There was a time when I believed that showing up meant always being available. I thought it was necessary for meetings, for others, and for opportunity. But what I’ve learned since then is that showing up for myself is just as important.
Back in 2021, I skipped a networking meeting to go running. I even logged in, ready to join, but the link wouldn’t let me in. I took it as a sign — not of failure, but of redirection. So I laced up and ran 6.7 miles instead. As I ran, I thought about how long it had taken to build that habit. Why was I so quick to drop something that nourishes me for something that drains me?
That question has followed me through the years. It showed up again when I missed a Zoom meeting. I was exploring Muir Woods while house sitting in San Francisco this year. It appeared again when I chose to wander a new city instead of logging into another call. In each instance, I realized I wasn’t skipping responsibility; I was redefining it.
In a world that celebrates the hustle, choosing joy can look like weakness. But joy is what keeps me in motion. Networking feeds my business, but walking, running, and exploring feed my spirit. I’ve learned that both matter — but only one keeps me whole.
Sometimes, the real work isn’t in the meeting I miss; it’s in the moment I choose to live.
And I’m reminded of something my kind neighbor, Miss Carol, once said:
“I am choosing to be an active participant in my life.”
That’s what my guiding light has always been about. It is not just about surviving the pace of life. It is about consciously walking in it.
Reflection Prompt
What does being an active participant in your life look like today?
Author’s Note
This reflection began as a 2021 journal entry about skipping a meeting to run. It has grown into a reminder about alignment and permission. I have been learning the same lesson in different ways. Each version of me — the runner, the entrepreneur, the walker — learns that joy is not a detour. It’s direction.
By Tonia Tyler | #ConfidentStrides | Sweet N Social
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As the year closes, I keep thinking about something walking has taught me over and over again:
You can have two people on the same trail at the same time. They’ll never see the same thing.
That’s what has kept walking alive for me all these years. Not the miles. Not the streaks. The meaning.
I’ve walked the same paths again and again, yet each season, each year, each version of myself notices something different. In that way, walking didn’t just change my body. It shaped my relationships. It softened my thinking. It helped me become a better partner, a better listener, and a steadier human.
So if someone asked me what advice I’d give for starting to walk in 2026, this is where I’d start.
Walking will strengthen your body. Still, if that’s the only reason you start, quitting is easy when motivation fades. Movement lasts longer when it’s tied to something deeper than discipline.
2. Ask Yourself What You’re Actually Looking For
Before you lace up your shoes, ask:
What am I needing more of right now? What feels heavy? What feels missing?
When I look back honestly, I didn’t start walking because I wanted to be “active.” I started because I was tired — mentally, emotionally, spiritually.
I was looking for peace.
Peace from confusion. Peace from noise. Peace from carrying too much without realizing it.
Walking became the place where my thoughts settle without needing answers right away.
3. Let the Walk Meet You Where You Are
You don’t need a perfect route. You don’t need the “right” pace. You don’t need a goal.
You just need to show up as you are. Let the walk do what walks do best: hold space.
Some days you’ll notice birds. Some days you’ll notice grief. Some days you’ll notice nothing at all — and that counts too.
4. Trust That the Benefits Will Show Up Quietly
Walking doesn’t announce its impact.
It shows up later — in how you respond instead of react. In how conversations soften. In how clarity arrives without force.
That’s how it changed my relationships. That’s how it changed me.
A Closing Thought for 2026
If you’re thinking about starting to walk in the new year, don’t ask: “How far should I go?”
Ask: “What am I hoping to feel more of?”
Let walking meet that need.
Because the trail doesn’t need you to be different. It just needs you to arrive.
And no matter how many times you walk it — you’ll never see the same thing twice.
Reflection Prompt
What are you hoping to feel more of as you walk into the new year?
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By Tonia Tyler | #ConfidentStrides | Sweet N Social
The waves at Fort Ord have a rhythm all their own. Some crash loud and proud, spraying salt mist high into the air. Others roll in quietly, curling under themselves before disappearing back into the sea.
I’m sitting on the sand with my phone in hand. I am waiting for that perfect shot. It’s the kind that makes you feel the power and pull of the ocean even through a screen. Every time I look away, it occurs. The big wave comes. It’s the perfect one. It’s the moment I thought I was ready for.
It makes me laugh a little. There’s something poetic about missing the moment because I was too busy trying to catch it.
The Illusion of Control
As a photographer, I’ve learned that timing is everything. But here, sitting by the water, I realize that control is an illusion.
