This afternoon, when I walked into my publisher’s office here in Waynesville, I sat down to catch up with him about nothing and everything, the holidays and how things are on the home-front of our respective lives. After some friendly banter, he handed me a small envelope. It was a handwritten note from his 90-year-old father-in-law, Bill, who lives on the other side of the state. 

I once spun my wheels searching and seeking an experience outside of myself or something big and expansive to find happiness. This tactic sort of worked for a while, but eventually I realized that looking forward to the next vacation or celebration or milestone was preventing me from all the in-betweens, all the goodness that happens in the weeks and months and years that unfold quietly, slowly — these are the minutes and hours we need to embrace more fully. 

July 2012. When I was in the running for the open position of arts and entertainment editor here at The Smoky Mountain News, I had to drive from where I was living at the time (Plattsburgh, New York) to Waynesville (1,100 miles each way) for the final interview. 

It started as a ripple softly lapping against my back as I pulled into the driveway of our quiet mountain cove. The roar of the interstates and swarms of fellow travelers behind me after the 1,300-mile sojourn to Lake Erie and back. I made it. Breathe. 

It’s been a few weeks since I wrote a column for this space. Instead, we’ve been fortunate enough to print your opinions. 

I take it as a sign of a newspaper’s health relative to its relationship with readers when we have a lot of letters to the editor or guest columns coming to my inbox.

To the Editor:

On what was supposed to be a simple one-mile hike off an overlook on the Blue Ridge Parkway, I managed to turn a peaceful afternoon stroll into an 11-hour misadventure that ended with a helicopter rescue, a hospital stay and a whole new appreciation for our local heroes. 

To the Editor:

An elderly person very dear to me that I’ve known my whole life recently fell in her home, breaking her arm and acquiring another more serious complication. Because of the serious complication, the local hospital sent her to the bigger regional hospital. 

When I worked at our Macon County library, I saw its many uses. Library workers are a special breed that come in many stripes but what unites them is that they all consider the provision of knowledge and research materials to be an over-arching goal. 

Recently I had the privilege of sitting and talking with a group of adolescents who weren’t my own children or my friends’ children. These were teens who I knew well enough to where they felt comfortable with me, but not so well that I was privy to their ongoing emotional patterns or personal stressors.

Once Labor Day has come and gone, I lean fully into fall. I know that technically autumn does not officially begin until Sept. 22, but for my own personal joy, I’ve decided to initiate the season sooner.