

It is not about formal networking. It is about showing up to the same table each week and watching what happens:

You overhear someone solving a problem you struggled with last month. Someone asks about your project and offers a connection with no strings attached. People celebrate each other’s wins, quietly and genuinely.

Research calls these environments talent hubs. In reality, it is simply people getting meaningful work done together.

If you have been feeling stuck, isolated, or tired of staring at your screen alone, do not wait for a better moment. Show up.

You might walk in looking for Wi-Fi and caffeine. You will likely walk out with something much bigger.

Tag someone who should join us next Tuesday at the Bothell Kenmore Chamber of Commerce

Orel, M. (2021). Coworking Spaces as Talent Hubs: The Imperative for Community Building in the Future of Work. Review of Managerial Science.

Interview excerpt referenced in the study from operators at HubHub Prague coworking space.

Transactional and spectator-style relationships have created connections that are wafer thin, unable to withstand a storm, honest feedback, or even a simple mistake. Instead of depth, we built a culture where relationships can disappear with the tap of an unfollow button.

In a world like this, many people quietly begin confining themselves to smaller and safer versions of who they are. We learn where the invisible boundaries are and try not to cross them. We perform within certain limits, afraid to step outside them, until the only place we feel we can fully be ourselves is at home with the door locked behind us.

A real village does not work this way.

Having a circle of people who truly surround you requires far more empathy, understanding, and forgiveness than we often realize. Deep relationships demand patience. They require the ability to see someone beyond a single moment or a single mistake.

Yet many of us have constructed lives made up of fragments of ourselves presented to different audiences. One version here. Another somewhere else. Over time, our conversations lose humanity, our relationships lose depth, and our sense of belonging to the places we live slowly erodes. When we lack real connection with the people around us, we also lose our stake in where we live, who we support, and who we build our lives beside.

Bonds require vulnerability.

But vulnerability requires strength. It requires the willingness to be misunderstood at times while remaining open enough to believe that others are capable of understanding you. It asks us to trust that people can hold complexity, mistakes, and growth.

That kind of trust is difficult to build in environments that cannot support disagreement, different perspectives, or imperfection. When a social environment punishes honesty or mistakes too quickly, people retreat into performance. Conversations become careful. Identities become curated. Relationships remain surface level because depth becomes risky.

Real connection needs stronger foundations.

We must intentionally create environments where deeper relationships can exist and grow naturally. Spaces where people can speak honestly. Spaces where mistakes do not immediately end the conversation. Spaces where differences are not treated as threats but as part of the human experience.

But building these spaces requires something from us as well. We have to be strong enough to hold them. We have to resist the urge to judge too quickly, dismiss too easily, or reduce someone to a single moment.

It is worth asking ourselves a difficult question.

How much space are we actually creating in our communities for difference, emotional vulnerability, and understanding?

Many people wonder why they feel socially exhausted. But when we move through dozens of relationships each day that are transactional, performative, or quietly judgmental, we cannot fully relax into being ourselves. We measure our words. We manage impressions. We guard parts of who we are.

That kind of social structure is unsustainable.

Relationships built on fear of judgment, fear of being canceled, or fear of making mistakes will always remain fragile. They fracture the moment pressure arrives, collapsing the instant a wind blows through them.

But relationships built on empathy, openness, and genuine curiosity about one another are far more resilient. When we choose to lead with love instead of fear, we begin attracting relationships that are deeper, more fulfilling, and capable of lasting through difficulty.

Those are the relationships that form real communities.

And those are the relationships strong enough to withstand a storm.

I didn't expect balloons. But I also didn't expect silence.

Getting laid off felt like a gut punch. One day I was building momentum and the next, silence. No send-off, no assurance my work mattered. Just a quick, clean break.

The hardest part? Realizing how fast you become irrelevant. Loyalty and hard work didn't protect me. Institutions move on. Fast.

It forced a hard question. What if I'd invested all that energy into something I owned, instead of giving it away?

So I did. I started building for myself. Tested ideas. Made decisions fast. Created without waiting for permission.

Everything changed. Creativity expanded. Momentum sped up. Ownership replaced compliance. It was finally time to heal and grow on my own terms.

Don't let your identity live inside your job. Build beyond it.

Getting laid off pushed me off the tracks. It also gave me the chance to write my own map. Sometimes you need to run the extra mile for yourself, not someone else.

Losing your job can feel devastating in the moment. But it can also be the push you need to invest in yourself, build something you own, and stop waiting for permission to create.

Institutions will move on without you. The energy you give away could be building something that's truly yours.

What I did not realize is that there was never a safety net waiting to catch me in the real world.

I always carved out space for writing and hobbies because something in me refused to disappear entirely into the system, but it was not until I stepped outside of what I had been told was secure that people began reflecting back to me what I could actually be. A master’s degree did not pay my student loans. It does not automatically create leverage. It does not insulate you from living paycheck to paycheck, and many of you reading this know exactly what that feels like.

We were handed a framework and told it was the only path to stability.

Get an education.
Become an expert.
Climb the ladder.
Make good money.
Make marginally more good money.
Retire with enough savings to survive your senior years.
Take vacations if you can manage it.

That blueprint was presented as unquestionable. If you followed it, you would be fine. If you worked hard enough, you would be protected.

But the hard work I put in, the expertise I developed, and the skills I sharpened did not determine whether I was laid off. There was no invisible shield that activated because I had done everything right. There was no social obligation for anyone to open a door for me when that one closed. And to be fair, it was never anyone else’s responsibility to find me a job. There were no guarantees written into the margins of my diploma. I had not prepared for the possibility that the system itself might falter because I had signed my name confidently at the bottom of a contract I believed was solid.

This connects to ideas I shared in Be a Catalyst!. I also explore this further in my article "We Are Socially Hungover...."

I spent years in public health earning little more than minimum wage in roles that promised security and networking contacts as if proximity to power was the same thing as power itself. No one advised me to lean into my actual strengths and capitalize on what I offered the world. My writing. My ability to connect with strangers. My comfort speaking in front of a room without hesitation. My ideas. Those parts of me were trimmed off like excess dough from a cookie cutter, the scraps no one bothers to repurpose because they do not fit the mold.

The traditional approach told us to work hard, stay quiet, keep our heads down, and blend in. That formula did not make me stable. It made me restless. It made me angry. It ignited the parts of my personality that refused to shrink into a box designed for predictability over possibility.

Creativity never thrived in the work I was doing, even though it constantly whispered solutions. I could see how to improve processes, how to communicate policy in ways people would actually understand, how to shift systems toward something meaningful. But creativity was not rewarded, and being outspoken marked you as difficult rather than valuable. The moment you dared to raise your hand with conviction, you were met with the look that says you are out of line, that you should be grateful, that you should sit back down and let the machine run the way it always has.

