On Sunday, November 23, 2025, I turned 44 years old. And if I’m being straight with you—this past year has been… heavy.
Coming home as an adult is complicated. You return to familiar streets and familiar people, but life doesn’t rewind just because you did. Rebuilding isn’t automatic. It takes intention, self-awareness, and the courage to face the parts of your life that feel empty.
I walked back into Louisiana with a loose plan:
find a stable income
find a church home
find a Toastmasters meeting.
A decent start, but not nearly enough for the life I need.
Even though I know I’m a person who thrives on community, laughter, conversation, and shared space, I didn’t create a plan to nurture connection. I didn’t set expectations for maintaining old relationships or building new ones. In the back of my mind, I kept imagining friendships just falling into place—like they used to. People popping in, inviting me out, recreating the same spontaneous warmth I once felt in Texas.
But life doesn’t recreate the past. Not without effort. Not without intention.
I declared 2025 my “Year of Connection,” but looking back, it wasn’t a year of connection. It was the year that revealed how deeply I craved connection—how much I missed feeling woven into a community. A year that showed me the difference between wanting connection and actually building it. That realization forced me to get honest about my lack of action.
Craving connection without specific action leads nowhere. And the truth is, my cravings don’t matter if my actions don’t match them. I’ve been in a self-induced isolation for so long that I almost forgot how to be a friend and how to connect. Realizing that made me see just how much I’ve been missing real closeness.
I want connection. Real connection. The kind that looks like weekly calls, occasional brunches, random Tuesday hangouts, sitting in someone’s living room talking about life. I’m not craving quick, empty check-ins. I’m craving meaningful relationships that naturally include those small moments — the shared posts, the random texts, the tiny touchpoints that make life feel lighter and more human.
As I step into 44, I know exactly what I want this year to mean: The year I walk out of isolation. The year I choose connection with intention. The year I return to spiritual grounding and reconnect with the church in a real, committed way. I’m naturally a dramatic person. I don’t need 44 to be dramatic. I just need it to be deliberate. A quiet turning toward community. A gentle re-entry into belonging. A reflective acknowledgment that I’m ready to live again—not just exist.
And this year, I’m choosing connection on purpose.
DDC
Lesson: Oh yes it’s time. Connection time! I’m coming out of isolation and into my connected era. Ready or not. Here I come!
My BFF got married this weekend at a beautiful, love-filled wedding — the kind of day that feels like a movie, where everything and everyone is glowing, and you can feel love in the air like confetti.
I told her that I wanted to be on program at her wedding. Her response? “There’s no program, but you can speak at the reception.” Somehow, I heard that as a maybe. Not exactly the guaranteed microphone moment I envisioned.
Still, I prepared — because that’s what best friends do. I spent the weeks leading up to the wedding studying YouTube speeches, jotting down notes, and even consulting ChatGPT (yes, I had AI assist with my emotions — don’t judge). I wrote a few sentences that I thought might capture our friendship — just in case the opportunity came up.
Then came the reception. The music was perfect, the love was loud, and the energy was everything. At one point, Sharecker walked over to me and said, “It’s almost time for speeches.”
And I froze. Like a deer in headlights.
She must’ve noticed because she immediately offered, “You don’t have to if you don’t want to.”
But of course I wanted to.
I reached for my phone to review the notes I’d so carefully prepared — and right then, my phone screen went black. Dead. No charger in sight.
So I did what best friends do when life doesn’t go according to plan — I spoke from the heart.
I stood up, nerves shaking, voice cracking, and said what I could remember: that I loved her deeply, that I was proud of her, and that seeing her so happy filled me with joy. There were laughs, there were tears, and it felt like the right kind of imperfect — the kind that’s real.
But now, with my 27” monitor, full battery, and all the words that escaped me that night — here’s the speech I should have given:
The Speech
Good evening, everyone. I’m Danielle Denise Clark, and I have the honor of being best friends with the beautiful bride, Sharecker.
We met riding bikes in middle school, and from the very first moment, I knew I needed her in my life for the rest of my life.
Over the past 30 years, Sharecker has always been love in motion. With acts of service as her love language, she has shown up for me in every way imaginable — physically, emotionally, spiritually, and wholeheartedly.
