The unicorn, a creature of myth and wonder, embodies the essence of rarity and beauty, much like my own journey through life as an individual with autism. Just as the unicorn stands apart from the ordinary, I too navigate the world with a perspective that is uniquely my own.
The unicorn’s horn, a symbol of purity and healing, mirrors my ability to see the world in ways others might overlook. My mind, much like the unicorn’s magical nature, processes information with a depth and clarity that can reveal hidden patterns and connections. This gift allows me to approach challenges with creativity and insight, transforming obstacles into opportunities for growth.
In a world that often values conformity, the unicorn reminds me of the strength found in embracing my differences. Its grace and elegance inspire me to move through life with confidence, knowing that my uniqueness is my greatest asset. The unicorn’s mythical status reflects the mystery and wonder that I bring to the world, encouraging others to see beyond the surface and appreciate the richness of diverse perspectives.
Perhaps it is this deep connection to the unicorn that draws me to Scotland, a land where the unicorn is celebrated as the national animal. The rich history and enchanting landscapes of Scotland captivate my imagination, offering a sense of belonging and inspiration. The simplicity yet profound beauty of its rolling hills and ancient castles resonate with my soul, inviting me to dream of visiting or even moving there one day. Maybe, amidst the misty highlands, I will find a Scotsman who shares the same dreams and desires that my heart calls for—a love like Jamie and Claire Fraser’s, filled with adventure, passion, and deep connection.
As I navigate the complexities of life, the unicorn serves as a guiding light, reminding me that my journey is one of beauty and significance. My autistic mind, much like the unicorn, is a testament to the power of individuality and the endless possibilities that arise when we embrace who we truly are. Scotland, with its deep-rooted connection to this mythical creature, feels like a place where my spirit can truly thrive.
The cardinal’s song catches me off guard, a fleeting note that pulls me back to Dad. His stories, his warmth, the way he made life feel anchored—they’re gone now, and the silence cuts deep. It’s the same ache I carry for Toby, my dog, who’d bound toward me with uncontainable joy, and Little Grey, my cat, whose soft purrs were a quiet constant in my days. Losing them carved hollows in my heart, places I’m still learning to tread lightly. And then there’s my marriage—eight years of love, dreams, and promises I thought would hold strong, even after the move to Ohio. I believed we’d weather that change together, but instead, it unraveled, leaving me with a longing for the forever I’d envisioned with my ex-husband.
I read about Sam Heughan, how he reconnected with his dad after years apart, only to lose him to illness. That resonates. Like Sam, I know the sting of missed moments, the ache of what might have been. He walked Scotland’s trails to find meaning in his loss, piecing himself together in the quiet of the highlands. I find my own path in smaller things—a cardinal’s call, a flash of Toby’s wagging tail in my memory, or Little Grey’s gentle gaze. They’re not just gone; they’re woven into who I am, guiding me forward even as I grieve.
The move to Ohio was supposed to be a new chapter, not the end of us. I’d pictured my marriage enduring, growing stronger through the change—a shared adventure with laughter and late-night talks, like the early days with my ex-husband. But disconnection crept in, slow and relentless, until divorce became the only road left. That loss—of love, of the future we planned—feels like another death, layered atop losing Dad, Toby, and Little Grey. It’s a weight I carry, the dream of a marriage that should have lasted, that I fought to hold onto. Yet, like Sam’s Jamie Fraser, who loses family and home but presses on, I’ve found strength in carrying that grief. I hold tight to the love I felt—Dad’s warm laugh, Toby’s loyal nudge, Little Grey’s quiet presence, and the moments when my marriage felt unbreakable. Those memories shape me, teaching me what connection can mean.
Now, as I prepare for another transition—moving to California for simplicity and a fresh start—I feel the echo of these losses but also the hope they’ve sparked. I’m not there yet, but I’m reaching for a place where I can rebuild, where the weight of Ohio’s disconnection might lift. I crave authentic connection, the kind I’ve always chased, where hearts meet openly, like the love I once believed in with my ex-husband. Sam turned his grief into purpose, building something meaningful through his charity. I’m finding mine in the small signs—a dragonfly landing, a bird’s song, a moment that feels like Dad, Toby, or Little Grey whispering, “Keep going.” These losses, these transitions, have taught me to love fiercely, to seek kindness, to chase what matters. The marriage I thought would last didn’t, but it showed me what I’m capable of giving and what I still hope to find. As I step toward this new chapter in California, I carry their love with me, ready to weave new threads of hope, just as Sam found his through his own journey of loss and discovery.