How can you be an outsider inside a system you invested in? That is a question I am still unraveling.
What I do know is that the support we believed existed was more atmospheric than structural. It felt real because it had always been there. Benefits packages. Upward movement charts. Enforced pay scales. Promises of loan forgiveness. The language of security was polished and repeated until we internalized it as truth.

But I was not standing on solid ground. I was dancing, jumping, and performing cartwheels on thin ice above freezing water, convinced the surface was permanent because everyone around me was doing the same choreography. And when that ice cracked, it did so faster than it took me to earn the degree that allowed me to step onto it in the first place. And dang…the water was cold.

We were not foolish for believing the blueprint. We were disciplined. We were ambitious. We were obedient to a story that had worked for generations before us. But the conditions changed, and no one updated the instructions.

If this resonates with you, it is not because you failed. It is because the structure we trusted was never designed to hold the weight of all of us at once.

And maybe the wildest realization of all is that the parts of us that were trimmed away, the creativity, the voice, the refusal to blend in, might have been the only real safety net we ever had.

I didn’t expect balloons.
But I also didn’t expect silence.

Last summer, I sat in an online meeting that quietly dismantled the life I thought I was building.

It was structured. Professional. Efficient. There was talk of “hard decisions,” budget shifts, and organizational restructuring. Yet, no personalization, acknowledgment of individual contributions, or even names, just positions cut.

Then came the resources, resume workshops, sessions with human resources, and guidance on how to position ourselves for the next opportunity. For jobs. But what jobs?

There was no transfer, no bridge, no clear next destination. It felt like we were placed on a train with a one-way ticket to somewhere...the destination unstated, the route undefined.

Then the day came when I returned my equipment, no hugs, no cake, no send-off. Just a silent exit.

I handed my laptop and badge to someone I didn’t know, someone who was probably relieved they weren’t in my position. There was no indication whether the work I cared about would live on. No assurance that the systems I built or the passion I poured into projects would continue.

And honestly, it felt dreadful.

What unsettled me most wasn’t just losing the job. It was how quickly it all became irrelevant. In government, decisions are long and drawn out. Ideas move through layers of approval. Momentum builds cautiously under policy, precedent, and careful language. Meetings stretch. Timelines extend. Creativity is filtered.

Yet when it came to light that my position, along with dozens and dozens of others, was being eliminated, the decision felt swift. Even if it had been calculated and strategic behind closed doors, we were halted mid-project, mid-passion, mid-momentum.

One day we were building. The next day we were done.

That was the moment the illusion cracked.

I shared related thoughts in We Are Socially Hungover....

This reminds me of something I wrote about in Be a Catalyst!.

For more on this, see Run the Extra Mile.

I dig deeper into this topic in My Top 3 Favorite Hikes (Thus Far!).

I had believed that loyalty and hard work created security. That if you contributed thoughtfully enough and stayed disciplined enough, the system would hold you in return.

It doesn’t.

Institutions are built to preserve themselves. And once I accepted that, a more uncomfortable and liberating question surfaced:

What if the energy I poured into that institution had been invested in something I owned?

What if the strategic thinking, the late nights, the relationship-building, the creativity, the persistence ...what if all of that had been compounding under my name instead of dissolving into bureaucracy?

That question changed everything.

Because when you begin building something of your own, you quickly realize how differently momentum works. In business, especially when you are the decision-maker, speed is often an advantage. You don’t wait six months for permission. You don’t route every idea through layers of approval. You test. You move. You adjust. You act while the energy is alive.

And in that environment, creativity becomes oxygen.

It expands instead of suffocates. A coffee meeting becomes a collaboration. A small idea becomes an event. A conversation becomes a new venture. You begin to see possibility everywhere — not as obligation, but as invitation.

Something shifts internally when you move from compliance to creation. Your energy changes. You feel sharper, more awake, more decisive. And people respond to that. They lean in. They want to build alongside someone who is moving.

Starting your own business is not easy. There is uncertainty and really quiet days. There is no guaranteed paycheck arriving every two weeks. But every action compounds and every relationship you build outside a title compounds. Every risk you take builds something that belongs to you.

The greatest lesson I learned is this: never let your identity live solely inside your job. If your entire world exists within one institution, it disappears the moment your position does. Build relationships beyond it. Create beyond it. Think beyond it.

Being laid off forced me onto that one-way train without a map.

At the time, it felt dreadful.

Now, I see it as an invitation, to stop waiting for stability and start building ownership, to stop asking for permission and start acting, to live not in the illusion of security but in the clarity of purpose.

I handed in my badge with no hugs, no cake, and no plan.

And it changed everything.

I’ve wanted more of the technology, the data points, the information to improve my wellbeing. Our iPhone and Apple Watch track our every move, alerting us to high decibels, elevated heart rate, and whether or not we’ve hit our fitness goals. We have smart mattresses and smart rings that track our sleep, analyzing our bodies and making suggestions based on algorithmic data.

We are outsourcing our intuition at every turn. The smart toothbrush. The smart car. A continuous blood sugar monitor.

When does it end? And what is the cost? Instead of being trained to listen to our bodies and interpret those signals to enhance healing, regeneration, and growth, we let companies tell us what we need and when we need it. I am fully in that trap, but I can’t help but think these sophisticated technologies are goading us into overconsumption and distraction from the everyday stressors. Commute, work, typing, computers, cell phone, calls, street noise, ambulances, ChatGPT, traffic, etc.

I covered a related angle in My Top 3 Favorite Hikes (Thus Far!).

I've written more about this in Run the Extra Mile.

Our lives have been molded around a system that keeps us stuck. Our environment shapes us in very defining ways, yet as the ultimate purveyors, we persist in the same system that makes us sick, weak, vulnerable, and unfulfilled. So companies and governments step in to “improve our lives” while slowly taking away our autonomy. Before we know it, we won’t even recognize ourselves. I believe it has come from a good place. But we deny the way we feel when we wake up in pain, stressed, sick, and dreaming of that two week vacation at the end of the year.

Instead of creating an oasis based on our unique individual needs, we lay in our manufactured beds built by someone we don’t know, in our cookie cutter houses, a stone’s throw away from neighbors we’ve barely exchanged pleasantries with, eating food from a farm across the world. We retreat from social activity at every turn while “relaxing” on the couch, watching Netflix, letting our minds be fed by dopamine hits that fall after each episode.

It is no wonder community is lacking. We have no capacity after a stressful day, fighting off one interruption to our natural state after another. The energy to socialize, help our neighbors, and attend events has collapsed by the end of the day, and the only effort we can exert is to grasp the remote, an Uber Eats meal, and a comfortable couch. I can’t blame us.

I don’t have the answers.

