Currently, I am working on a book explaining the Maekonect philosophy. The goal is to have a rough draft completed by September 3rd. That date is important to me because September 3rd was my grandmother’s birthday.

Growing up, I admired the warmth she carried. She possessed an energy I wanted to emulate. One that made people feel welcomed, valued, and loved. I called these “Granny Vibes” as I got older. There were others in my family who shaped me deeply, of course, but she was the pillar of our family. 

I always loved my mother, who has been a core foundation to my life. Recently, I’ve realized there was another who’s love completed the trinity of affection: my aunt. It shook me how she, in particular, loved in a way that has stayed with me longer than I ever knew.

She acted on what she believed. She lived according to her convictions, but she also gave me room to become myself. She never told me to stop being who I was. She never told me to stop loving who I loved. She never tried to decide who belonged in my life.

She prayed for me. She encouraged me to stay grounded in my values. She celebrated what was good. Most importantly, she gave me the space to grow.

That kind of love has become something I think about often now.

I know not everyone believes in unconditional love. Many people understand love through conditions, boundaries, expectations, or shared beliefs. Perhaps there is wisdom in having healthy boundaries for ourselves.

I don’t see unconditional love and healthy boundaries as opposites. To me, unconditional love does not mean accepting every behavior or abandoning discernment. It means believing another person’s humanity does not disappear simply because we disagree, struggle, or take different paths.

That is the kind of love I hope to practice.

As I begin writing this book’s introduction, I realize that is how I want the book itself to exist. Not as something driven primarily by pressure, deadlines, or productivity, but by love. Ai (the Romanji of the Japanese word for Love).

The deadlines still matter. I intend to honor them. They give me direction, but I also know something about myself. Whenever I create rigid schedules, some part of me wants to rebel against them. Perhaps that’s simply how I work.

There is a saying that God laughs when we make plans.

For me, planning isn’t about predicting the future. It’s about giving myself something to aim toward while allowing room for life to happen in between.

So instead of asking this book to be perfect, I’m asking it to be honest. Instead of writing from pressure, I want to write from love. Love for the ideas. Love for the people who may someday read these words. Love for the countless people whose lives shaped my own.

And perhaps, just as importantly, Love for myself while writing them. May we all extend ourselves the same grace to ourselves and others. 

To you reading this now, thank you for joining me on this adventure.

Take luck. Have fun.