Storytime
I grew up surrounded by phenomenal women who were providers, leaders, and constant sources of inspiration. From the earliest moments of family life, I witnessed women serving, guiding, and holding households together. For generations they were expected to sit in the passenger seat; now they’re driving their own cars and charting their own direction. Nurses. Teachers. Caregivers. Professionals. Even within the comfort of my loving family, I saw that the leadership shaping the men I admired often came from the strength of women.
I’ve learned that some people dedicate their lives to giving planning, supporting, and lifting others from sunrise to sunset. Others move through the world focused on taking chasing wealth, power, or pleasure. Seeing both has shaped my understanding of character.
Take my Aunt Nancy. She’s a mother of two grown sons, a full-time account executive serving local businesses, and a caretaker for her bedbound mother. She navigates life as a divorcee, mediates challenges in her sons’ relationships, and shows up as a loving grandmother to her grandchildren. Watching her move through these roles makes you wonder where she finds her strength. Faith. Responsibility. Compassion. A commitment to justice. A deep instinct to serve. The answer is all of the above. Aunt Nancy and women like her succeed each day because their motivation extends beyond themselves.
Through experiences like these, I’ve come to value people who know how to give back. I’ve met individuals from every walk of life enough to recognize the difference between someone truly struggling and someone performing struggle for sympathy. Those distinctions shape how you respond, how you help, and how you grow.
I also carry a belief that nothing enters your life without purpose. For those grounded in faith, this idea resonates deeply: everything happens for a reason, even when that reason isn’t immediately clear. Recently, I opened my home to a friend who was trying to regain stability after losing his relationship and seeing his family relocate following divorce. I had watched his journey unfold through social media the shift from “I’m happy to be here” to “When will this end?” and I couldn’t ignore it from the comfort of my own space.
Not everyone is taught how to process loss or navigate hardship. I was fortunate to grow up in a household that emphasized spiritual grounding, and that perspective guided me. So, for the sake of privacy, let’s call him Burt. (And if you’re reading this hello, Burty.)
Burt was kind and gentle, with a rebellious, punk-rock spirit that surfaced whenever music and emotion filled the air. We shared memories of dancing and losing ourselves in music back at Euclid High, moments of freedom and connection that never quite leave you.
When I told him he could crash on my sofa if he needed to, I meant it casually, but he responded the same day, saying he’d come by tomorrow. I was genuinely happy at the chance to reconnect. When the day arrived, he asked me to pick him up from his best friend’s house. I went without hesitation.
We spent the evening watching music videos, dancing around the room, and reminiscing. In that moment, time collapsed. I wasn’t an adult navigating responsibility I was transported back to high school, spinning across the floor with the lightness of youth.
And I caught myself wondering:
Where did the time go?
Still,
J.R.
Brufay 
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