We’re quite the opposites, too. I can be loud, over the top, and a little extra — while she’s calm, reserved, and effortlessly cool. But that balance has always been the heartbeat of our friendship.
Sharecker is generous with her spirit, steady in her presence, and intentional with her words. She doesn’t just talk about love — she lives it.
And today, watching her marry Charles — the man who makes her feel safe, seen, and protected — felt like witnessing love find its home.
So here’s to Sharecker and Charles: May your marriage be filled with joy, understanding, forgiveness, and friendship. May you continue to choose each other everyday, again and again, in both the ordinary and extraordinary moments that make up your life together.
And in the words of a great poet, Nicki Minaj: “It’s a celebration every time we link up. Greatness is what we are on the brink of. I wish I could have this moment for life”
Cheers to the Sellers — to love, laughter, and a lifetime of togetherness.
Lately, I’ve been noticing my legs in a way I never really have before. Noticing them not in appreciation, but in awareness—because sometimes they feel heavy, stiff, or reluctant to move.
Most mornings, it takes extra effort just to get going. I wake up and my legs feel like they’ve forgotten how to function, how to step. Those first few minutes out of bed I shuffle around like a baby calf fresh out of the womb—awkward, shaky, unsteady. Eventually, the stiffness eases after some walking around, but it never disappears completely. It lingers, reminding me of something I’d rather forget.
I think back to August 2021, the month I was first diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis. That flare-up announced itself loudly: it was nearly impossible to walk. I spent about a week struggling before I finally went to the emergency room, where I heard the words that changed everything.
But even before that, there were signs. Earlier in 2021, while in Chicago, I had another flare-up. I could barely walk. I just wanted to sit down wherever I was. My legs dragged under me like they didn’t belong to me anymore. To anyone watching, I probably looked like a drunk person weaving down the street, but really I was fighting my own body with every step.
Sometimes, moving my legs feels like an act of sheer willpower. Each step is a reminder that I can still move, even if it takes more energy than it should. And I can’t help but wonder—am I simply getting older, or am I slowly losing my mobility?
Every case of MS is different. I know this. I’ve been told this. But knowing doesn’t stop me from comparing myself to my sister, who also lives with MS. Her journey has been unimaginably hard, and when I see her struggle, I can’t help but feel fear tighten its grip on me. I am terrified that one day, I too won’t be able to walk and that terrifies me.
I don’t have answers. I don’t have solutions. What I do have is this moment, these words, and these legs that still, somehow, carry me forward. And for now—that has to be enough.
DDC
Question: What’s something in your life right now that requires more effort than it used to?
Lesson: These legs were made for walking. And that’s what they will do. Keep moving forward.
Lately, I’ve been wrestling with a strange feeling. I feel like I left my sparkle in DFW. Back then, I shined bright—bold, vibrant, effervescent. I was the type of person who lit up rooms, who carried a certain energy, a certain extra that made me feel alive.
Now? I feel beige. Neutral. Faded. Completely… blah.
It makes me wonder: is this what growing up is supposed to feel like? Trading in sparkle for steadiness, vibrancy for responsibility, joy for a “just get through the day” kind of existence? If it is—then I don’t want to grow up.
Moving, transitioning, and starting over later in life are not small things. Sometimes the sparkle isn’t lost—it’s buried under the weight of change. We juggle work, family, bills, routines, expectations. And slowly, the parts of us that once danced so freely get quiet. They’re still there, just muted.
But here’s the thing I’m starting to realize: sparkle doesn’t expire. It doesn’t vanish when you turn 30, 40, or even 70. It doesn’t disappear when you relocate or reinvent yourself. Sparkle is a state of being, a choice, a return to what lights you up.
Maybe the question isn’t, “Did I lose my sparkle?” Maybe it’s, “Where can I find it again?”
Finding My Sparkle Again
For me, sparkle looks like:
Being around people who energize me, not drain me.
Doing things that bring me joy simply because they make me smile.
Saying yes to experiences that scare me a little but also make me feel alive.
Dressing up just because, blasting music in the car, laughing loudly at all times.
In other words—sparkle is about choosing vibrancy in a world that often feels dull.
A Note to Myself (and Maybe to You Too)
Growing up doesn’t have to mean giving up my sparkle. Adulthood doesn’t have to equal beige. Yes, life changes. Yes, I carry more responsibilities. But that doesn’t mean I can’t sparkle again. Maybe the grown-up version of sparkle just looks different: less about wild nights out, more about being fully alive in the little things.