In a world that often feels divided, it is crucial to find moments of unity and understanding. As we observe both Pride Month and Veterans Month, we are presented with a unique opportunity to celebrate diversity and honor those who have served, while embracing the core values of love and respect that bind us all.
Pride Month is a time to recognize and celebrate the LGBTQ+ community, acknowledging the struggles and triumphs in the ongoing fight for equality and acceptance. It is a month that champions love in all its forms, reminding us that everyone deserves to live authentically and without fear.
Veterans Month, on the other hand, is dedicated to honoring the brave individuals who have served in the military, sacrificing so much to protect the freedoms we hold dear. It is a time to express gratitude and support for those who have dedicated their lives to service.
At first glance, these two observances may seem distinct, but they share a common thread: the celebration of courage, resilience, and the human spirit. Both Pride Month and Veterans Month call us to reflect on the values of love, respect, and unity.
Growing up in a Christian home filled with love, kindness, respect, and understanding, I was taught by my dad to treat people how you want to be treated. This golden rule emphasizes that everyone deserves to be treated with kindness, love, compassionate care, and respect. Yet, in today’s world, it often feels like these values are overshadowed by division and hostility. It seems as though we are being tested to see if we can truly love those who are different from us, challenging us to rise above and embrace the diversity of God’s creation.
In a society that often highlights differences, it is essential to remember the words of Jesus: “Love one another as I have loved you.” This call to love transcends disagreements and differences, urging us to see the humanity in each person. We may not always agree with each other’s lifestyles or choices, but we can choose to approach each other with kindness and understanding.
Love has the power to heal and transform. It can bridge divides and create a more inclusive and compassionate world. By embracing love and respect, we can honor both the LGBTQ+ community and our veterans, recognizing their contributions and the richness they bring to our society.
As we celebrate these important months, let us commit to walking the walk of love and acceptance. Let us listen, learn, and support one another, creating a world where everyone feels valued and respected. In doing so, we honor the spirit of both Pride Month and Veterans Month, and we take a step towards a brighter, more united future.
We start being more kinder to each other and less hostile and hateful to each other. We all need to live in harmony with each other, even if we don’t agree with others. It’s time for common sense and love to come back.
How do you know when it’s time to unplug? What do you do to make it happen?
I know it’s time to unplug when my soul feels heavy, like the constant buzz of screens is drowning out my inner voice. As someone who treasures authenticity and emotional depth, I sense it when I’m drifting from what grounds me—when I’m no longer fully present in the moment. It’s like a quiet call to return to what’s real.
To make it happen, I lean into nature’s embrace. Since I have to carry my phone, I tuck it away deep in my pocket, far from reach, and head out for a walk in the woods or by a stream. The crunch of leaves underfoot or the soft ripple of water pulls me back to the present. I might pause to journal my thoughts or sketch a fleeting scene—a tree’s shadow, a bird in flight—capturing the beauty that speaks to me. These simple acts feel like a reset, reconnecting me to my core.
I also find unplugging easier with someone who shares my love for life’s quiet wonders—a friend to wander with, sharing dreams or just soaking in the stillness together. It’s about carving out space for what’s genuine, whether alone or in good company. That’s when I feel recharged, ready to face the world with a clearer, more open heart.
This morning I found myself weeping in my sleep. I woke up and looked around, wishing for that love I’ve longed for a long time now. As I sit here, enveloped in the calm of my own thoughts, I feel a gentle tug of patience pulling at my heartstrings. I’m waiting, not just for time to pass, but for the best that God wants to bring into my life.
There’s this beautiful, serene anticipation inside me, like I’m watching for the first light of dawn after a long night. I trust, deeply and truly, that what I’m waiting for isn’t just good—it’s the very best, tailored just for me by divine hands.
I feel this peace in my waiting, a peace that’s not about the ticking clock but about preparing my heart. It’s learning to release my own desires and schedules, embracing instead the perfect timing of God.