You can prepare your camera, adjust your focus, line up your frame — but the waves don’t act on command. They come when they come. The ocean has no interest in your readiness or your plans.
And as an entrepreneur, that lesson hits home. How many times have I tried to line up everything just right before launching something new? Waiting for the “perfect” moment — the right lighting, the right energy, the right audience? And still, somehow, the timing never feels exact.
Because life, like the ocean, has its own rhythm.
Presence Over Perfection
I put my phone down and just watch for a while. Without the pressure to capture, I start to see. I watch the shimmer of sunlight on the water. I notice the way each wave builds quietly before bursting open. I appreciate the stillness between them.
There’s beauty in those in-between moments too, the pauses between the noise.
Sometimes the best thing you can do is simply sit and watch. You’ll never catch the perfect shot, and maybe that’s the point.
It’s not about catching the moment — it’s about being there for it.
The Entrepreneur’s Ocean
Entrepreneurship can feel a lot like watching waves. One moment, everything’s calm — steady clients, steady flow, steady confidence. The next, the tide shifts. A new idea rushes in, or a plan you counted on crashes before it lands.
And still, we show up. We adjust, breathe, and wait for the next wave.
The ocean teaches something that no business book can: You can’t force momentum. You can only prepare your stance and trust your footing.
When the wave comes, you ride it. When it doesn’t, you rest and watch.
The Gift of Surrender
There’s a strange peace that comes with letting go of control. Once I stop trying to expect the next wave, I notice how everything slows down. My breath slows, my mind calms, and even my heartbeat eases.
It reminds me that presence isn’t passive. It’s an active choice to be here, now — not somewhere in the “what if.”
The ocean doesn’t apologize for its unpredictability. It simply is. And maybe that’s what balance looks like. It’s about learning to move in rhythm with what’s unfolding. This is instead of fighting against it.
A Lesson in Timing
The afternoon sun glistens on the water. I look out and catch it just in time. A perfect, towering wave curls into gold. It’s magnificent, and this time, I don’t reach for my phone. I just watch.
The foam curls, the light dances, and the moment passes — but not really. It’s still with me, imprinted deeper than any photo could have captured.
The peace isn’t in freezing the moment. It’s in feeling it.
The Takeaway
Maybe we spend too much time trying to catch life instead of living it. Trying to control timing instead of trusting it. I also learned a lesson doesn’t end here — the ocean always finds another way to speak.
The waves will keep coming, whether I’m ready or not. And maybe that’s the beauty of it. It’s knowing that everything meant for me will arrive when I’m here enough to get it.
The waves come when they come. The peace is in being there when they do.
Reflection Prompt
Where in your life are you trying to control the timing instead of simply being present for the flow?
Author’s Note
This piece was one of three reflections that arrived on the same afternoon at Fort Ord State Beach. Each carried its own message. Yet, this one asked me to slow down. It encouraged me to look up from the screen. I needed to witness life as it was. I shouldn’t try to capture or control it.
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By Tonia Tyler | #ConfidentStrides | Sweet N Social
Fort Ord is one of those places I once dreamed of being stationed when I first joined the Army. Back then, it wasn’t just about location — it was about possibility. The ocean nearby, the cool breeze, the idea of serving where land meets sea. I never got that assignment. Life, as it tends to do, had other plans.
But here I am years later. I am sitting on Fort Ord State Beach. The sun is warm on my face, and the sound of the Pacific rolls steadily against the shore. It’s October, and the air is softer than I remember it being when I last visited in August. That trip was foggy, cold, and gray. It was the kind of day that makes you pull your jacket tight. It makes you quicken your pace.
Today is different. Today is golden.
When Life Comes Full Circle
It’s funny how life loops back around. Every base I ever wanted to be stationed at, my son somehow found his way to. It’s almost poetic — like he’s walking the same map, but on his own terms.
It hit me when I first realized that. Maybe not getting what I wanted back then wasn’t a loss. It was preparation. Maybe my journey wasn’t about being there first but about understanding the path so he could walk it stronger.
Watching him now — serving, leading, growing — I can see pieces of myself reflected in his path. The determination. The discipline. The quiet pride. And maybe even the longing for something bigger than yourself. It’s humbling to realize that our dreams sometimes outlive us, continuing through those we love.
The Sound of Then and Now
As I walk the dunes, I can almost hear echoes of what once was. Soldiers were running drills. Conversations were carried by the wind. I can remember the thud of boots on sand. Back in the day, this land was alive with military rhythm and purpose. Now, the base is quiet, transformed into trails and open beach.