Part 2 coming soon…

Belonging shapes how we show up for the places and people around us. At the Bothell/Kenmore Chamber of Commerce, supporting local business owners goes beyond ribbon cuttings and meetings. It’s about creating space for connection, collaboration, and real relationships with the people who keep this region moving.

Coworking Tuesdays were created to bring people together in a way that feels natural and welcoming. By rotating locations each month, we add energy to the workday while helping people discover and reconnect with the places they call home.

I explore this further in My Top 3 Favorite Hikes (Thus Far!).

This connects to ideas I shared in Run the Extra Mile.

Bringing together both members and nonmembers removes the pressure to “join” something rigid and instead allows connection to form organically. Coworking Tuesdays aren’t just about getting work done. They’re about having a consistent place to show up week after week, stay accountable, and feel connected. That kind of consistency is what strengthens our local spaces and the people who use them.

No registration is needed. For additional questions please contact Cheryl Ann Barnes (208-440-8290, call or text) or the Bothell/Kenmore Chamber of Commerce.

Events by the Bothell/Kenmore Chamber of Commerce: https://bothellkenmorechamber.org/calendar/

Before we know it, the monster has slipped quietly into our routines with a grin, watching us build our lives choice by choice, witnessing our milestones, learning our habits, and doing its dirty work in our homes while we remain distracted by progress.

With each wave of innovation, each convenience we welcomed as evolution, we failed to see what we let in. We didn’t ask ourselves, as a collective, what it might cost us. We didn’t pause long enough to question what we were trading away for efficiency or independence.

And maybe if we had, we wouldn’t have found ourselves in solitary confinement, built by our own hands day by day, under the illusion that we were becoming free.

The monster followed us here. Some might argue that it led the operation, quietly directing the construction while we supplied the labor. But we complied. We mistook isolation for strength. We celebrated self-sufficiency without noticing that it hardened into disconnection. We failed to see the bigger picture for what it really was, focusing instead on what it looked like in the moment: autonomy and control.

For more on this, see Run the Extra Mile.

I dig deeper into this topic in My Top 3 Favorite Hikes (Thus Far!).

Years pass faster than we expect. One day we look up and realize how quiet everything has become. We begin begging for a lawyer and jury to find us not guilty, to get us out of the cage we entered willingly. We ask how this happened. We ask who allowed it. We ask who is responsible.

The monster doesn’t answer. It doesn’t need to. It lives in the silence we learned to accept, in the distance we began calling normal. It waits. It grows with every unanswered message, every night alone, every choice that trades connection for control.

By the time we notice it, it no longer looks like a monster. It looks familiar. It looks like routine.

The door was never locked.

The monster isn’t out there.

It’s the life you learned to live alone.

About Us

CEO Society is a membership community for female founders in the greater Seattle and Tacoma area.

This community is a place where successful women entrepreneurs come together to share knowledge, build accountability, and support each other’s growth.

Our Mission

The mission is simple: empower female founders to level up through community, support, and a commitment to growth.

It’s about collaboration over competition, giving as much as you get, and making entrepreneurship a little less lonely.

My Role

In this role, I’ll be representing CEO Society to potential partners and sponsors to enhance membership perks, increasing the value for each member. Our community is incredibly powerful and I am honored to support each female founder by working in this role.

Conclusion

If you’re a female founder in the Seattle/Tacoma area looking for your people, or if you’d like to learn more about what we’re building, I’d love to connect. Or you can visit our website to learn more by clicking here.

The fair brought together local organizations and community members ready to take action on food access. What touched me most was seeing so many people eager to make a real difference.

Continue reading below to learn more about what happened during the fair, or click here to read the full Town Crier article.

The Fair

The morning was filled with energy and purpose as local service organizations set up tables to share their missions and connect with community members. I had the privilege of standing alongside fellow advocates Erika Olson, Silje Sodal, and Serena Freeman, each of us assisting in the set-up and participation of the event.

Third Place Commons Director Silje Sodal captured the spirit of the event perfectly when she said the goal was for attendees to leave feeling inspired to get involved. Throughout the morning, we saw exactly that happen. People stopped by to learn about volunteer opportunities, discover ways to donate, and explore hands-on ways to contribute like baking bread for those in need or maintaining Little Free Food Pantries in their neighborhoods.

The conversations were meaningful, the connections were real, and the commitment to action was palpable. It wasn’t just about raising awareness, it was about empowering people to take concrete steps toward solving food insecurity in our community.

Why This Matters

Food access has reached crisis levels in our community, and events like this remind us that we’re not alone in wanting to make a difference.

The fair created a space where people could learn about the various ways they can contribute whether through donating items, volunteering their time, baking bread, or stocking food pantries. Every action, no matter how small it may seem, contributes to a larger movement of care and support for our neighbors in need.

Getting Involved

If you missed the fair or want to learn more about supporting food access in our community, here are some excellent resources:

• Food Lifeline Food Finder Map – Locate nearby food resources
• Northwest Harvest Food Access Network – Connect with food assistance programs
• Washington 211 Food Pantry Search – Find local food pantries
• Little Free Pantry Finder – Discover or start a Little Free Pantry
• Emergency Food Network – Access emergency food assistance
• Hunger Free Washington – Learn about advocacy and programs

Whether you have an hour to volunteer, resources to donate, or simply want to learn more about the issue, there’s a place for you in this movement.

Conclusion

The Community Action Fair reminded me that small actions add up to significant impact.

I’m grateful to have been part of this important event and to stand alongside so many dedicated individuals and organizations working to strengthen our community.

The need is great, but when we come together with intention and action, we can create real change.

Together, we can ensure that no one in our community goes hungry.

Want to see the full coverage? Read the Lake Forest Park Town Crier article here.

A Morning Designed for Learning and Connection

Food access has been a prominent topic in the news lately, yet many people still don’t know how to help in ways that feel meaningful, impactful, and sustainable. Wanting to show up for those in need is common; knowing how to do so is often the harder part. Creating accessible opportunities for connection is essential to bridging that gap.

The Community Action Fair at Third Place Commons helped to accomplish that. The event connected community members with local organizations already doing the work – offering clear, realistic, and sustainable ways to contribute. Rather than overwhelming people with information or urgency, it made support feel approachable and human.

The fair itself was lively and busy. People intentionally came for the event, while others wandered in from Third Place Books or from other activities happening throughout the building. The space naturally held room for conversation and education around local needs – from food access to the social programs that help strengthen and support the community.

“Nourishing food is crucial for children to thrive!”anonymous participant

The Quiet Power of Shared Space

What stood out most was the range of people present. Kids, local elders, city officials, and community members of all ages shared the same space, learning alongside one another. Third Place Commons – a rare and valuable shared space – brings people together for countless reasons: socializing, food, games, music, education, and simply being present.