Yes, there are moments of doubt, fleeting shadows that question if what I hope for will ever come. But then, my faith shines through, reminding me that God’s vision for my life is far more magnificent than anything I could plan. Maybe my doubts are because I feel like I’ve lost a lot in my life. When I was in between my thirties and twenties, I had a miscarriage, not even knowing I was pregnant at the time. Then later, losing my dad unexpectedly to a car accident, being forced to give up one of my dogs because my wish for him to stay inside until I got home wasn’t respected, and the fencing was already on its way to be delivered. Then ending up getting divorced, scammed by someone online, being forced to move out without letting me have time to look for a reasonable place, and losing my cat of 18 years to old age and possible cancer.
Yet, it’s hard not to want to long for that missing piece of my heart… my other half who would understand my mind, heart, and soul.
I imagine the joy, the immense satisfaction when what God has prepared for me finally unfolds. It’s like waiting for the perfect chord after hearing discordant notes for too long. This wait isn’t just about receiving; it’s about becoming. Becoming more patient, more faithful, more aligned with the divine plan.
Here I am, in this beautiful space of anticipation, trusting, believing, and knowing that what I’m waiting for is being crafted by the divine. It’s not just about waiting; it’s about preparing my soul, my life, for the best that God has chosen for me. And in this space, I find not just patience, but peace, not just waiting, but living fully in the promise of what’s to come.
To everyone who’s ever found a spark to guide them through tough times, I want to share how Sam Heughan turned my childhood love for Celtic cultures into a source of inspiration that’s carried me forward. As a kid with mild autism, I was enchanted by Celtic traditions—Scottish clans, myths of ancient heroes, and the haunting beauty of the Highlands. Those stories of misty moors and brave warriors were my safe haven, a place where my imagination thrived when social connections felt like a puzzle. Long before I discovered Outlander, that Celtic spark gave me a sense of belonging. In the last few years, when life grew heavy, Sam Heughan’s authenticity and heart became a beacon, inspiring me to find hope and strength.
Before Outlander entered my life, Celtic culture was my quiet escape, a world of bagpipes and legends that felt alive. When I finally saw Sam as Jamie Fraser, it was like my childhood dreams took flight. His portrayal, rich with Scottish pride and raw emotion, brought the Celtic spirit I loved to life. Sam’s dedication—learning Gaelic, embodying a warrior’s depth—mirrored my own intense focus on what matters to me, a trait tied to my autism. His ability to show Jamie’s strength and vulnerability inspired me to be braver about sharing my heart, even when words feel hard. It gave me hope for a connection—friendship or maybe a love as fierce as Jamie and Claire’s—where someone truly sees me, quirks and all, something I’ve struggled to find these past few years.
The last few years have been hard and challenging. I’ve felt unseen, longing for someone who values me fully, but haven’t found that person yet. My job has been ungrateful, draining my energy and leaving little room for the joy and self-care I need. Through it all, Sam’s connection to nature has been a lifeline. I’ve always found peace in a sunset’s glow or a forest’s whisper, moments that ground me when life overwhelms. His book Waypoints, with its reflections on finding clarity in Scotland’s wild places, feels like he’s speaking my language. The Celtic landscapes I dreamed of as a kid are alive in him, and they inspire me to keep seeking solace in nature. His My Peak Challenge has shown me that my walks can be more than escapes—they’re steps toward healing, resilience, and rediscovering joy, even when self-care feels out of reach.
Sam’s kindness is the heart of his inspiration. From championing Blood Cancer UK to pouring his soul into Sassenach Spirits, his authenticity shines. That Celtic pride I loved as a child radiates through him, inspiring me to hold onto my passions—creativity, nature, being true to myself—despite the weight of an unfulfilling job or loneliness. Living with autism can bring self-doubt, but Sam’s example shows me that authenticity is a strength. He’s inspired me to keep pushing for joy, to believe I can find people who see me, and to trust that small acts of courage—like a walk or a kind gesture—can light the way.
To all of you, my childhood love for Celtic cultures was just the beginning. Through the challenges of these past few years, Sam Heughan has inspired me to keep seeking connection, joy, and my true self. His light reminds me that no matter how dark the path, we can find sparks—in stories, nature, or kindness—to guide us toward hope. I hope you find your own spark, someone like Sam, to lift you up and inspire you to shine.