And if I’m really honest, maybe the fact that I even miss my sparkle is proof that it’s still in me somewhere—waiting for me to bring it back to life.
Here’s to sequins in the everyday, laughter in the ordinary, and sparkle— always sparkle— no matter the season.
DDC
Question: Have you ever felt beige? Is “beige” a phase we all go through, or a warning sign that I need to recalibrate? And maybe most importantly—what’s your go-to move when you feel beige? What do you do as your personal “anti-beige” to bring the sparkle back?
Lesson: Growing up doesn’t have to mean dimming down. Adulthood doesn’t have to equal beige. It’s possible to carry responsibility and still keep joy, spontaneity, and vibrancy alive.
The only man you can prove I’ve been with once called me haphazard.
At the time, I wasn’t clear on the definition, but the word stuck with me. Haphazard. Neither “hap” nor “hazard” sounded like he meant it kindly. The moment has clung to me for over 20 years.
We were at a gas station exchanging something—I can’t remember the reason why. The why has faded. The what, however—what he said—stuck.
Haphazard means something done in a random, disorganized, or careless way—lacking a definite plan, order, or direction.
And the truth is, twenty-year-old DDC was, in fact, haphazard. No plan. A little order. A vague direction.
Fast forward two decades.
While preparing for my son’s college graduation, I realized how many days I’d be away from the office and thought: Maybe I’ll dye my hair hot pink while I’m off. A bold vacation choice. I’d done it before—dyed it pink in January for our family cruise, then went back to “office-approved” before returning to work. I’m not loyal to any one hair color these days, but I absolutely love hot pink.
So I asked my son if he cared. He said, “I couldn’t care less.” Cool. He’s calm like that—unbothered by most things.
Then I mentioned it to my mom. “Hot pink hair is unprofessional,” she said. I explained I’d return to work with a natural color. I even recalled that during my job interview, I specifically asked my supervisor about hair color. He said he didn’t mind pink hair.
But as the trip approached, I stalled. I never bought the dye. The night before we left, I realized: I’m not doing it.
And that’s when it hit me.
Haphazard.
He called me that twenty years ago—when it was true. But even now, with a plan, permission, and pink hair history, I still didn’t follow through. Why?
Because some part of me didn’t want to hear his mouth, even if only in my memory. I didn’t want to imagine his face twisted in disapproval.
Why do I care? I wish I didn’t. I’m disappointed that I gave energy to a man from my past whose opinion should hold no power today. But here we are. It happened.
DDC
Lesson: Even when we grow, old voices can echo. The challenge is learning to turn the volume down—and let our own voices lead instead.
Question: What old label or comment still lingers in your mind—and how much of your present is it quietly influencing?
I was ingredient prepping this weekend—chopping sweet bell peppers, steaming spinach, blending eggs with cottage cheese—when an uninvited guest made an appearance. A fly started buzzing around my ingredients. Instinctively, I yelled, “Get out of my kitchen!”
That’s when it hit me.
I yelled at a fly to get out of my kitchen.
This wasn’t just any moment. This was Friday, May 16th—the one-year mark of my move back to Louisiana after nearly two decades in Dallas.
One year ago, when I returned home, I was riding a rollercoaster of emotions—hopeful, yet often deeply sad. Starting over in your 40s isn’t as simple as packing a U-Haul and driving across state lines. It’s raw. It’s humbling. It’s layered.
And the kitchen? The kitchen was my mom’s. Her space. Her rhythm. Her routines.
Sure, I scrambled eggs most mornings, but for the longest time, I had no desire to truly cook. I had spent 19 years cooking dinner almost daily for my son and me. But when I got here, something changed. I was in survival mode. I didn’t want to try new recipes or meal prep or bake for the joy of it. I tiptoed in and out of the kitchen like a respectful guest. It wasn’t mine.
But on this ordinary Friday, 365 days later, while speaking to a fly, I unknowingly claimed ownership of a space that once felt foreign.
“My kitchen.”
And when I realized what I had said, I shed a tear.
A single, grateful tear.
Because in that small moment, I realized something big:
I am home.