This is the quiet power of a third place. It creates conditions for participation without pressure. It is calm, safe, open, and accessible – qualities that matter deeply when addressing complex community issues.

The quality of our connections matters deeply. I explore this idea further in We Are Socially Hungover.

Where Awareness Turns Into Action

Community and social health rely on spaces like this. They are where awareness turns into action, and where connection feels possible. Third Place Commons bridges a gap, not by being louder, but by being open.

Prompt for participants to explain what food access means to them in their community. Quotes from participants:

• “Equity for my community.
• “Choosing healthy food.”
• “Everybody eats.”
• “Nourishing food is crucial for children to thrive!”
• “Less stress.”
• “My hope for a good veggie in my garden next year!”
• “Everyone being fed and full.”
• “Safety and security for all for basic needs – alleviating worry!”
• “Equity for all living beings.”

Participating Organizations Here North Helpline Serving Lake Forest Park— Community food bank and basic needs support in north Seattle. Hopelink — Regional nonprofit connecting people to food, housing, and essential services.
Center for Human Services — Community-based nonprofit strengthening families and individuals.
Hunger Intervention Program (HIP) — Works to increase food security for underserved populations in north King County.
Northshore Senior Center — Offers nutrition, social services, and community programs in the Northshore area.https://www.northshoreseniorcenter.org/programs-services/?utm_source=chatgpt.com Community Loaves — Volunteer baking network that supports local food pantries with fresh whole grain bread.
Lake Forest Park Rotary — Local Rotary club supporting community service and engagement.
League of Women Voters — National organization promoting informed and active participation in democracy.
Free Food for All — Is a community-based nonprofit that rescues and shares surplus food to reduce waste and increase food access through mutual aid and local action.

Northshore Nourishing Networks — Network of local Little Free Pantries and food support resources.https://nourishingnetworks.net/northshore/little-free-pantries?utm_source=chatgpt.com

Have you ever gone to a party or gathering you were genuinely excited about and maybe even looked forward to all week - only to wake up the next morning feeling completely drained?

Not just tired, but off. A slight headache. Low energy. No motivation to do much of anything. That urge to zone out and disconnect.

And the confusing part? You didn’t even drink (or not enough for this feeling).

This is what I’ve come to recognize as being socially hungover.

Why this didn’t make sense to me at first

What’s interesting is that this experience doesn’t match how I see myself at all. I’m a complete extrovert. I love people. I love gatherings, events, conversations, and energy. For a long time, though, I wondered if I was actually introverted, because why else would I feel so awful after socializing?

But the more I paid attention, the more I realized it wasn’t people that drained me. It was how I was connecting.

The holiday season makes it impossible to ignore

Especially during the holiday season, this feeling is everywhere. We bounce from party to party. We tag along with friends to gatherings where we know a few people or no one at all. We stay longer than we intended. Or we leave early thinking we’ll get ahead on rest… and still wake up socially wrecked the next day.

We usually brush it off with, “I’m just tired,” or “That took a lot out of me.” But I don’t think that’s enough anymore. I think we need to name what’s happening and ask why.

It’s not about being introverted or extroverted

My personal belief is this: we feel socially hungover when we spend time in spaces that don’t give us the depth of connection we’re actually craving.

That doesn’t mean there’s anything wrong with those spaces or the people in them. Sometimes they’re fringe friends. Sometimes they’re friends of friends. Sometimes they’re perfectly nice people we just didn’t quite click with. And sometimes they’re environments where we feel like we need to put on a face, play a role, or perform a version of ourselves.

None of that is bad—but it is draining.

Depth is what nourishes us

Depth requires vulnerability. Depth requires being seen and heard. Depth requires some level of emotional safety.

When we’re in spaces where that depth isn’t present or can’t realistically exist we end up spending energy without getting much back.

That’s why we can love being around people and still feel wiped out afterward. It’s not a personality issue. It’s a connection-quality issue.

Choosing socially nourishing spaces

What I want is for us to talk about this more openly. To stop assuming something is wrong with us when we feel depleted. To start paying attention to which environments leave us feeling expanded versus exhausted.

Because when our time together is already so limited—when schedules rarely align and gatherings are precious—we owe it to ourselves to be more intentional. Not necessarily about attending fewer things, but about choosing experiences that actually nourish us.

I don’t want to just avoid being socially hungover. I want to leave spaces feeling socially nourished.

Grounded. Seen. More myself than when I arrived.

And I think that starts by recognizing that our desire for depth isn’t too much. It’s human.

https://www.linkedin.com/in/cheryl-barnes-mph/

Have you ever gone to a party or gathering you were genuinely excited about and maybe even looked forward to all week – only to wake up the next morning feeling completely drained?

Not just tired, but off. A slight headache. Low energy. No motivation to do much of anything. That urge to zone out and disconnect.

And the confusing part? You didn’t even drink (or not enough for this feeling).

This is what I’ve come to recognize as being socially hungover.

I shared related thoughts in Getting Laid Off Was the Best Thing That Ever Happened to Me.

Why this didn’t make sense to me at first

What’s interesting is that this experience doesn’t match how I see myself at all. I’m a complete extrovert. I love people. I love gatherings, events, conversations, and energy. For a long time, though, I wondered if I was actually introverted, because why else would I feel so awful after socializing?

But the more I paid attention, the more I realized it wasn’t people that drained me. It was how I was connecting.

The holiday season makes it impossible to ignore

Especially during the holiday season, this feeling is everywhere. We bounce from party to party. We tag along with friends to gatherings where we know a few people or no one at all. We stay longer than we intended. Or we leave early thinking we’ll get ahead on rest… and still wake up socially wrecked the next day.

We usually brush it off with, “I’m just tired,” or “That took a lot out of me.” But I don’t think that’s enough anymore. I think we need to name what’s happening and ask why.

It’s not about being introverted or extroverted

My personal belief is this: we feel socially hungover when we spend time in spaces that don’t give us the depth of connection we’re actually craving.

That doesn’t mean there’s anything wrong with those spaces or the people in them. Sometimes they’re fringe friends. Sometimes they’re friends of friends. Sometimes they’re perfectly nice people we just didn’t quite click with. And sometimes they’re environments where we feel like we need to put on a face, play a role, or perform a version of ourselves.

None of that is bad—but it is draining.

Depth is what nourishes us

Depth requires vulnerability. Depth requires being seen and heard. Depth requires some level of emotional safety.

When we’re in spaces where that depth isn’t present or can’t realistically exist we end up spending energy without getting much back.

That’s why we can love being around people and still feel wiped out afterward. It’s not a personality issue. It’s a connection-quality issue.

Choosing socially nourishing spaces

What I want is for us to talk about this more openly. To stop assuming something is wrong with us when we feel depleted. To start paying attention to which environments leave us feeling expanded versus exhausted.

