đOnly Here. Only Now.
Heart-shaped leaves and other subtle signs of encouragement we might be missing
I came back to Virginia to take care of my parents, and for the first five weeks it was â as expected â busy.
Phone calls, doctor appointments, paperwork, household issues, groceries, cooking, cleaning⌠you get it, right?
Every day was full, and every night I fell into bed already stressed about tomorrow.
Did I forget something?
Then, one morning, walking Redman, like every morning, I noticed something I hadnât seen before: heart-shaped leaves scattered across my parentsâ front lawn.






At first, I didnât think much of it. But the next day, there were moreâon the driveway, on the porch, (and yes, even a heart-shaped dead bug carcass in the garage đ¤˘). Oddly enough, none appeared on my neighborsâ lawns, even though they had the same trees.
They were only here. Only now.
Iâm not someone who usually looks for messages in clouds or tea leaves. But I couldnât shake the feeling that these were signs. Encouragement from my grandmothers â amazing, independent, loving women. Feminists long before I knew the word. Women who would be proud to see my sister and me here, showing up for our parents.
It felt like a message I needed: âYouâre doing the right thing. Youâre not lost. Keep going.â
And it got me thinking about signs in general â how they often show up loudest when weâre stretched thin, burned out, or standing at a crossroads.
How many have I missed over the years because I was too busy, too distracted, too focused on the next meeting, the next sprint, the next thing?
This time, I didnât miss it. And it made me wonder: what would change in our lives, our work, and our leadership if we noticed more?
đĄ In leadership, âsignsâ can look like:
Noticing when a quiet team member stops volunteering ideas.
Paying attention when an engaged userâs feedback suddenly drops off.
Catching when your own energy dips below zero even as your calendar fills up.
Theyâre not always dramatic. Theyâre often subtle. But if we pause, we see them â and we can respond before something breaks.
The next day, when I took Redman for a walk, the signs were no longer there. The leaves were still there, but they were no longer heart-shaped.
I thought: Maybe the sender knew their message was received.
đ My takeaway:
Whether itâs the universe, our intuition, or pure coincidence, it doesnât really matter.
What matters is what we do when we see the sign. Slow down. Look closer. Listen. Adjust.
Thatâs what Iâm trying to practice now: staying open enough to notice whatâs right in front of me â heart-shaped leaves and all.
Iâd love to hear from you â have you ever noticed a âsignâ right when you needed it most? In life, in caregiving, or even in leadership? Drop your story in the comments.
If reflections like this resonate, please subscribe. I write about leadership, caregiving, and the messy, meaningful ways we find encouragement â at work and at home.

