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🌕 Roadside Reflections: Crystals, Flowers & the Ache of Being Away

I’ve been living on the road for a while now. Not in the dreamy "van life" way—no Instagram-ready sunsets and coffee mugs balanced on dashboards. This is the real kind of road-living. Hotel room to hotel room. Town to town. Always a little off balance. My toothbrush is never where I think I left it, and the GPS lady is basically my life coach at this point.

It’s been a few months like this—working full-time, chasing deadlines, answering emails from parking lots with one bar of signal and cold coffee in hand. Work has ramped up hard and fast, and I haven’t had much choice but to keep pace. Most days, I’m just trying to stay grounded while everything else is in motion.

But then today, I found a little spark of something special. I was driving through a tiny town in North Central Washington, the kind of place where time moves a little slower and the streets all seem to know each other’s secrets. Tucked into a corner was a store called Roxanne Crystals—and yes, it’s exactly as magical as it sounds.

I walked in not really knowing what I needed—just feeling that familiar pull, like something inside me was reaching out. The shop was small, warm, filled with the quiet hum of energy that only comes from a room full of crystals that have seen things.

I left with these beauties:

Each one called to me in its own way. A tower of Fluorite because I'm obsessed with it. Citrine for positivity and creativity,  A gorgeous fluorite rose, that winked at me like it knew my name. I didn’t plan to buy anything. And yet here I am, unwrapping these little pieces of Earth and feeling just a bit more whole.




And then—because the Universe apparently knew I needed a bit of softness today—I got a text from my husband. He’d sent flowers to my hotel.



Bright. Beautiful. Blooming right in the middle of my mess. A gentle reminder that even when I’m far from home, I’m not forgotten. I stood there in a room that was not mine, surrounded by the scent of roses and tulips, and let myself feel the ache of it all.




Adult homesickness is a strange kind of sorrow.
It’s not about missing a place. It’s about missing your place—your people, your rhythm, your daily comforts. It sneaks up on you in the checkout line of a crystal shop or when you’re fumbling with a keycard that never works on the first try. It lingers in the quiet moments between work calls. It weighs a little heavier at night.

But the full moon rose tonight.




And she brought her light with her—soft and steady. I stood outside for a moment and just breathed. The wind was cold. The moon was bright. My pockets were full of stones and my heart was cracked open just enough to let the beauty in.I don’t know how long this season will last. I don’t know where the road leads next. But I do know this: I’m still here. Still collecting bits of magic in small-town shops. Still holding on to the kindness of flowers and moonlight. Still believing that even in the most chaotic chapters, we can find something worth keeping.

Until next time,
Stay rooted. Stay magical. Stay real.
💫

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