The Journal That Became a Journey

The journal that quietly created this trip actually began at Christmas in 2024.

My three adult children gave my parents—their grandparents—a simple but meaningful gift: a journal with 52 questions. One question for every week of the year.

The assignment was clear.

Cici and Popop were each to answer the question every week. They each had their own page to write on, and neither of them could peek at the other’s answer until after.

My parents took the assignment seriously. Almost ceremoniously.

Week after week, they wrote. Thoughtfully. Faithfully. Without skipping.

The Questions

Some questions were light and funny:

Tell some stories from your childhood.

Others went deeper:

What were your best and worst financial decisions?
What advice would you give future parents?
How and why did you choose your career path?

A full year passed.

Then at Christmas 2025, my parents handed the journal back to all of us. And over the holiday, we opened it together, page by page.

They read their answers aloud. Sometimes hearing each other’s responses for the very first time.

What followed were long conversations. Stories, laughter, memories resurfacing, perspectives shared across generations.

None of us knew it then, but the journal wasn’t finished traveling.

The Trip

It came with my mom and me to Sweden.

And over the past week, that little book has quietly shaped some of the most meaningful moments of this trip.

Each day we’ve returned to it. Reading questions again. Revisiting answers. Letting the conversations wander into faith, politics, history, the environment, civics, compassion, values… all the big things that shape a life.

Those conversations—those quiet stretches of time together—have become the real heart of this journey.

Not the blustery Scandinavian weather.
Not the dozen trains we’ve navigated.
Not the lost purse.
Not the changing hotels every two days.
Not figuring out new cities, new food, or how exactly one pays to use the bathroom in Europe.

Those things make good stories.

But the real gift has been

the space in between.

The Space Between

Time I have never had with just my mom.

Time to hear stories I didn’t know before.

Like the night she won Best Actress in college. Watching her light up again while singing songs from Guys and Dolls and Wonderful Town as if she were right back on stage.

Time to hear the full story—every detail—of how my dad proposed to her, with Ellie sitting beside us, smiling at every part of it.

Time to sit at a small table playing cards with my mom and Ellie. Moving slower than usual. Letting the conversation flow instead of rushing through the game.

Time to take a few of Ellie’s soccer teammates out to dinner and watch my mom do what she does so beautifully. Ask thoughtful questions. Look people in the eye. Genuinely care about their story.

Watching those young women light up as she asked how they decided to play professional soccer. How they got here. What they loved about the game.

My mom has a way of making people feel seen.

What I’m Realizing

And somewhere along this trip, I realized something quietly beautiful.

The care I feel for my mom—the care I can now offer her—is, in many ways, the same care she is offering me.

She is giving me permission to slow down.

To soften my pace.

To quiet my energy.

To settle into the moment instead of rushing past it.

What a gift love becomes when it lives inside a tender relationship.

And what a gift it is to have three generations of women together on this journey.

Eighty-year-old Cici.
Fifty-two-year-old Jenny.
Twenty-three-year-old Ellie.

Three strong, beautiful women.

Sharing stories.
Sharing time.
Sharing love that moves both backward and forward through generations.

What Struck Me Most

What strikes me most is how something so simple—a journal and a question each week—created space for something so meaningful.

Stories that might have stayed tucked away were spoken out loud.
Wisdom that took decades to gather was shared across generations.

And in the quiet moments between train rides, soccer matches, and cups of coffee in unfamiliar cities, three generations of women had the rare gift of slowing down long enough to really listen to one another.

It reminded me that the most powerful parts of life aren’t the big events we plan.

They’re the conversations.
The memories.
The love that quietly passes from one generation to the next.

Where It All Began

And it all began with Christopher, William, and Ellie.

Three grandchildren with the quiet genius to ask their grandparents 52 thoughtful questions.

And in doing so, they gave all of us the gift of time, stories, and deeper understanding.

Glad Pask 💛

Bringing It Home

And as I head home from this trip, I’m feeling more grateful than ever for the strength that makes all of this possible.

If you’re ready to build that kind of strength in your own life, I would love to support you.

My spring strength classes begin next week.