To finding the light.

As I’ve been building Sunflower over the past few months, I keep coming back to a memory from years ago—a middle school field trip to Wallops Island that I chaperoned. It was memorable for many reasons, not least of which were the 378 bug bites I brought home. My God, the itching. So. Much. Itching. 

But bug bites aside, what stands out most is a boy I’ll never forget. He was one of the brightest kids on the trip, which says a lot because they were all part of the Gifted and Talented Program. During the classroom sessions, his hand was always in the air. He knew so much, wanting to answer every question with excitement and enthusiasm.

On the second day, the lesson moved outside. The kids were supposed to wade into knee-high water to search for wildlife in the sound. But this boy was scared. He glued himself to a picnic bench, watching from a distance. He wasn’t being stubborn—he was genuinely terrified, convinced something in the water would get him. I remember how quickly the other adults seemed to give up on him, but I couldn’t stand to see him miss the very heart of the trip—the reason we’d driven five hours to spend three days there.

I can’t remember exactly what I said, but somehow I convinced him to take one step, then another. We went in together, side-by-side. Slowly, his fear gave way to wonder. Soon, he was splashing and exploring right alongside his peers—fully engaged, fully present.

I think I’ve been remembering that boy because lately I’ve been reflecting on how often it takes connection to overcome fear.

Starting my own company was never in the plan. I’ve said that out loud more than once: “Me? No, I’m good.” And when I was tossed a curve ball a few months ago, I was ready to glue myself to my own picnic bench—stuck, scared, unwilling to step into the water. A career of folding sweaters at my local J. Crew seemed a solid idea. 

But then I listened to the people around me. They saw me more clearly than I could see myself. This small but powerful chorus of voices told me I wasn’t done, that the water wasn’t too scary, and that I could, in fact, wade in and give this a try.

So, here is my thank you—to the people who got me off the bench and into the water. To my husband, who answered every “I can’t” with a steady “You can.” To my parents, who always believe in me. To the friends who brainstormed company names, reviewed website drafts, and made photos happen. To those who reminded me that I’m not finished with this work—and that I’m good at it, too. To all of you who reminded me that this work I do matters.

For all of that, and so much more, Sunflower, in a way, belongs to you, too. Thank you for showing up for me. Your connection made this all much less scary. You helped me move a mountain in record time. You helped me find the light.

Let’s follow it by working together. Ready?