The simplest things are the hardest to talk about. If I try to tell you about all the little details of my day, you'll quickly get bored.

It's just as strange as trying to explain to a stranger that this scribble my child drew is the most precious and best gift in the world.

A two-word pencil message from my daughter, a note from my mother left on the table, a quick scribble on the last page of a notebook. The value of these little phrases is something only I truly understand.

I write small notes to myself about simple things, like a child. I fill an endless ribbon with little reminders of moments I don’t want to lose in the midst of endless worries, difficult decisions, and the overwhelming vastness of the world.