I’m sitting here with a cup of coffee, trying to think of what to say. It’s not that I have nothing to say—it’s that I probably have too much to say.

Funny, that.

So, I’ll start with this: the world’s on fire. Be careful out there. Take care of yourself and your neighbors.

The world will try to grind you down. Make you less. Soften your edges—your wildness. Don’t let it. That advice sounds trite, I know. But bear with me.

In the wake of Sam Neill’s awful death, I have spent a good chunk of time reading various tributes written about him, from folks of all sorts. And the throughline there is genuineness and kindness and silliness. It struck me just how much Neill was simply…himself.

Back before the birdsite was a hellsite, we followed each other. I’m still not sure why or how he was following me. Maybe he liked poetry? Maybe I should’ve asked him. But seeing all his farm animal videos brought me so much joy. Here was someone whose talent I admired for years—I still remember the absolute zeal my classmates and I had discussing this cool new movie Jurassic Park and then later on, the anticipation for the sequel!—just being a lovely human.

Living that way, and sharing that manner, is its own bit of magick. And I’ll always be grateful for that. Because it reminded me that he was Sam Neill, the talented actor, and Sam Neill, the silly person with the best pig.

The world is harsh and confusing, and I aim to be neither of those things as fiercely and as often as possible. If humanity and softness are a antidote, I’ll always try for that. And there are many, many other people out there doing the same. Don’t forget that amid the horrors and the noise.

Beacons, lighthouses—we are each of those things. Sometimes, it’s to help others. Sometimes, it’s Gondor calling for aid. Ya know?

This week, I reached out to someone I haven’t spoken to in decades for no one’s fault or bad reasons. And we got to catch up, and it was lovely.

Next week, my poetry collection comes out. I’ve got launch (if you’re in NJ — please come!), a poetry panel in Philly, a guest blog/essay, and a podcast appearance (which was such a joy!).

It’s a lot. And I’m grateful for every damn second. Life has often tried to mold me into something I am not—someone I am not. There are times when my compass has faltered, where my feet have become unsteady. But those moments are always temporary. They pass.

So, if I could give you a piece of advice in this moment, it’s this: live softly, love fiercely, shine brightly. And remember that we’re all our own stars—part of a bigger constellation.