—DDC 🩷
Question: What’s one unexpected moment that made you realize you were exactly where you were meant to be?
Lesson: Home doesn’t always feel like home at first. Sometimes it takes time, healing, and even yelling at a fly. It feels good to be home.
A year ago today, I loaded up a 15-foot U-Haul with my memories, my belongings, and a heart full of hope (and fear) and drove away from the life I had built in Dallas over nearly two decades.
I didn’t know what would meet me on the other side of that drive to Gonzales, Louisiana. I just knew it was time. Time to be closer to family. Time to listen to that quiet inner nudge that kept whispering, “It’s okay to begin again.”
Today, I find myself in my feelings. Raw. Reflective. Fragile. I’m struggling to concentrate on my HR duties, so I decided to pause and write. It’s been a while since I’ve posted—my last entry was on my birthday, November 23, 2024. I had just turned 43. A lot can happen in a year.
Since that post, life has unfolded in unexpected and beautiful ways.
I landed the job I once dreamed about—an HR Coordinator role that truly fits me. For years, I worked in recruiting and longed for something broader. I wanted to expand beyond interviews and resumes into a more holistic HR space, and I did it. My current role allows me to support employees more fully, contribute to engagement, and still flex my recruiting muscles—without it consuming my entire day. It feels like purpose and alignment found their way back to me.
Slowly but surely, I’m settling into life in Gonzales. I have a church home that pours into my spirit. I’ve joined a local Toastmasters club that’s helping me grow in courage and connection. I’m meeting new people. I’m rekindling old friendships. I’m rebuilding a life from the ground up—and letting it look different this time.
But even with all the progress, there are days like today—quiet, emotional, and a bit heavy. Days where I miss the familiar. Days where the cost of the move feels loud. Where the memories from Dallas tug on my heartstrings, reminding me of what was. Starting over is brave… and it’s also tender.
I’m learning that success and sadness can coexist. That growth often walks hand-in-hand with grief. That joy doesn’t erase the ache—it simply reminds us why we keep going.
So today, I’m giving myself grace. To feel it all. To celebrate the milestones. To mourn the losses. To rest in the middle of the journey.
If you’re reading this and you’ve started over recently—know that you’re not alone. It’s okay to feel everything. It’s okay to still be finding your footing. It’s okay to be proud and sad all at once.
This isn’t the end. It’s just the one-year mark. And I have a feeling year two will be even more powerful.
All Good Things, DDC
Lesson: Starting over is both brave and tender—and it’s okay to feel everything that comes with it.
Question: Have you ever made a big life change — like moving, changing careers, or starting over? What helped you get through the transition?
I often wish my memory were stronger, as I tend to be out of sight, out of mind, frequently forgetting details of my past. This challenge is compounded by my diagnoses of relapsing-remitting multiple sclerosis, mild cognitive impairment, and ADHD, all of which contribute significantly to my memory loss. Yet, it’s fascinating that I can recall the lyrics to TRU’s 1997 song ‘I Always Feel Like’ featuring Mia X almost word for word.
I always feel like somebody’s watchin’ me
I’m paranoid I can’t sleep, I’m in the dope game
I think these hoes and these n*ggas out to get me mane
I often find myself wishing I could better remember the moments of my past. Without a significant nudge from someone who was there, recalling events feels like trying to piece together fragments of a story. Despite this, I am—and always have been—a bold, pink starburst kind of person: spontaneous, vibrant, and full of surprises. I speak freely, with no filter, and even I don’t always know what’s going to come out next. This fearless approach has brought me countless amazing experiences over the years, moments of joy, laughter, and connection that I desperately wish I could remember in detail.
Today is my BIRTHDAY, and I have one special request that would be the perfect gift to make my day. Has there been a moment during our time together that stands out? Maybe something I said or did that made you laugh or left an impression? If so, could you share it in the comments and help jog my memory? Your stories mean the world to me, and they would be a wonderful way to relive those precious experiences.
Lately, I’ve been on a rollercoaster with Facebook Dating. It’s been a cycle of joining, swiping, chatting, and leaving—only to come back and try again. A few meet-and-greets have come from it, and while some were genuinely pleasant, none have led to the connection I’m looking for. Either the spark wasn’t there for me, or it wasn’t reciprocated.