Because when our time together is already so limited—when schedules rarely align and gatherings are precious—we owe it to ourselves to be more intentional. Not necessarily about attending fewer things, but about choosing experiences that actually nourish us.

I don’t want to just avoid being socially hungover. I want to leave spaces feeling socially nourished.

Grounded. Seen. More myself than when I arrived.

And I think that starts by recognizing that our desire for depth isn’t too much. It’s human.

This isn’t an argument against corporations or government. It’s an argument for stepping into who we truly are, honoring the experiences that shaped us, and knowing when a season has ended—even when leaving feels impossibly hard.

The Path We Were Taught vs. The Path We Need

Growing up, I was taught that the “right” and stable path was a government or government-adjacent job. Safe. Predictable. Secure.

But life rarely happens according to the script.

As I followed that path, I still carried a dream inside me—a dream of starting my own business. Yet I kept pushing it aside, telling myself it wasn’t the right time or that I had to do it “the right way” before I could even begin.

When You Know It’s Time to Build Something of Your Own

Before I left my role, I felt a deep knowing that I was meant to create something bigger. But I didn’t see many people modeling that kind of leap, and the unknown felt intimidating.

Everything changed once I stepped away. When I finally put myself out there, the world opened up. I met the right people. I gained clarity. And I finally had the space to dive into the market research and passions that mattered to me.

That experience taught me a powerful truth:

You have to make the first move before the world can rise to meet you.

How Our Environments Shape and Limit Us

When we’re in environments that limit us—even subtly—we often don’t realize how much we’re being held back.

A limited mindset, a rigid structure, or a “play it safe” culture can quietly dull our potential. But when we release the need for permission and the fear of failing, something extraordinary happens:

We become the catalyst in our own lives.

Letting go of both fear and permission changed everything for me. I became the version of myself I had always hoped to be. Things felt peaceful. Opportunities flowed. Life became aligned, purposeful, and fruitful.

Finding the Support That Helps You Step Forward

Leaving a familiar path is easier said than done—especially when it’s all you’ve known. But you don’t have to do it alone.

If you can find:

• someone who’s a few steps ahead of you,
• a group that inspires and encourages you,
• people doing what you dream of doing,
• or someone you can identify with and reach out to…

…it can change everything.

The right relationship or community can help you cross into the next version of yourself—the one that’s been waiting just beyond your comfort zone.

Be a Catalyst. For Your Life. For Your Story. For Your Future.

The world needs your ideas, your courage, your creativity, and your leadership. But most importantly, you need you.

It’s okay to leave what no longer fits. It’s okay to begin again. It’s okay to build the life and business you’ve always imagined.

Be a catalyst.

You deserve to begin.

Originally published on my LinkedIn. Click here to view post.

https://www.linkedin.com/in/cheryl-barnes-mph/

This isn’t an argument against corporations or government. It’s an argument for stepping into who we truly are, honoring the experiences that shaped us, and knowing when a season has ended—even when leaving feels impossibly hard.

The Path We Were Taught vs. The Path We Need

Growing up, I was taught that the “right” and stable path was a government or government-adjacent job. Safe. Predictable. Secure.

But life rarely happens according to the script.

As I followed that path, I still carried a dream inside me—a dream of starting my own business. Yet I kept pushing it aside, telling myself it wasn’t the right time or that I had to do it “the right way” before I could even begin.

This reminds me of something I wrote about in Getting Laid Off Was the Best Thing That Ever Happened to Me.

When You Know It’s Time to Build Something of Your Own

Before I left my role, I felt a deep knowing that I was meant to create something bigger. But I didn’t see many people modeling that kind of leap, and the unknown felt intimidating.

Everything changed once I stepped away. When I finally put myself out there, the world opened up. I met the right people. I gained clarity. And I finally had the space to dive into the market research and passions that mattered to me.

That experience taught me a powerful truth:

You have to make the first move before the world can rise to meet you.

How Our Environments Shape and Limit Us

When we’re in environments that limit us—even subtly—we often don’t realize how much we’re being held back.

A limited mindset, a rigid structure, or a “play it safe” culture can quietly dull our potential. But when we release the need for permission and the fear of failing, something extraordinary happens:

We become the catalyst in our own lives.

Letting go of both fear and permission changed everything for me. I became the version of myself I had always hoped to be. Things felt peaceful. Opportunities flowed. Life became aligned, purposeful, and fruitful.

Finding the Support That Helps You Step Forward

Leaving a familiar path is easier said than done—especially when it’s all you’ve known. But you don’t have to do it alone.

If you can find:

• someone who’s a few steps ahead of you,
• a group that inspires and encourages you,
• people doing what you dream of doing,
• or someone you can identify with and reach out to…

…it can change everything.

The right relationship or community can help you cross into the next version of yourself—the one that’s been waiting just beyond your comfort zone.

Be a Catalyst. For Your Life. For Your Story. For Your Future.

The world needs your ideas, your courage, your creativity, and your leadership. But most importantly, you need you.

It’s okay to leave what no longer fits. It’s okay to begin again. It’s okay to build the life and business you’ve always imagined.

Be a catalyst.

You deserve to begin.

The high from running my first marathon was over, so I took a few weeks off from training and lowered the priority of running. After a lot of thought, I began training for a triathlon, adding in swim lessons and researching what it means to be a triathlete. The summer had just begun, and I was excited to enter a new job, new apartment, and be in a thriving community. I kept up my go-go-go attitude, and I viewed everything as a task that needed to be checked off the list.

Another run – check, social outing – check, project – check. I wasn’t keeping up with my internal dialogue or my feelings. During that time, my focus was on the next calendar event and the tasks that inundated my mind.

However, something this summer kept stopping me in my tracks; rainbows. In just a short 30 days’ time, I had seen four rainbows. One of which was a gorgeous double rainbow during a chilly and rainy summer day. Every time I notice a rainbow I think of my dad telling me, “It’s a rainbow day!” even in the cloudiest and stormiest of times. I think that it’s his manner of acknowledging that life is to be lived every day and a unique way to tell me to be positive.

On an easy run I took by the river recently, I saw a rainbow peeking through the clouds above the water. As I stood there in awe, ready to finish my loop, a mysterious feeling prompted me to turn around and take one last look. I slowly and bewilderingly turned around and noticed the rainbow beginning to fade. “Dang, that’s a bummer.” I thought observing the purple, blue, yellow, and red shades grow more and more faint by the passing minute.

I covered a related angle in The Quiet Collapse of a Safe Path.

Then a message came to me, telling me to stay put, embrace the moment, and stare at that rainbow until it completely disappeared into the sky. So I stared into the sky, unaware of anything around me but this one simple and magnificent phenomenon.

