April 29, 2026

I was eating lasagna with my son at the dining room table one night, and he told me about a squishy white shark he got at a birthday party. He pulled it out of the goody bag to show me, and as he began playing with it, he realized it was very sticky.

Imagining it splashing down into his apple sauce, I asked him to put it away until after dinner.

He said: "Ok, but can I first see if it sticks to the ceiling?"

"Go for it," I said.

It did. We watched it up there as we ate our dinner, thinking it would plop down on the table at any minute.

That was 297 days ago.

When friends visit, they ask if I know that there's a shark on my ceiling.

Some ask questions about it. Others offer to help get it down. I just shake my head and smile and show them the tracker on the fridge where my son and I have a bet going about how long it will stay up there. We've both lost at this point.

My first instinct after dinner that night was to take it down. Sharks don't belong on ceilings, and I figured he'd want to play with it again soon. But the more I thought about it, the more I enjoyed seeing it up there. It created a fun memory, prompts me to tell a good story, and serves as a happy reminder that I live with an 8-year-old who loves to experiment and ask "what if?"

I've started calling these things signs of life in my home.

The shark on the ceiling. The portal in the hallway. The gooey paintbrushes from the night we stayed up late painting and forgot to clean. The mound of dirt under the tree swing that "should" be grass but grows bigger and wider the more kids play on it.

These are all direct reflections of the life we're living here. Reminders that life is happening, and that life is human and messy and imperfect.

A few years ago when I felt stuck, unhappy, and stretched way too thin, I wanted everything to be tidy, organized, and clean. I wanted to feel some sense of control when my life was spinning out of control. Now, I look for these little signs of life everywhere. And the more of them I find, the more I enjoy living here, and the less of a pull I feel to fix the imperfect things around me.

It's challenged me to appreciate signs of life everywhere else, too — in my work, in myself, and in others.

• The friend who saves every card anyone has ever given her in a shoebox under the bed
• The client who goes on tangents because he can literally connect any two random topics together and somehow it makes sense
• The neighbor who waves at every single car that passes, whether they know them or not

These are the signs of life that too often get edited out when we tell our stories. We think we need to be more polished and professional, or that no one will care about those little details. But it's those little details and quirks that signal "I was here." That's how you plant your flag in your content, and it's what builds connection and trust.

Reading content that stays safe, generic, and polished is like walking into a house that no one's lived in yet. There's nothing to hold onto and nothing that makes you feel like a real person is on the other side of it.

You need to add your signs of life.

Before you publish your next post or article, ask these 3 simple questions:

1. Could anyone else have written this?

If you swapped your name for a competitor's and nothing felt off, it's not done yet. Look for the specific detail — the story, the number, the observation — that only comes from you living your work. If it's not there, add one.

2. Is there something in here that's pushes me to build an emotional connection with the reader?

Not oversharing necessarily, but the kind of deeper honesty that makes someone feel like they're talking to a real person and not an AI version of you. A moment of uncertainty, a lesson that took longer than it should have, a thing you changed your mind about. That's where connection is born.

3. Read it out loud. Does it sound like you talking, or like you reading a script?

If you'd never say it that way in a conversation, your reader can feel that disconnect. Tighten it until it sounds like something you'd actually say over dinner, maybe while watching a shark hang out on your ceiling.

This does require more time to reflect and capture these moments, but one post with your signs of life will have a much greater impact than 10 generic posts about industry insights or company updates. Take the time you need. Post less and dig deeper.

There is no more compelling version of you than the one who shows up completely and fully human, shark on the ceiling and all. Stop editing that person out. We want to meet them.

Keep showing up,

Brynne

p.s. Do you have any signs of life in your home that you've learned to live with and appreciate? I'd love to hear about them!

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