I’ve met some nice people, but I’ve also found myself matching with individuals I wasn’t initially attracted to. I told myself it was about being open-minded, giving people a chance to grow on me, and stepping out of my comfort zone. But time and again, those efforts have proven unsuccessful. Attraction, as it turns out, can’t be forced—and neither can chemistry.
Here’s the thing: I know I’m the prize. I know my worth, my value, and all the amazing things I bring to the table. So why is it so hard for me to truly live in that truth? Why do I keep finding myself settling for less than I deserve, hoping that somehow the situation will rise to meet me?
The hard truth is, I’m the common denominator in all these experiences. It’s not easy to admit, but if I keep falling into the same patterns, I have to ask myself: Am I the problem? Am I the one blocking my own blessings by settling, doubting, or compromising on what I truly want and need?
Recognizing this isn’t about self-blame; it’s about self-awareness. It’s about understanding that I can’t expect to find a deep, meaningful connection if I’m not fully aligned with what I deserve and willing to hold out for it.
The truth is, being the prize means more than just knowing it—it means living it. It means refusing to settle, trusting the process, and having faith that the right connection will come when it’s meant to. It means being patient with myself, being okay with being single for a little longer, and focusing on my own growth and happiness.
So no, I don’t think I’m “the problem” in the traditional sense. But I do think I have work to do. Work to ensure that my actions align with my self-worth. Work to break free from patterns of settling. Work to remember that I am worthy of a love that’s reciprocal, passionate, and authentic.
DDC
Lesson: Yes. I may be the problem, but I’m also the prize—and it’s time I start living like it.
Six months ago, I packed up my life, loaded a U-Haul, and left behind nearly two decades in Texas to start fresh in Louisiana.
I had spent 19 years building a life, raising my son, and making memories away from home, but the pull to return was undeniable. After my Daddy passed, my Mama was left alone, feeling aged and heartbroken, and I found myself alone, without a career, and needing a new direction. So I made the choice to come back, ready to be there for my Mom and to start life anew.
The decision wasn’t easy—starting over in your 40s takes resilience, adaptability, and, to be honest, a good supply of lotion infused tissues for those tough days and deep, tearful moments. A lot of tears have been shed. I felt a pull to rediscover my roots, reconnect with family, and carve out a new path.
This journey has come with plenty of adjustments and a fair share of unknowns. From adapting to life with my mom under one roof again, to building a new career, nurturing my faith, and even finding ways to invest in my own wellness, these last six months have challenged and changed me. Each step has been about more than just unpacking boxes; it’s been about uncovering pieces of myself that I hadn’t focused on in years. A new beginning.
Home. All boxes are unpacked, and my clothes and things are put away—everything has a place, and there’s a place for everything. After twenty years of living on my own since leaving my parents’ house with my one-year-old son, moving back has been an adjustment. A huge adjustment. I was a bit worried, knowing that in the past, Mom and I had a track record. We could only go about four days together before our personalities started to clash. How would it be to live under her roof, under her eye, and under her expectations?
Now, we seem to be adjusting pretty well—or at least, I think so. Wishful thinking. Every few weeks, I get the inevitable “we need to talk” conversation. This month’s topic? Replacing the wine I finished. Fair enough. So, after work, I’m off to the local grocery store to pick up two bottles of wine per her request.
Career. I now hold three jobs: bartender, barista, and Bursar’s Assistant. The first two are part-time weekend roles, while the Bursar’s Assistant is a full-time, four-month contract position with the college. Being in a state role here in Louisiana feels significant, and I can almost feel my dad smiling down, proud to see me in a government-related role like he once was. Miss you Daddy.
This summer, my good friend encouraged me to apply to a temp agency with hopes of finding work at Southern University, despite it being over 30 miles away. And about a month ago, I received a job offer much closer to home—a position at a local community college less than six miles from where I live. Blessed and highly favored. I’ve driven by the sign for the college countless times without truly noticing it, so discovering it in this way felt meant to be. Huge thanks to TT!
My second week at the college I expressed my interest in becoming a permanent team member and asked to meet with the Director of Human Resources. I came to the conversation prepared with points thoroughly outlining my qualifications for a posted Technology Coordinator role—and it was clear that the Director was just as ready to discuss the unposted HR Coordinator role with me. Smile. After a welcoming conversation, I applied for the HR Coordinator position where I’d be “the face of the human resources department.” The face? Wow! Right up my alley!!
