“Not us!”

One of my favorite memories from Alaska happened before we even started our excursion in Ketchikan.

We were debating how to get into town from the cruise dock. The dock where we disembarked was quite a drive from downtown. I had heard about Sourdough Cabs but had trouble booking online. We considered grabbing an Uber, but eventually decided on Sourdough because they could take us directly back to the dock. The free shuttle was an option, but you had to be in line by 11 a.m. to guarantee you’d make it back to the ship on time.

So there we were, loading into our Sourdough Cab when an Uber driver pulled up and asked, “Did you order an Uber?”

Before any of us could answer, our cab driver whipped around and declared:

“NOT US. WE’RE GOING ON A TOUR.”

Then he slammed the door and shooed the Uber driver away like he was protecting a celebrity from the paparazzi.

The look on our faces was pure shock.

The Uber driver looked confused.

The cab driver looked victorious.

And honestly? We just shrugged, buckled our seatbelts, and figured if this man was willing to defend our tour with that level of commitment, we were probably in good hands.

What made it even funnier was that neither of us had actually planned a tour. We had just hired a cab to take us around town.

Apparently our driver had other ideas.

At some point during that interaction, he promoted himself from cab driver to tour guide, travel agent, security detail, and official spokesperson for our vacation.

The rest of the day, every time someone asked us anything, the answer became:

“Not us. We’re going on a tour.”

Need dinner?
Not us. We’re going on a tour.

Want to shop?
Not us. We’re going on a tour.

Ready to go home?
Not us. We’re going on a tour.

Weeks later, my husband and I still randomly say it to each other and crack up laughing.

Alaska gave us beautiful scenery, whales, glaciers, and lifelong memories.

But somehow the quote that survived the trip was:

“NOT US. WE’RE GOING ON A TOUR.”

And to this day, I still don’t know who put him in charge. But I respect the confidence.

What Comes After the Final Buzzer?

It’s been an incredible sports season.

While my teams didn’t finish the way I had hoped, it was one heck of a run and a whole lot of fun cheering them on along the way.

Last night, the NBA Finals came to an end, and with it, another Spurs season. The Women’s College World Series has wrapped up, and most of the sports that have occupied our attention for months are now behind us. At this point, my husband is the only one in our household with a dog still in the fight, following the World Cup and Men’s College World Series.

I’m going to miss the Spurs mania.

I’m going to miss hearing random strangers shout “Go Spurs Go!” from across a parking lot. I’m going to miss seeing black and silver everywhere we went. Most of all, I’m going to miss the way the city came together around a shared hope.

For a few weeks, San Antonio felt a little smaller.

A little friendlier.

A little more connected.

Sports have a way of doing that.

And truthfully, this season felt a little like found money.

If you had told Spurs fans before the season started that we’d be playing in the NBA Finals, most of us would have laughed. The expectation wasn’t a Finals run. For many, simply making the playoffs would have been considered a successful season.

Instead, this young team exceeded expectations.

By most accounts, they’re still ahead of schedule—maybe by a couple of years.

What we witnessed wasn’t a championship season. It was the beginning of something.

A glimpse of what might be coming.

A young team learning how to win, learning how to handle pressure, and learning what it takes to compete on the biggest stage.

Sure, we wanted four more wins.

Every fan did.

But when I step back and look at the season as a whole, making the Finals was icing on the cake. It gave us months of excitement, hope, nervous energy, and plenty of reasons to believe the future is bright.

And for a city that loves its Spurs, that’s something worth celebrating.

Like many fans, we may have expanded our collection of Spurs memorabilia and fan gear just a bit more than necessary. Some of it will get packed away for now, tucked into closets and storage bins until next season arrives and we pull it all back out again.

The candles will be put away.

The signs will come down.

The jerseys will be folded and stored. 

What comes next is often the part nobody sees.

The practices.

The preparation.

The long days and early mornings.

The work that happens when no one is watching and no one is cheering.

We celebrate championships, promotions, milestones, and achievements. We celebrate the moments under the bright lights.

But those moments are built during the quiet seasons.

The seasons where growth is happening beneath the surface.

The seasons where faith is being strengthened.

The seasons where character is being formed.

The seasons where we keep showing up even when there isn’t an audience to applaud our progress.

That’s where the real work happens.

And maybe that’s why the end of a season matters so much.

Not because it’s over.

But because it creates space for the work that prepares us for what’s next.

At least for a little while.

That’s the thing about seasons.

They come to a close.

And new ones begin.

There’s something bittersweet about that reality, and honestly, bittersweet feels like the theme of the season we currently find ourselves living in.

Some chapters are ending.

Others are just beginning.

One of those new beginnings is that we have finally found a church home.

It’s been a long journey.

A longer journey than we ever expected.

This morning, we took another step in that direction. For something we have prayed over, wrestled with, and waited on, it feels both exciting and peaceful.

There is a lot on the horizon.

Some of it we’ve already shared.

Some of it we’re still holding close to the chest.

But through it all, I can honestly say we are good.

Not because everything is perfect.

Not because every prayer has been answered exactly the way we wanted.

Not because every dream has arrived on our timeline.

We are good because God has been faithful through every season.