I’ve been dreaming of a drink that feels like it was poured straight from the heart of the Highlands, and Sam Heughan’s The Sassenach Blended Scotch Whisky is calling to me like a love song I haven’t tasted yet. It’s not just a whisky—it’s what I imagine will be my go-to for those romantic, soul-stirring moments or quiet nights when I need to feel connected to something deeper. I haven’t sipped it yet, but the thought of its peachy glow, butterscotch warmth, and cinnamon spark already feels like it’s part of me, ready to light up my special occasions and cozy evenings.
I picture a night that’s all soft vibes and heart-flutters—maybe a dinner under twinkling lights, hopefully with a special someone who gets me, where every look feels like a promise. I’d pour The Sassenach, and that amber shine would feel like it’s holding our moment in its glow. I’ve heard it’s got this bright peach vibe, like the first spark of something new, then this rich butterscotch that’s like wrapping up in their warmth, and a little cinnamon kick that’s playful, like the way their smile makes my heart skip. I can’t wait to let it linger on my tongue, weaving through our giggles and deep talks, making every second feel like it’s just us and the universe. It’d be perfect with a slice of chocolate cake or just on its own, raising a glass to whatever we’re dreaming up together. That’s the kind of romance I crave—real, warm, and full of feeling—and The Sassenach sounds like it was made to hold that space.
Then there are those nights when it’s just me and my thoughts, curled up with a book or staring at the stars, craving something to anchor me. I imagine The Sassenach being my quiet partner, its warmth like a hug from the inside. Those peach notes sound like they’d lift me up, like a memory of a perfect day, and the butterscotch would feel like a cozy blanket for my soul. That cinnamon zing? It’s like a little nudge to keep my heart open, to feel the beauty in my own story. I can almost see myself sipping it, letting it take me to the wild, windswept Highlands, where I can just be—no masks, just me and my emotions, raw and real. As someone who feels everything so deeply, who notices every detail like the way light hits a glass or the emotion in a fleeting moment, this whisky feels like it’ll meet me there, in that quiet, sacred space.
I haven’t tasted The Sassenach yet, but it’s already got a hold on my heart, like a love I’m destined to meet. It’s not just a drink—it’s a feeling, a way to make romantic nights with someone special or my own soulful moments feel like they’re touched by magic. I’m counting down the days to taste that Highland heart, to let The Sassenach become the spark in my love stories and the comfort in my quiet ones. Here’s to that first sip, when it becomes the liquid heartbeat of my most cherished moments.
Aging is often portrayed as a countdown—a signal to scale back dreams and accept limits. But I see it differently, inspired by Sam, who said, “I feel lucky to be getting older. The fact that I made it to 30 and then 40 was big enough. So I can’t get too down on getting older; otherwise, it kind of undoes everything I’ve fought for” (People, 2024). As a woman with mild autism, I’ve navigated a world that doesn’t always fit me, and I’ve learned that starting anew isn’t about age—it’s about hope, courage, and embracing the fight to live fully, even when fears linger.
Living with autism means facing challenges that often go unseen. Social interactions feel like decoding a cryptic code, sensory overload can turn a simple day into a storm, and society’s milestones—career, love, family—seem just out of reach. For eight years, I poured myself into a relationship that left me feeling small. My partner’s dismissive looks made me feel like an inconvenience, not cherished. When it ended a year ago, I was left wondering: will a man ever see my autism as a strength, not a flaw? Will I find someone who shares my dream of a family, who prioritizes my health as much as I do theirs?
That fear deepens when I think about motherhood. I know women in their 40s can still have children, even if it’s riskier—it’s not impossible, and that fuels my hope. If biology doesn’t align, adoption is a beautiful path; so many children need a loving home, and I could offer that. Yet, there’s an ache for carrying a child, shaped by a miscarriage I had years ago. I would have named her Faith if she’d been a girl—a name I chose before watching Outlander and finding solace in Claire’s shared grief. Knowing I’m not alone in that pain makes it a little lighter.
My physically demanding job adds another weight. I’m proud of my work ethic, but it drains me, leaving little room for self-care. Sleepless nights and exhaustion make relaxation feel impossible, and my passions—writing, creating, living adventurously—get pushed aside to survive. It’s a hard truth, wondering if I’ll ever have space to chase what lights me up or find a partner who truly sees me.