Wellness. I’ve been doing pretty good with consistent daily walks, which have become a reliable part of my routine. I tried the Beachbody 21-Day Fix program, a plan that helped me lose 30 pounds in the past, but this time, I haven’t managed to complete it. I’m leaning towards a simpler approach—sticking with daily walks, strength training twice a week, and practicing portion control. My sweet tooth had been out of control, but I’m finally reining it in. Though my attempts to restart a more intense fitness regimen haven’t stuck, I’m grateful for the consistency I’ve found in simpler routines that keep me grounded and healthy.
Relationships. This is an area where I continue to struggle. I am intensely lonely. Tears. The last six months have been deeply lonely; when I arrived, I isolated myself, rarely reaching out to others. Depression weighed heavily, leaving me without much to say. Worried about being perceived as “the depressed girl,” I stayed in my own bubble, finding comfort in audiobooks. So far, I’ve listened to 50 books this year—more than I have read in my lifetime combined.
Now, I almost feel ready to reconnect, but I’m not quite sure how to step back into social circles. Do I need to schedule time with friends, like an appointment? Everyone has busy lives of their own. Maybe I will ask ChatGPT to create a structured approach to re-entering the world. Gotta love the ChatGPT! Mom and I are under the same roof but I still can’t quite say we are close. Tears. My son and I have set up a weekly call, and each week we find a good time to talk, catching each other up on our lives. I love me some Mason Riley:) That one connection has been a lifeline, and maybe it’s a good model for reconnecting with others.
Spiritual. In October, I took a meaningful step and became a member of a local Baptist church. This past Sunday, I signed up to serve in the Media Ministry, and I’ll attend my first meeting this Wednesday. I also began a prayer journal over the weekend. Since I’m new to prayer journaling, I’m using the ACTS Prayer Model—Adoration, Confession, Thanksgiving, Supplication—as a guide for my entries.
Personal. I started the Google Project Management Program two years ago. 24 months. Though it’s advertised as a six-month program, I have a former colleague who managed to complete it in just five weeks. I’m currently on course 5 out of 6. I finished the coursework once but didn’t pass the exam, so I’m going through the modules a second time, now taking detailed notes to ensure I fully understand the material.
Finances. I’m thrilled to say that I finally have a little cushion in the bank, and it feels amazing. My bartending job has allowed me to save cash money for the first time in my life. Last month, Mom and I went to get our toes done, and being able to pay for my own gel pedicure was a small but meaningful milestone in my financial progress.
Creativity. Becoming a YouTube content creator was one of my top goals for 2024, but so far, I’ve only managed to produce a handful of videos. I’m not entirely sure what’s holding me back—maybe it’s the fear of others judging my videos, a lack of clarity on how to navigate YouTube, or perhaps I don’t want it as much as I initially thought. I need to reflect on my motivations and determine the next steps to move forward.
On November 16, 2024 it will be officially six months back in Louisiana, and I’m finally beginning to feel grounded. Unpacking all my belongings was just the first step; now I’m learning to navigate life with family again and balancing new roles that push me forward professionally. I’ve embraced each challenge with patience and humor, including the occasional mother-daughter “we need to talk” chats. Every area of life has required intention, from joining a church community to stabilizing my finances and prioritizing health and creativity.
This season has reminded me that starting over is complex, sometimes messy, but it also brings growth and connection. Whether it’s learning to find joy in the simplest things, reconnecting with people, or laying the foundation for new habits, I’m realizing that “home” is more than a place. It’s a process of rediscovering who I am and creating a life that aligns with that. And while I’m not where I thought I’d be, I’m exactly where I’m meant to be.
DDC
Lesson: In the words of Fantasia Barrino’s brother from her short lived time in reality tv, “It feels so good to be home, shorty!”
Question: What’s your go-to move for staying connected without looking like you’re desperately craving human interaction …even though you definitely are?
PS. I went to Alexander’s Market to my buy my mom’s wine. It costs $18.99!! She got money!!! Two bottles are not in my budget, so I bought one bottle. I will get bottle #2 next week and I will no longer drink her 5% ALC wine anymore.
DDCANDTHECITY 