Keep Good Company

This picture right here?

Bear, belly-deep in a kiddie pool like he just clocked out after a double shift.

Willa, standing proud and alert, like she’s in charge of pool security.

It was taken a few summers back, and I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it this week.

Because honestly? I felt a lot like Bear—done. Overheated. Needing a break in the worst way.

I’ve been working on a project I care deeply about. The kind that pulls the best out of you—and sometimes the last out of you too. Weather delays pushed everything back, and by the time the weekend rolled around, I was counting on Saturday—and maybe Sunday—to finish it off.

Then came the heat.

Not just “a little warm.”

The kind of heat that slows your thinking, sticks to your skin, and makes the air feel like soup.

Saturday left me drained. My body was sore, my energy low, and my mind fried. Sunday was supposed to be the push—but instead, it became something more important.

It became permission.

To stop.

To rest.

To let go of the grind and come back to life a little.

I made the call to take the day off. And we made a plan: beach day. But not in a rush-out-the-door kind of way. Melanie and I started slow—just a quiet little coffee date, the kind where you can breathe again. We sat there for a while, sipping, talking about nothing. And that simple moment set the tone for the entire day.

We picked up snacks, drinks, a few essentials for the cooler. Then we headed to the lake with part of the crew—Makiah, Anna and her husband Kyle and their three kids, Cason, and Melanie.

The sun was already high by the time we arrived.

And the beach?

It was everything summer promises.

Towels spread like patchwork quilts.

Coolers cracking open with the hiss of soda cans and the clink of ice.

Kids laughing loud, chasing each other with buckets and water guns.

The scent of charcoal and lighter fluid drifting in the breeze.

The sound of flip-flops slapping sand, music playing softly from a nearby speaker, and the soft splash of someone easing into the water.

People of all ages were gathered—some laying back under umbrellas, others wading knee-deep with toddlers on their hips. Grandparents watching from fold-out chairs. Teens tossing frisbees in the shallows. A pair of paddleboarders gliding past like water birds in sync.

Everywhere you looked: ease, joy, relief.

It was the kind of day you don’t schedule—you surrender to it.

And somewhere between the rhythm of waves, the smell of sunscreen and grills, and the splash of tiny feet in the shallows, I thought of that picture again.

Bear and Willa weren’t the same. Bear’s a quiet soul, steady and strong. Willa was small and sharp-eyed—always alert. She wasn’t with us long—just a couple of weeks—but somehow, she and Bear kept finding their way back to that kiddie pool more than once. No coaxing. No command. Just two dogs seeking the same thing: comfort. Connection. Shade from the heat.

That’s what sticks with me.

Because we all need a place like that.

And more importantly—we need people who meet us there, no questions asked.

We talk a lot about the hustle. About “pushing through.” But life isn’t meant to be survived on fumes. The real nourishment happens in these quiet, unspectacular moments.

The float.

The pause.

The shared sandwich.

The stillness.

Melanie didn’t need a full story. She saw the look on my face, grabbed a towel, and said, “Let’s go.”

That’s love. That’s friendship. That’s knowing someone’s soul well enough to say, “You don’t have to be strong right now. Just sit with me.”

So maybe this is your reminder today:

You don’t have to earn your rest.

You don’t need to justify your exhaustion.

You are allowed to pause—especially on a Monday.

Find your version of the kiddie pool.

Make time for your lake day.

Surround yourself with people who bring peace, not pressure.

And when life turns up the heat—emotionally, physically, spiritually—pay attention to who meets you in the water.

Those are your people.

Side note:

This—slow coffee dates, beach days, walkable neighborhoods—is a big part of why we moved to Tosa. We love being close to the places that bring us back to ourselves. A good cup of coffee. A short walk. A familiar street. Sometimes the best life is built in small, intentional ways.

We’ll talk more about that—about designing a life that feels like home—a little further down the road. Because being intentional about how we set up our lives? That matters more than we realize.