It’s peaceful in a way that feels earned. The hum of the waves replaces the cadence of marching feet. The gulls cry where orders once rang out.
I pause to imagine the view through my younger eyes. I recall the ambition, the urgency, and the belief. I thought the next station would be the one that made it all make sense. I believed the next assignment would do that too. I even thought the next goal would give clarity. And now, decades later, I’m here not as a soldier. I am a woman, a mother, a creator. I am standing still long enough to let the lesson find me.
A Different Kind of Arrival
Back then, I thought fulfillment came from the next accomplishment — the next title, the next milestone, the next “station.”
Now, I know better. Sometimes, the places we long for return not to test us, but to show us how much we’ve grown.
Sitting on the warm sand, I watch the waves crash with a rhythm that commands respect. There’s no rush in their arrival. Each one comes when it’s ready — full of power, grace, and inevitability.
Maybe that’s the quiet wisdom of life in motion: everything comes when it’s supposed to.
Gratitude in Motion
It’s strange how gratitude sneaks up on you. You can’t always chase it. Sometimes it finds you in moments like this. You’re not trying to make sense of anything. You’re just breathing and being.
Here, the sunlight glints off the water like tiny medals, and I can’t help but smile at the symmetry. The military once stood for duty and structure for me — now it stands for lineage, connection, and legacy. I’m proud of where I’ve been, but even prouder of how far I’ve come.
The younger me wanted orders to Fort Ord. The woman sitting here today realizes she didn’t need them. She just needed time, growth, and faith to circle back in her own way.
Full-Circle Truths
There’s a peace in realizing you didn’t miss your moment. It was simply waiting for you to become the person who could recognize it.
Fort Ord may no longer be an active base, but it still holds presence, purpose, and power. Standing here feels like being in a memory that has healed itself. The should-haves and could-haves have been washed away by the tide.
I close my eyes, breathe in the salt air, and listen to the ocean’s steady voice reminding me:
You’re exactly where you’re meant to be.
I didn’t realize then that this beach still had more to teach me.
Reflection Prompt
What parts of your story have come full circle in unexpected ways? What dreams once felt delayed but returned at the right time?
Author’s Note
This piece was written after an unexpected moment of stillness on the beach at Fort Ord. What began as a simple walk became a bridge between who I was and who I am now. That quiet sense of completion stayed with me, which is why this story felt important to capture and share.
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By Tonia Tyler | #ConfidentStrides | Sweet N Social
I hadn’t planned on visiting Muir Woods that morning.
I fed the dogs and ensured the house was in good shape. I checked my GPS on a whim. It was only about an hour away. I thought, why not? and decided to make the drive.
To reach the park, you have to travel down a narrow, winding road for about four miles. The morning was blanketed in fog, and each curve felt a little eerie — beautiful, but unsettling. When I finally reached the bottom and pulled up to the entrance, I realized I had no signal. The park ranger explained that I needed a parking reservation. I would have to drive back up those same four miles to make one.
So up I went again, through the same twists and turns. For a moment, I thought about not going through with it. The fog, the quiet, and those sharp curves made me nervous. But something in me said, you’ve come this far — follow through.
At the top, I finally got a signal, made my reservation, and started back down. This time, the fog began to lift. Light filtered through the trees, and what had felt intimidating just minutes earlier now looked peaceful — almost welcoming.
When I arrived, I parked and stood there for a moment, still unsure if I could handle the trail. Then I saw another woman moving gracefully along in her motorized scooter, smiling and taking in the view. That was all the reassurance I needed. If she could explore, I could walk.
So I did. I walked about a mile into the forest, surrounded by redwoods that stretched higher than my thoughts. The air was cool and damp — that clean kind of damp with a hint of pine. I stood still, breathing it all in — grateful I hadn’t talked myself out of the experience.
And crossing the Golden Gate Bridge to get there? That was its own quiet gift — a reminder that sometimes courage starts with a single, spontaneous yes.
Reflection Prompt:
When life asks you to travel the same winding road twice, what helps you keep going?
And who reminds you — even without words — that you’re more capable than you think?
Author’s Note:
This reflection began as a spontaneous voice note during a California housesit. That winding road — and the woman in the scooter — reminded me that courage is often quiet. Keeping through isn’t about perfection; it’s about presence. Even when the fog hides the view, steady steps still lead to clarity.
By Tonia Tyler | #ConfidentStrides | Sweet N Social
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