After, I started to tear up, thinking that was the first time in months I had slowed down to really just observe and take in a moment with no distractions. God must have been nudging me to stop and literally stare, but I kept brushing him off. I stayed until the rainbow evaporated into the sky and the short 10-15 minutes of silence spiritually moved me. It felt like I had taken a load off of my shoulders. I was calm and rejuvenated. I imagine God was chasing me down to take some heavy weight off my back so he could carry it himself and just needed me to stand still for a while.

I wondered in that moment if rainbows were in heaven and if my sister gets to see them all the time, or if they are a rarity up there, too. Maybe rainbows on earth are heaven’s way of getting us to slow down and just watch. As I have embraced my faith and pushed on, a common theme has been erupting in my thoughts to hold on and savor the lovely moments, even while they disappear.

As my dad says, “It’s a rainbow day.”

You are not alone.

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Snake River Trail

The Snake River Trail is located in Hell’s Canyon, Nez Perce National Forest, Idaho. Hell’s Canyon is the deepest gorge in North America. This was my first backpacking trip in Idaho, where I camped at Pittsburg Landing and stayed overnight at the Kirkwood Ranch along the Snake River. The journey is quite long, up to 28 miles (out and back), but I managed to cover 12 miles of it. The trail ranks as Moderate/Hard in terms of difficulty. As a word of caution, Poison Ivy covers some areas of this trail, and rattlesnakes are prevalent.

Iceberg Lake

Next on the list is the Iceberg Lake located in Glacier National Park, Northern Rocky Mountains, Montana. The entire hike is a scenic view. As you walk on the ridge lines of this trail, you are transported into a magical world. I took a beautiful photo of the lake in late-June. The trail is about 9-10 miles long and shares the same difficulty level as the Snake River Trail. However, this trail comes with its own unique warnings: grizzly bears and bighorn sheep are prevalent. It is always advisable to carry bear spray for safety.

Colchuck Lake

Last but not least is the Colchuck Lake in The Enchantments, Alpine Lakes Wilderness, Cascade Mountains, Washington. The beauty of this lake is breathtaking. It’s a popular hike nestled in the Cascade mountains. It’s a strenuous trail, which makes the views at the lake that much better. The trail is approximately 8-9 miles long and again, its difficulty level is Moderate/Hard. Here, you should be prepared to share the trail with mountain goats, which are common in this area.

Each of these hikes has its own charm and challenges, but the experience they offer is worth every bit of effort. Whether it’s the deepest gorge of North America, a gorgeous lake in the Rockies, or a popular hike in the Cascade mountains, these trails have enriched my love for the outdoors and deepened my connection with nature.

I wrote more about this hike on my blog. Click here to read “The World I Never Knew – Exploring the Enchantments”

Happy hiking!

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After being in Idaho for just a few weeks, I heard a coworker talking about The Enchantments. Fascinated, and a little dumbfounded, I asked all about it. I found out that The Enchantments are in the Alpine Lakes Wilderness Area and part of the Cascade mountains in Washington. I was half shocked and half embarrassed that I did not know that this type of geography existed in the United States, just a few hours from where I was currently living. After a little digging, the photos online were stunning. A visit to The Enchantments got filed in the back of my head and I went on with life. It wasn’t until the fall of 2022 that I got to witness The Enchantments face to face.

In October 2022, with two amazing friends by my side, we set off on the nearly four-hour trek to Leavenworth, WA. Leavenworth is a Bavarian-style mountain town, with a story of its own, but that will be for another day. For this trip, Leavenworth was just the base camp for our adventure.

In the early morning hours, still a little tired from our sleepover the night before, my friends and I took a photo, smiling ear to ear, at the trailhead sign of the Alpine Lakes Wilderness, Stuart Lake Trail. This trailhead not only leads to Stuart Lake but also to Colchuck Lake, which was our destination. This hike is about 9 miles, with 2,300 feet of intense elevation gain.

That day was sunny, crisp, and just the right amount of cold. Jagged mountain tops surrounded us, bathed in sunlight alongside the bright blue sky. The melodious chirping of birds filled the air and took away the sting of the strenuousness effort we were giving on the trail. The cool air of that October morning was a welcome relief. Just a few miles into the hike, the sound of roaring water filled the air as Mountaineer Creek crashed into the rocks and dirt below. The log bridge that crossed this creek had a wet, wood smell that reminded me of Silver Dollar City in Branson, Missouri. The smell of a familiar place back home coupled with the sound of the water flowing over the rocks was calming and reassuring to me I was in the right place. We hiked on, the sound of our boots like quiet drumming across the wet dirt, the trees swayed in the wind like friends waving and welcoming us to the land. Heavy breathing quieted our conversations and soon my friend pointed out a Gray Jay (also known as a Canada Jay). This is a small grey and fluffy bird that can survive in cold climates in even the harshest winters. We all gazed in awe. I realized that sometimes I am so caught up in trying to be fast on the trail that I miss little details and amazing wildlife. I made a mental note to stop and enjoy the journey to the destination.

The trail eventually forced us to climb over some boulders and rocks along a creek bank; it was the beginning of the steep finish to the top. As we gained more elevation, a thin layer of snow sprinkled the trees, resembling powdered sugar dusted on a cake. The best part of the trees were golden larches shining brightly, adding a touch of magic to this land. I’d never seen so many larches of that color before. Fall really was upon us.

As we finished the last stretch, the landscape revealed a stunning turquoise lake. Its transparent waters showcased a mosaic of rocks beneath, while the snow-capped mountain peaks added an extra touch of magnificence to the scene. We got the best of the seasons that day, soon we plopped down for a snack after burning all those precious calories getting to the top. As I admired the lake next to me, I noticed how the water shimmered like stained glass, reflecting the vibrant colors of the surrounding landscape.

After we soaked in the glory of our hard work, we began our descent. I couldn’t help but think what was next after this triumph. The amount of beauty in this one place was nothing short of incredible. More beauty like this is out there and I found myself determined to find it.

I've written more about this in Getting Laid Off Was the Best Thing That Ever Happened to Me.

Adventures like this one taught me the value of pushing my limits. I share another such experience in Run the Extra Mile.

The Colchuck Lake hike is a blissful storybook experience and one of my all-time favorite hikes, one I would elect to do repeatedly.

It’s a privilege to be on these mountains, breathing in the crisp air, enjoying a gorgeous view at any angle.

After this adventure, I bought more hiking books, hung maps as part of my wall decor, and my imagination expanded to what else was out there to explore.

This was the world I never knew, and I look forward to exploring new worlds. Don’t get stuck in the mundane; look beyond the veil and explore a new world.

Additional information: The Stuart Lake Trailhead in Leavenworth, WA provides access to Colchuck Lake. The Enchantments (which encompass Colchuck Lake) are part of the Alpine Lakes Wilderness area and to camp here, you must have a permit, which is accessed by lottery only. Please respect this area and others. It is a pristine area of the Cascades, and please Pack It In, Pack It Out.