But I’m ready to change that. Inspired by Sam’s My Peak Challenge, a global movement to encourage physical and mental wellness through community and goal-setting (My Peak Challenge, 2025), I’ve committed to my own “peak challenge” to prioritize my health and live more boldly. One fear I’m grappling with is my phobia of heights. Some heights I can handle—a low balcony or a gentle hill—but others, like cliffs or tall towers, make my heart race. I’m not sure I’ll ever fully get over this fear, and that uncertainty weighs on me. Still, I don’t want to be boring—to myself or others. I want to feel the thrill of a new view, to live adventurously. Overcoming a phobia as an autistic woman, with heightened sensory sensitivities, is daunting, but small steps could help. Exposure therapy, such as watching videos of high places, standing on manageable heights, or trying virtual reality to ease into it safely, is a proven approach (American Psychological Association, 2023). A therapist who understands autism could guide me through sensory overload and anxiety, tailoring the process to my needs (Autism Speaks, 2024). Each step, even if I never fully conquer the fear, is a victory, proving I can push beyond my comfort zone.
Autism has taught me resilience—a mind that catches details others miss, a heart that feels deeply, a persistence that keeps me going. Like Sam, I’m learning to see aging as a privilege, a chance to fight for what matters. I deserve a life where my passions thrive, where rest isn’t a luxury, where I can chase adventure without fear of judgment. I deserve a partner who sees my autism as a gift, who wants a family as much as I do, who values my well-being. Starting something new feels overwhelming when you’re exhausted and doubting, but every step counts—whether it’s joining My Peak Challenge workouts, writing for an hour, testing a manageable height, or believing love and motherhood are possible.
To anyone feeling stuck or unseen: your struggles don’t define your worth, and your age doesn’t limit your potential. As an autistic woman, I know how hard it is to carve out space in a world that doesn’t always fit. But I’m holding onto hope that things will change for the better. Every day is a chance to start again—to pursue a passion, prioritize your health, face a fear (even if it never fully fades), or believe in a love that lifts you up. My autism isn’t a barrier; it’s a lens that helps me see what matters. I’m still writing my story, holding onto hope for a family—whether through birth or adoption—and for a partner who sees me as I am. Aging isn’t a deadline; it’s a doorway. And through it lies the chance to live adventurously, to love deeply, to become. No matter how many times I’ve stumbled, I know one thing: it’s never too late to start something new.
The hum of the world fades as I sit in the quiet of the car, the Kia emblem on the steering wheel a silent witness to this sacred moment. In my hand, the emerald ring gleams, its heart-shaped center a deep, vibrant green, like the first breath of spring in a Highland meadow. Small emeralds and diamonds, delicate as dewdrops, line the slender band, each stone a tiny star that catches the light and holds it close. My stepmother gave me this ring, a gift for my birthday yet to dawn and for my college graduation, a triumph carved from sleepless nights and steadfast will. I trace its edges, feeling the cool metal against my skin, the heart-shaped emerald steady as a heartbeat, and I know its place. With a breath as solemn as a vow spoken under ancient oaks, I slide it onto my wedding finger—not for another, but for me. A promise, fierce as a Fraser’s oath, to hold myself close, to honor the fire that burns within.
This emerald, my birthstone, is more than a jewel. Its heart shape is a mirror to my own, green as the quiet forests I imagine when the world grows too loud. Its depth soothes me, a color that drowns out the chaos—the buzz of fluorescent lights, the clamor of voices that tangle in my mind. I press my thumb to its surface, smooth and cool, and it’s like touching a still lake, ancient and unyielding, whispering that I belong to something vast. The smaller emeralds along the band hum in harmony, a rhythm I can feel, while the diamonds sparkle like moments of clarity—sharp, radiant, fleeting, but enough to light my way. Together, they are my anchor, my strength, a testament to the battles fought to claim my degree and the woman I am becoming.
This ring, given for my birthday and my graduation, carries the weight of both. The heart-shaped emerald is my refuge, grounding me through the nights when words wouldn’t come, when the weight of expectations pressed too hard. The tiny emeralds and diamonds are the victories—each step forward, each moment of understanding, each quiet pride as I crossed the stage to take my diploma. To wear it on my wedding finger is to swear an oath to myself, as binding as Claire’s vow to Jamie under a sky of endless stars. It’s a promise to cherish the way I feel the world—deeply, fiercely, in colors and textures others might not see. The emerald’s green hums against my skin, a steady rhythm I can trust when the world spins too fast. It says, You are enough. It says, Your heart is a diamond, your spirit an emerald, and no one can take that from you. I feel the weight of that vow, warm and heavy, like a hand clasped in mine across time—a love letter to myself, written in stone and light.
