I’m writing this from Miami, taking time away from Chicago to spend with clients. As I look out across the breezy beach, the colors are bolder, the light more liquid, the sounds slightly more theatrical. It’s beautiful here, in myriad ways. The sun insists on showing up. The ocean flirts with the horizon. The air wraps around you like a scarf dipped in warmth and perfume. And yet, even in all this brightness, I find myself thinking of home.

Chicago in January is not for the faint of heart. The city sharpens in the cold. Trees stand stark and architectural. Snow softens everything it touches. And gray—that most underestimated color—paints the sky in endless subtle shades. There’s a quiet poetry to it. A dignity. A kind of courage in the everyday rituals: the bundled-up dogs on morning walks, the steaming cups of coffee, the gloved hands reaching for doorknobs that never quite lose their chill.

That’s what I miss.

Because Happily Ever Always™  isn’t just about finding joy in the obvious—it’s about cultivating it in the in-between spaces. It’s not just the palm trees and sunsets and perfect cappuccinos. It’s also the small, sacred comforts of your own bed. The familiar creak of your floors. The neighbors you nod to, day in and day out, because you know each other without needing to say much.

Being away reminds me that home is a feeling. A rhythm. A way of moving through the world with grace and intention.

And so, even here—surrounded by tropical color and movement—I find myself leaning into the quiet lessons of winter. I look for shadow and texture. I light a candle for no reason. I slow down. I call my people. I carry home with me.

Wherever you are right now—whether snowbound or sun-soaked—I hope you, too, find small ways to stay connected to what grounds you. To your own version of Happily Ever Always. Because it’s not about where you are. It’s about how you choose to be.