When I first began thinking about creating affirmation decks, I honestly didn’t think anyone would want them besides me. I knew I wanted them. I knew I needed them. I knew there were days when I needed someone, or something, to remind me that I was worthy, capable, loved and still moving forward. But I never imagined that those little decks of cards would become one of the most meaningful ways I have ever found to share love with another human being.
Over the last three years, something has happened that I didn’t quite see coming. The decks have become my soul’s mission. And over the last three days, I have been reminded of that in a way I cannot ignore.
Between the Purple Door event and The Witching Hour in Buffalo, I gave away no less than 350 affirmation cards. Three hundred and fifty little messages of encouragement, love and hope went out into the world.
I offer them from a little bowl handmade by my father-in-law, Jim, who passed away one year ago this Saturday. There is something about that that feels especially meaningful to me. I offer the bowl, someone chooses a card, they turn it over and read the message, and 99% of the time, something happens.
Sometimes they laugh. Sometimes they cry. Sometimes their entire face changes and I can see the joy come over them. Sometimes they read the card and then grip it tightly against their chest.
Most of the time, I don’t ask what the card said. It feels too personal. But people often tell me anyway.
“This is the mantra I’ve been saying to myself for the last ten days.”
“This is exactly what I needed to hear.”
“This is the message I just received.”
“This is what my therapist has been telling me.”
“This is what my friend said to me yesterday.”
And every single time, I stand there a little stunned.
Because I don’t think it is me.
I really don’t.
I feel like the middle woman. The vessel. I am the person who has gathered the tools, created the art, written the words and made a little doorway through which a message can travel.
The rest belongs to something much bigger than me.
Call it the universe. Call it spirit. Call it God. Call it whatever makes sense in your own heart. I don’t need to define it to know that something is happening.
There is something that feels almost holy about watching a person receive a message they needed at exactly the moment they needed it.
And over these last three days, I was affirmed again and again that what I am doing matters. That it has value. That perhaps this strange collection of things I have spent my life learning how to do has been leading me here all along.
For a very long time, I searched for my purpose. I wondered what I was supposed to be doing with this one wild, complicated, beautiful life. I looked for the path, as though one day I would suddenly discover it laid out in front of me.
Now I am beginning to understand something. Maybe I have known it all along. Maybe I have simply been collecting the tools.
Graphic design. Painting. Drawing. Writing. Mixed media. Color. Texture. Storytelling. Making things with my hands. Learning how to communicate. Learning how to listen. Learning how to connect with people.
I have spent decades filling a toolbox without fully understanding what I was building.
Now I can see it.
The decks are one tool. The affirmation letters are another. My art is another. The way I write, the way I create, the way I facilitate experiences for other people, all of it seems to be part of the same larger purpose.
The monthly affirmation letters especially have become something I treasure. Each month, I send out a piece of art, a message, reflection, encouragement and a little invitation to pause. It gives someone permission to take a little time for themselves, to center, to breathe and remember that they are supported and loved.
And somehow, those letters seem to be arriving at the right time too. That means more to me than I can possibly explain.
I feel incredibly honored.
And I am filled with a kind of quiet joy that is difficult to put into words. Giddy isn’t quite the word. I am not jumping around the room. It is something deeper than that. It is the feeling of purpose. A quiet sense of recognition. A feeling that after all these years of searching, I may finally understand what I am supposed to be doing.
There is so much darkness in the world right now. I cannot fix all of it. Neither can you. But perhaps I can make one small spark. Perhaps I can put a little light into an envelope. Perhaps I can create a card that someone carries home in their pocket. Perhaps I can make a piece of art that reminds someone that they are still here, still worthy, still loved.
Perhaps I can facilitate a moment of connection between a human being and the message they most need to hear.
That feels like enough.
More than enough.
It feels like a gift.
So I am grateful. Grateful for the people who have trusted these messages. Grateful for every person who has held a card to their heart. Grateful for every tear, every laugh, every “How did you know?” Grateful for Jim’s little bowl. Grateful for all the tools I have picked up along the way, even the ones I didn’t understand at the time.
And grateful for this strange, winding path that brought me here.
I spent a long time looking for my purpose. Perhaps it was never hiding. Perhaps I was simply gathering the tools I would need to recognize it.
And now, finally, I think I know.
I am here to make art from the heart. I am here to spread a little love. I am here to help hold a light for someone else when the world feels dark.
And I am incredibly honored to be the vessel.
Sending you so much love,
Susan