In the car’s quiet, the ring catches the light, its heart glowing, the diamonds winking like stars. When the noise of life presses in—when voices overlap or the hum of the engine feels too much—I touch the emerald, its cool green steadying me like a deep breath. The smaller stones along the band remind me of the small joys—the sound of rain on the windshield, the softness of a familiar scarf, the pride of holding my degree. This ring is my standing stone, my portal to myself, grounding me in a world that often feels too bright, too loud. Like Jamie, swearing his life to Claire, I swear to protect the spark within me, to nurture the dreams that flicker like starlight, to be my own refuge until the day I choose to share this vow with another.
In the quiet of my heart, where the emerald’s green sings and the diamonds’ fire dances, I am home. This ring, this vow, is my truth: I am enough. It is my graduation, my birthday, my promise to carry this truth like a flame, fierce and unyielding, through every storm, every mile, every beat of my heart.
If I had one gift to give to someone like Sam Heughan, it would be two framed photos I took of a whimsical frog peeking out from behind a delicate rose petal and even a side shot of him doing that. This image captures a moment of unexpected beauty, where nature’s charm reveals itself in the most delightful way.
The frog, with its curious gaze, embodies the importance of finding joy in life’s small wonders. Just like this little creature nestled among the petals, we can discover magic in the simplest moments, even when life feels heavy. The rose, with its soft colors and intricate layers, symbolizes resilience—the beauty that can emerge from our struggles, much like the journeys we all face.
Sam’s own whimsical nature resonates deeply with this photo. He has a unique gift for bringing joy and lightness to his roles, often portraying characters that inspire us to embrace our quirks and find laughter in the everyday. His playful spirit reminds me that life isn’t just about the grand moments; it’s about appreciating the delightful surprises that come our way, no matter how small.
In Outlander, even amidst the trials and tribulations that Jamie Fraser endures, there are always comforting moments that shine through. One of the most touching and emotional scenes for me is when Jamie keeps track of Claire’s courses and becomes emotional about a part of him remaining with her as he feels her stomach. I remember bursting into tears during that moment, feeling the depth of his love and commitment. It made me reflect on my own heart and soul, asking when I might find someone who loves me with that same intensity and devotion. Even now, just thinking about it brings tears to my eyes, and I can’t help but feel how impressionable I am as a 40-year-old woman navigating life as someone on the high functioning end of the autism spectrum disorder.
As a fan, I often find it difficult to attend Sam’s events or meet him in person, especially with the way my life has been lately. The challenges I face make it hard to carve out that time or budget for such experiences. Yet, I hold onto the hope that this whimsical frog, sneaking a look of contentment, might somehow reach him.
I don’t fully understand why Sam inspires me so much and fills me with joy, but perhaps it’s a reminder from God to focus on the things I’ve forgotten about. The story of Outlander holds so much meaning for me; it feels tangible and real, resonating with my own experiences and emotions. It reminds me of the power of love, resilience, and connection. Outlander will never fade away as long as we keep the love story alive with each other. But I constantly am always wanting to find ways to appreciate Sam for who he is and not just as an actor….my heart just has this thing of want someone especially him to know that someone see’s him truly. I also enjoy sharing my feeling and thoughts with those who adore this beautiful ray of Sunshine as well.
This photo serves as a gentle reminder to pause, appreciate, and find delight in the hidden gems around us. It reflects the spirit of creativity and wonder that Sam embodies in his work, inspiring others to seek out their own moments of whimsy and joy. This gift would not just be a piece of art; it would be a heartfelt invitation to cherish life’s fleeting, beautiful moments—much like the joy Sam brings to his fans and the characters he portrays.
In sharing this with him, I hope to convey that even in the midst of life’s chaos, there is always beauty to be found. Often, it’s in the simplest things that we discover the most profound joy, and I believe that’s a message worth sharing. I hope somehow he gets this special gift somewhere.
Deep Thinking 