Suggestions: Bring plenty of water and food, you’ll be hungry during/after this hike. Trekking poles are a helpful hand on this trail. Remember that although this is a strenuous hike, don’t let that stop you. Going slow and enjoying the hike is important.

Want to know more? I’m sharing this article for tips and more info on Colchuck Lake.

Or, to learn more about Canada Jays click here.

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I decided it was time to reveal my true self by removing the mask I had worn for so long. At a dead-end job with an education I wasn’t using to my full advantage, I didn’t have a monetary stake in continuing my sub par life. There weren’t an endless amount of bars to fill up my cup of relentless hangovers anymore. In the early stages of the pandemic, my life underwent a transformation. I gave up drinking, started exercising twice daily, and confronted my own personal truths. Then one lonely night, it hit me like a train, God’s voice saying, “Move. Move now. As soon as possible, start your life. Your opportunity for a fresh start is here. Leave behind the stale version of yourself. Don’t waste it.”

With a burning desire for change, I meticulously examined every part of the country and discovered that North Idaho was the perfect fit. North Idaho is a terrific base camp to travel into Washington, Montana, Oregon, and British Columbia. My love for hiking motivated me to seek a mountain town that offers all four seasons and a stunning landscape. Moving to Coeur d’Alene, Idaho, in April 2021, changed my life forever. I wasn’t ready to leave my family and friends, but I didn’t give myself enough time to think about it. I was never “ready”, and had I waited, I probably would have talked myself out of moving, or let someone else do so.

I confronted every fear and anxious thought head on. Being mediocre never got me anywhere. Avoiding risks never made me feel proud. But once I came over the Veterans Memorial Centennial Bridge on my way into Coeur d’Alene, I was stunned. The vastness of Lake Coeur d’Alene took my breath away. The beauty of my surroundings made me realize I have no limits. Like the famous Mean Girls quote by the character Cady Heron, “The limit does not exist.” There are no limits to my goals, my happiness, or my success. Opportunities smelled like pine trees and fresh air. Every sunset was like a powerful painting that God’s angels drew with their pink, purple, orange, and yellow watercolors.

Taking that leap changed everything for me. I write more about what this journey has meant in my bio.

—-

Now, in my third year in Idaho, I wake up every morning, thankful to be living true to myself. I’ve hiked countless trails, explored national parks, had a close encounter with a grizzly, and even captained a 200-mile team relay race. Every day, trip, and exploration has been a tremendous blessing. All of my setbacks have catapulted me forward into a garden of possibilities. From my point of view, I used to wrap myself in linen layers like a mummy. My fears, insecurities, and self-limiting beliefs held me captive in each layer. But now, I am captured by something different, the West.

The West has always had a reputation for wide open spaces, expansion, and growth. Well, it captured me, and now I’m finally free.

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Flying over the Cascade Mountains was an exceptional way to begin my journey to the West side of Washington. I was traveling with someone I had only one phone conversation with and many texts. Two weeks prior, as I looked for runners to join my team for the Spokane to Sandpoint 200-mile relay, she gave me a proposition. “Run in my race and I’ll run in yours,” she said. I obliged and joined her on the journey to run the Ragnar Northwest Passage 200-mile Relay. I had two weeks to plan, and I took on the challenge. I offered to pick her up from her house and jointly go to the airport. We hit it off seamlessly. She seemed like a sister I had in a previous life. Funny enough, we both grew up in Missouri, just a few hours from each other. It was another clique story of moving out west to escape the grasp of monotony that home states held.The Ragnar Northwest Passage is a 200-mile relay, typically with twelve team members. The race begins on a Saturday, extends through the night, and ends on Sunday. These types of relay races come with their own set of unique challenges. Teammates are stuck together in their prospective vans, smelly and tired, for better or worse. Sleep is a scarcity on the journey and exhaustion can easily settle in. During the race, there are “exchanges”, which are stops where runners switch out with a teammate. The “legs” in this race are the distances a runner must go before reaching the next exchange. The most challenging aspect of this type of race is the team dynamics and variability of the environment.

Cruising through the clouds, I kept thinking about the scary unknowns ahead. This experience wouldn’t be like any other, I could taste freedom. I had zero control over this situation, and I embraced that, probably for the first time in my life. When we landed in Everett, I wondered how much this relay would push me and how I would mesh with the eleven girls on this team. Other than the one I’d met in person just a few hours prior, I was on a team with strangers, trusting their judgment, advice, and support for the next 48 hours. We traveled in two separate vans, each with six people from Blaine, WA to Whidbey Island, WA.

My first leg wasn’t incredibly difficult, although my feet went a little numb at the end. I could hear the crowd yelling and screaming from a distance, but it wasn’t until I rounded the last corner with about 100 meters to go that I noticed my team. I was handing off to another teammate, relieved that I had some time to rest, and excited to take a full breath. On my next leg I got lost, I must have taken a wrong turn, although to this day I maintain that I followed the map and signs meticulously. My teammates thought I was injured and sent a medic out for me, while they sent the next runner to begin, assuming I was a lost cause. I’d never been more relieved to see a bunch of waiting, sweaty runners ahead.

I had a leg in the middle of the night, the string of runners began to widen, and I could hardly see the tiny guiding lights in front of me. I wasn’t aware of how far I’d gone or how far I was about to go; running in the dark was a new one for me. It was a peculiar feeling being alone in the darkness, stars twinkling above; I wondered how many people were sleeping soundly in their beds while I pounded the pavement. Headlamp on, hat flipped backward, glasses bouncing aggressively from my nose to the top of my occipital bone, I felt like a drunk stumbling out of a bar. I kept thinking, “boy I hope there’s not an animal out here waiting to pounce on me.” The only car that drove by on that stretch of pavement was my van about a quarter of the way through my leg, faces sticking out of the window waving in encouragement and asking if I was A-Okay. I nodded that I was fine, and they could drive on.

Running through the darkness reminded me of another race I ran through grief and uncertainty. I share that story in Time to Heal.

I explore this further in Launch of Coworking Tuesdays with the Bothell/Kenmore Chamber of Commerce.

When I arrived at the exchange, my newfound friend stopped and guided me to the van. I began grabbing my sleeping gear thinking it was time to rest. On the contrary, we had a little bit of a drive before I could rest. I blacked out until we arrived at a school gym. I climbed over my friend who was coming down sick and was not moving until it was her time to run again. My sleeping bag and I arrived in a dark gym, with hundreds of cuddled-up sleeping runners, unbothered by my presence. I had to shower, just to feel more refreshed, before divulging into a well-deserved rest. My eyes were shut for barely 30 minutes before we were up and at ‘em again. I felt like a stale cracker, hungover from the bars, as we traveled to the next exchange admiring the sunrise. I guess that is what dehydration and lack of sleep feel like.

