Seriously Lighthearted
The Underrated Power of Not Making It a Thing
We were on a walk — my husband, my daughter, and me — circling Lake Padden while she pushed my one-year-old grandson in the stroller, when my husband said something about me that landed wrong.
My hackles rose immediately, protecting something underneath: I was hurt.
A zillion thoughts rushed in to defend me. I don’t plan nearly as much as I used to. Why can’t he acknowledge how much I’ve changed? I only do the bare minimum these days. And besides — someone has to find the Airbnb.
Simultaneously — and this is the interesting part — something else was happening. A quieter part of me noticed that I didn’t have to take umbrage just because someone was being less than skillful. A gap entered my thinking.
Not now.
Maybe we’d need to talk about it. Maybe not.
I managed not to spiral for the rest of the walk.
Throughout the afternoon, I could feel the familiar pull toward making it a Thing — the corrective interview disguised as “sharing feelings,” but really hoping the other person would change and never, ever do that again.
And then a memory surfaced.
The Question That Stayed
Twenty-five years ago, during one of the hardest seasons of our marriage, he turned to me in the middle of a fight and said:
Why do you always take everything so seriously?
The delivery wasn’t perfect, and I didn’t receive it well — but the question stayed.
Why do I take things so seriously?
Over the years, I’ve come to see that the path back to wholeness — within myself, and between us — almost always runs through lightness. Through play.
Not because hurt isn’t real, but because not every hurt needs to become a Thing.
If I can step back and find a little humor, a little self-awareness, some genuine ownership of my part, something shifts. We’re suddenly on the same side again. And I feel joyful instead of burdened.
This moment caught me off guard. He hardly ever says things like that anymore — especially when it’s just the two of us. My daughter even pulled me aside to ask if I was hurt.
I told her what I was beginning to understand: being with family had stirred an old groove. His words had simply landed there.
The Twinkle
By evening, I knew what I wanted. I wanted to acknowledge what had happened — lightly. I didn’t want it to become a Thing.
So when I snuggled up next to him on the couch, with his old question echoing in my mind, I looked at him with a twinkle and said:
“Overplanner here, coming in for a kiss.”
He twinkled back. Pulled me close.
An understanding passed between us without a single heavy word.
Everything was good. Really good.
And since that moment, something sweet has unfolded. We’ve been planning a month in the Caribbean this winter — several islands, lots of back and forth, the two of us poring over Google Maps together.
In the end, I did the heavy lifting — flights, Airbnbs, rental cars.
But I did it with genuine gratitude.
And plenty of twinkles.
Someone still has to find the Airbnb.
Turns out that’s okay — and deeply appreciated.
Seriously lighthearted isn’t about bypassing hurt or pretending things don’t land. It’s about noticing the space between the landing and the response — and choosing, when you can, the path that leads back to connection rather than the one that leads to being right.
Sometimes a twinkle really does work better than a talk.
Upcoming & Good News
Write Now Mind is in transition. After Canvas discontinued its free-for-teachers platform following a security breach, I’ve been exploring new options. MoodleCloud is looking promising — I’ll be seeking a few testers during the 45-day free trial. More details soon. One thing I want to be upfront about: MoodleCloud has an annual fee, and I’m thinking of asking for a $20 annual contribution to participate in Write Now Mind going forward. I’ve always offered it completely free, so I’d genuinely love to know how that lands for you. Hit reply and tell me.
Write by Red Rock — July 1, 2026, at the Blue Diamond Library. Come write in good company with Red Rock Canyon as your backdrop. Always free, always nourishing.
Write by the Sea meets Mondays via Zoom at 1:30 PM PT. By invitation — but if it calls to you, reach out and ask.
Naked Writing Workshop at Village Books — August 2, 2 PM, in Bellingham, Washington. If you’re in the Pacific Northwest, come write naked with me.
UK Health Radio with Theresa Cheung — July 29 at 3:30 BST / 7:30 AM PT.
IMWA Panel: Writing About Love and Sexuality — August 1 at 2:30 PM PT.
And finally — Naked in the Now is on sale for $0.99 through June 14. The book has been quietly doing something lovely: consistently landing in the top 25 for New Age Meditation and top 100 for Happiness on Amazon. If you’ve been meaning to gift it to someone, now is the moment.
Smiles and a twinkle,
Marijke
I'm constantly trying to make the small things not "A Thing" but it's hard!! I feel a swelling in my chest when something strikes, however small, and I always visualize it rising, deciding: do I let it croak or not? Glad to know I'm not alone!
I will absolutely contribute $20 to WNM and thank you for this piece. It seems a good skill, to not let it simmer unmentioned into resentments and bring it up without having to talk it all through. Also sweet your daughter caught it and checked on you.