Growth has a way of bringing discomfort with it. Every new season asks something of us. It stretches us, challenges us, and occasionally leaves us longing for the familiarity of what came before.

But growth is also evidence that we’re still moving forward.

I don’t think any of us ever arrive at a place where we can confidently say, “That’s it. I’ve grown enough.”

There is always another lesson to learn.

Another perspective to gain.

Another opportunity to become a little more like the person God is calling us to be.

Maybe that journey doesn’t end until we leave this world for the next.

Until then, we keep growing.

We keep learning.

We keep stepping into whatever season lies ahead.

And eventually, before we know it, we’ll hear those familiar words again.

Go Spurs Go.

Learning to Hold Steady

This week felt a little like stepping back onto a moving train.

My work project is fully ramping up again, and what makes it especially interesting is that it’s also part of my translational project for my doctoral program. In many ways, the two worlds are beginning to overlap.

Without question, this is the most challenging project I’ve worked on in my career.

There are countless moving parts, multiple teams, different perspectives, competing priorities, and no shortage of complexity. Some days it feels like we’re trying to assemble a puzzle while still figuring out what the picture on the box is supposed to look like.

But we’re gaining traction.

We’re starting to see pieces come together. Understanding is growing. Conversations that once felt abstract are becoming more concrete. There’s still a tremendous amount of education happening as we help people understand not only what we’re building, but why it matters and how all the pieces fit together.

This project has stretched me in ways I never could have imagined.

And honestly, that’s probably a good thing.

At the same time, I’m working through all the logistics required to begin the next four years of graduate school.

Oddly enough, the hardest part so far hasn’t been coursework, research, or even preparing for a doctoral program.

It’s immunization records.

Since I’ve spent much of my career in healthcare, I’ve received just about every immunization imaginable. During my years working for healthcare systems, I took advantage of every vaccine made available to me. Hepatitis B. Tetanus. Flu. Pneumonia. You name it, I received it. I was even fitted for an hospital grade n-95 at one of my health systems.

I know I was fully immunized when I studied abroad in 2009, and I retained records from those years as well as my time working within healthcare systems.

Then life happened.

I joined Acelity, where maintaining extensive immunization records wasn’t required. We were healthcare-adjacent—a medical technology company, manufacturer, biotech, and DME provider—but not a hospital system. Later, we were acquired by 3M, and eventually COVID and annual flu vaccines became the primary requirements.

Somewhere along the way, the paper trail became fragmented.

Now, trying to obtain decades-old immunization records feels harder than getting a copy of my birth certificate.

The good news is that I only need a DTaP, a tetanus booster, and a TB blood test. Hopefully by the end of the week everything will be checked off, submitted, and ready for orientation.

Good grief.

But honestly, I can’t complain.

Being accepted into this program is a dream come true.

Throughout my career, I’ve approached opportunities with a simple mindset: if God wills.

When I look back, many of the biggest steps in my professional journey seemed to unfold in ways I never could have orchestrated myself. The same thing happened with my Master’s in Data Science.

I cannot begin to describe how valuable that degree has already been.

When our Solutions Architect left the organization this past winter, I suddenly found myself writing more code than I probably have at any other point in my career. Concepts that once felt theoretical became practical overnight.

Even more timely has been the work with AI, data observability, traceability, and system intelligence.

I know I’m nerding out a bit here.

But I love it.

I love understanding how things work. I love connecting ideas. I love uncovering patterns. I love asking questions.

Most importantly, I love asking why.

I’ve spent enough years trying to suppress that curiosity that I’ve finally learned to embrace it.

I am a lifelong learner.

That desire to understand has led me down some fascinating paths. It’s opened doors I never expected. It’s introduced me to opportunities I couldn’t have planned for. And perhaps most importantly, it’s brought incredible people into my life.

For all of that, I’m deeply grateful.

Yet even as exciting things begin to take shape, there are still heavy realities on the horizon.

Some things aren’t mine to share.

Some are tied to loss and tragedy.

Others are simply difficult truths that become harder to ignore once you’ve seen them clearly.

Life has a way of holding all of those things at once.

Joy and sorrow.

Celebration and grief.

Opportunity and uncertainty.

Hope and heartbreak.

The older I get, the less I believe life is about eliminating one side of that equation and the more I believe it’s about learning how to hold both at the same time.

That’s what I’m learning right now.

How to hold steady.

How to walk alongside people I love as they navigate trials and heartbreak.

How to celebrate victories without taking them for granted.

How to recognize that none of us are promised tomorrow.

How to pause long enough to appreciate the quiet moments in between.

Maybe that’s the best way I can describe it.

It’s the exhale.

The realization that not every moment needs to be rushed.

The understanding that some of life’s greatest gifts happen in ordinary conversations, quiet evenings, shared laughter, and simply being present with the people we love.

I don’t take the opportunities before me lightly.

Not the doctoral program.

Not the work.

Not the friendships.

Not the people who continue to walk alongside me.

And certainly not the time we’ve been given.

For now, I’m grateful.

Grateful for the challenges.

Grateful for the growth.

Grateful for the questions that still don’t have answers.

And grateful for the steady hand of God guiding me through all of it.

One step at a time.

~ Louda