writing
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I always start a conversation with a paranormal client the same way: “What do you think it is?” That question does more than just break the ice—it hands the power right back to the person experiencing the phenomenon. After all, they’re the expert on their own life, their fears, their memories. I’ve learned that when…
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Sunday. For many, it’s a day of church services, sermons, and hymns. For me, it’s a time of reflection. But not in a pew. Not in a building. And definitely not under the authority of an institution that has caused so much harm. Here’s the truth: I am deeply spiritual. My connection to the divine…
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Music serves as a comforting companion in life’s chaos, transforming struggles into relatable experiences. From quirky love songs to therapeutic breakup ballads and powerful protest anthems, tunes provide solace and motivation. Whether belting out catchy lyrics or wallowing in sadness, music acts as the duct tape for the soul, always ready to resonate.
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Dear Future Family, Today is March 1, 2025. When I was a boy, my grandmother would say March came in like a lion or a lamb. Her voice was warm, steady, the kind that made you believe whatever she said. I’d sit by her closely, listening to the wind howl outside, never imagining I’d one…
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Faith. It’s a word that’s followed me like a shadow, shifting shape depending on the light I cast on it. For years, I’ve turned it over in my mind, trying to grasp its edges, only to find it slipping through my fingers like smoke. Merriam-Webster offers definitions—”strong conviction,” “complete trust,” “belief in God,” “firm belief…
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Imagine stepping into one of the rooms at the Memorial to the Murdered Jews of Europe in Berlin. The floor stretches out before you, a mosaic of words—fragments of diaries, letters, final cries etched into stone. You look down, as if standing over graves, and read the shattered pieces of lives swallowed by the Holocaust.…
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December 2017. The air smelled like the holidays and pine needles. We stood in a room full of people who’d fought for us, cried for us, waited for us. My hands shook holding the marriage license—a piece of paper I never thought I’d get to sign. Seven years later, I still remember the way my…
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It was 1982, and I was seventeen—carefree, bold, and utterly convinced that the future was bright. I remember walking into the local arcade with my pink polo collar flipped up and starched, my straight-leg jeans perfectly faded, and my loafers polished just enough to look effortlessly cool. A typical seventeen-year-old in the eighties, caught somewhere…
Steven LaChance Blog 