As the next day approached, vans and groups of people were partying, drinking, and dancing on the streets. Competitive teams were finishing, and we weren’t too terribly far behind. On my last leg, I could see the coastline, and the ocean beneath me as I ran up a curvy hillside neighborhood, stopping for snacks that locals had put out. Alcoholic beverages, gummy treats, granola bars, and crackers were at my fingertips along with encouragement shout-out cards. I neglected the alcohol but indulged in the other treats.

The trip was near its end, and out of the corner of my eye, I noticed an albino deer standing proudly in a field. I thought I was hallucinating. Maybe this angelic creature was a sign of good luck or maybe it held no meaning at all. It stood there for another split second before it dashed off into the forest. That was the moment when I realized this race was an enormous blessing. In my heart, I am confident I was led there by a force more powerful than myself. God planted me in that exact spot to prove I will be rewarded for my hard work, tenaciousness, and grit.

Moments like these remind me why I moved out here. I share more in my bio.

The endurance I gained from this race was not only physical, but mental. I released my mental blocks, which were controlled by limiting beliefs and negative self-talk. By releasing control, anxiety, and worry – I gained power over my mind. I embodied the confidence to keep going forward no matter the circumstance. As I left sore and stumbling, I had a new sense of what it was like to live and take a chance on myself. I was off to captain a relay race in the coming weekend. After months of planning, I had a true taste of what it took to step up for my teammates and lead. All because of one quick and steadfast decision. Take the risk and run the extra mile, you might even make new friends along the way.

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Last Saturday, Downtown Bothell was transformed into a winter wonderland. The streets buzzed with life and laughter as the community gathered for a festive celebration. Twinkling lights adorned the streets, music filled the air, and a contagious holiday energy permeated every corner. The Bothell Kenmore Chamber of Commerce hosted a holiday wine, beer, and spirits walk that turned downtown businesses into tasting stops and gathering places.

https://cherylannconnects.com/wp-content/uploads/sites/143/2025/12/307f6e06b19d469a8a3cdea0b11125f6.mp4

The video showcases the vibrant atmosphere of the event, featuring decorated storefronts, cheerful attendees, and the general festive spirit that enveloped Downtown Bothell that evening. It highlights the various activities and attractions that made the event a memorable experience for all who participated.

A Festive Wine, Beer & Spirits Walk

The wine, beer, and spirits walk wasn't just about sampling local beverages; it was about forging connections. From the beginning of the video, the streets are decorated with lights and Christmas trees, and the people are dressed in holiday attire. Friends and neighbors wandered from stop to stop, glass in hand, soaking in the season's spirit. Each participating business opened its doors, offering local sips, friendly faces, and a reason to linger. The video shows wine being poured into glasses and smiling people enjoying the event. The event transformed downtown businesses into tasting stops and gathering places.

Playful Moments and Friendly Competition

The event wasn't all serious sipping; there were plenty of playful moments too! One highlight was the gingerbread house competition at First and Main. Employees showcased their creativity and competitive spirit by crafting elaborate gingerbread houses. The video shows a table full of gingerbread houses, ranging from traditional designs to more imaginative creations. This friendly competition added an extra layer of fun and warmth to the night, perfectly capturing the holiday spirit.

More Than Drinks: Building Community

Ultimately, the event was about more than just wine, beer, and spirits; it was about connection. Neighbors met neighbors, local businesses were celebrated, and Downtown Bothell did what it does best: bring people together. As the video shows, the event fostered a sense of community and belonging, reminding everyone of the importance of human connection during the holiday season. Community doesn't happen by accident. It's built, one event, one conversation, and one shared moment at a time. This event exemplified that perfectly, creating a warm, joyful, and truly memorable experience for all.

The beautiful downtown area, already known for its charm and character, took on an extra sparkle as the streets filled with life and laughter. From the twinkling lights adorning storefronts to the sounds of celebration echoing through the blocks, it was a reminder of what makes Bothell such a special place to call home.

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Experience the festive atmosphere and community spirit that filled Downtown Bothell's streets during last Saturday's celebration.

The Power of Community Gatherings

Events like last Saturday's celebration serve a purpose far beyond simple entertainment. They create opportunities for neighbors to connect, for local businesses to showcase what they offer, and for families to create lasting memories together. In an increasingly digital world, these face-to-face community gatherings remind us of the irreplaceable value of human connection.

The Bothell Kenmore Chamber of Commerce has long been instrumental in fostering these community touchpoints, understanding that a thriving downtown area requires more than just physical infrastructure—it needs heart, energy, and the active participation of its residents.

Why Downtown Events Matter

Community celebrations in downtown areas deliver multiple benefits that extend well beyond the day of the event:

• Economic Impact: Local businesses see increased foot traffic and sales when the community gathers downtown
• Social Connection: Residents build relationships and strengthen neighborhood bonds
• Community Identity: Shared experiences create a sense of belonging and pride in our city
• Family Memories: These events become the stories families tell for years to come

Looking Forward

As we reflect on the success of last Saturday's downtown celebration, it's clear that Bothell's community spirit is alive and thriving. Events like these don't happen by accident—they're the result of dedicated organizers, supportive local businesses, and residents who choose to show up and participate.

Whether you were able to join us last Saturday or not, there will be more opportunities to experience the magic of Downtown Bothell. Stay connected with the Bothell Kenmore Chamber of Commerce for upcoming events and ways to support our vibrant local community.

After all, a community that celebrates together, grows together. Here's to many more festive gatherings in beautiful Downtown Bothell!

1. 
   Take Action: Clarity Comes Through Movement
   
2. 
   How One Season Changed Everything
   
3. 
   Starting My Business: Lessons in Courage and Connection
   

I did not expect this fall to change my life, but it did.

This season, I finally chose to launch my business and step into the work I have felt called to do for a long time.

My Best Advice

My best advice for anyone considering starting a business or pursuing their passion: take action.

Clarity comes through movement and the pieces fall into place once you begin.

The Work

I stepped into creating meaningful experiences, building community, and helping people feel genuinely connected.

And the moment I took that step, everything shifted.

The Connections

I have met incredible people this fall.

From networking events at the Space Needle to cozy third spaces filled with thoughtful conversation and possibility.

This fall has been full of connection that truly matters.

Gratitude

I am deeply grateful for everyone who has supported, encouraged, or shared space with me during this new chapter.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Here is to more courage, connection, and community in the year ahead.

Conclusion

Starting my business this fall taught me that action creates clarity. The connections, experiences, and community I have built since taking that first step have been transformative. Taking action opens doors you did not know existed.

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