“Reigniting the Creative Fire, One Word at a Time” By Alex Atkinson
Over the past few weeks, I’ve had the opportunity to speak with a number of writers and content creators—some who’ve published books, others still dreaming, planning, or pushing through. What I’ve discovered is a community I didn’t even know I needed. A tribe of like-minded souls who love words as much as I do.
We understand the power behind both the written and spoken word. We know what it’s like to be moved by a sentence, to be wrecked by a paragraph, to find healing in a single phrase. And we also know what it’s like to hit that wall—to wrestle with writer’s block, or sit on ideas for months, maybe years, without taking action.
But something is shifting.
Now is the time to fall in love with writing again. Not because the world is demanding it. Not because it’s perfect or polished. But because you are called to create.
Dust off the notebook. Reopen that manuscript. Type the first word of the blog you’ve been thinking about for far too long. Reignite the creative spark that once lit up your heart—and still can.
Love every word. Even the messy ones. Even the words that feel clumsy at first. They’re yours, and they matter.
This is your sign. Write the blog. Start the book. Let the creativity flow again.
There’s a community cheering you on—and I’m one of them.
Preserving the Past, Embracing the Future—One Journal Entry at a Time
There’s a quiet power in putting pen to paper—or fingertips to keys—and capturing the moments that shape us. Not just the milestones, but the in-betweens: the early morning thoughts, the fleeting emotions, the conversations that linger. These are the threads of our lives, and journaling is how we weave them into something lasting.
✍️ Why Now?
We live in a world that moves fast. Days blur into weeks, and before we know it, seasons have passed. But your story deserves more than a passing glance. It deserves to be remembered, reflected on, and shared. Whether you’re navigating a career shift, rediscovering your roots, or simply trying to make sense of the day-to-day—now is the time to start documenting.
Journaling isn’t just for writers. It’s for thinkers, dreamers, doers. It’s for anyone who wants to live with intention and remember the journey.
📚 What You Capture Matters
Your thoughts: Raw, unfiltered, and honest. They’re the blueprint of your inner world.
Your experiences: From the mundane to the extraordinary, they shape your perspective.
Your growth: Journals become a mirror, showing you how far you’ve come.
Your legacy: One day, these pages may speak for you—telling your story to those who come after.
🌿 A Personal Note
As someone who’s spent years in the skies and now finds grounding in storytelling, I’ve come to see journaling as a form of flight. It lifts the weight of unspoken thoughts and gives them space to breathe. It’s a way to honor the past, make sense of the present, and shape the future.
Lately, I’ve been researching the Tsimshian Nation and learning the stories carried along the Skeena River. The history is beautiful—layered with meaning, resilience, and spirit. Listening to video recordings of these stories being told in our language is deeply inspiring. It reminds me that journaling isn’t just personal—it’s cultural. It’s a way to preserve voices, honor ancestors, and keep traditions alive.
And speaking of new chapters—I’m about to begin a new role in aviation, and I’m truly grateful for the opportunity. The onboarding process is underway, and I’m looking forward to the adventure ahead. It’s a fresh horizon, filled with possibility and purpose. A chance to grow, connect, and continue writing my story with intention.
So if you’ve been waiting for the right moment to start—this is it. The time to journal is now. Begin to document your life, one word at a time.
“Our stories were never lost—just waiting to be revived. Last night, the drumbeat echoed through the Longhouse, and with it, the spirit of our people.” — Notes by Alex
Last night, I was moved in a way that’s hard to put into words—but I’ll try.
I’m just taking a moment to freewrite, letting my thoughts flow and my fingers type as they wish. Sometimes, we need that—a space to just be and create without boundaries. Last evening, we gathered at the Longhouse as two of our local dance groups performed: People of the Rising Tide and the 4th Generation Dancers. They danced and sang for a group visiting our community, and what they shared was nothing short of beautiful.
There’s something powerful—unshakably powerful—about watching young people commit so fully to something so meaningful. You can see the dedication in their movements, feel the conviction in their voices. And then there’s the drumbeat—steady, sacred, and alive. It resonates deep in your chest, almost like your heartbeat syncing with something ancient.
Some songs bring tears to my eyes. They’re sung in our Native language—words that carry more than just meaning. They carry memory, identity, history. They carry us.
The storytelling through song and dance is incredible. And what strikes me the most is that when I was growing up here, much of this wasn’t around. These traditions had been set aside… not lost, not forgotten—but buried beneath years of silence. Now, a new generation is unearthing them. Reviving them. Living them. It’s beautiful.
It gives me hope. It gives me pride.
My prayer is that this revival continues, that the stories keep being told, that the songs keep being sung, and that our dances keep shaking the ground beneath our feet. So that generation after generation can share in this sacred gift.
Harold C. Hudson — my grandfather, my mom’s dad — was an amazing man.
He had that kind of quiet strength you never forget. A soul anchored in purpose. A presence that made an impression.
He loved to fish. It wasn’t just a hobby — it was who he was. A commercial fisherman, he spent much of his life on the water. But his talents didn’t stop there. Grandpa was also a gifted carver. He made some of the best cedar wooden spoons you’d ever see — all smoothed by hand, each with his unique touch. He’d carve deer calls, too. Many of those spoons and calls were given away to family — shared with love, with no fanfare. That’s just the kind of man he was.
He also loved sports. Never missed a basketball game. Baseball on TV? That was his rhythm during the season.
But if you really wanted to see Grandpa light up, let him sing.
One of his favorite hymns was: “I Walked Today Where Jesus Walked.”
That song came to life in a very real way when Grandpa was in his 80s. He joined a group from our hometown of Metlakatla on a trip to Israel — a journey that deeply touched his heart.
I remember how proudly and joyfully he’d say:
“Yes, I walked where Jesus walked.”
He’d show us the Polaroid photos he took — Jerusalem, Jacob’s Well, the Garden of Gethsemane. That trip meant the world to him. You could see it in his eyes when he talked about it. You could hear it in his voice.
One time, while I was home from college, I was playing the guitar in the living room. Grandpa came out and sat with me. He began to sing. That moment — singing with Grandpa Harold, who was in his 90s — is one I’ll never forget. It was simple, but it was sacred.
He left a mark on my life. I remember him reading the Bible. I remember hearing him pray from his room. I miss that so much.
Looking back, I realize just how much of a foundation he helped lay for my own faith — my own walk with the Creator.
For me—it could be anything. Honestly, many things. I’ve found inspiration in the simplest details and in the grandest moments. A quiet morning, a song lyric, a powerful movie quote. Even a glance out the window that catches the light just right. I try to pay attention to it all.
Music moves me—it tells stories without words or brings depth to the ones already written. Writings and poems open up unseen doors in my heart and mind. Uplifting news articles remind me that there’s still good happening in the world. People, in all their complexity, inspire me. A heartfelt conversation, a shared laugh, even a stranger’s kind gesture—I carry those with me.
A pet’s loyalty. A moment of peace. A line from a film. An airplane soaring overhead—especially that. Being someone who grew up around aviation, that sound alone can take me places emotionally. It brings back memories, dreams, goals.
All of it, to me, is fuel. I try to document those little flashes of inspiration—capture them, wrestle with them, and share what I find through my blogs and the book I’m writing. Writing, for me, is a way to make sense of what I see, feel, and believe. It’s how I process and share the beauty, mystery, and meaning of life.
So I ask again—what inspires you?
Let’s keep asking, keep creating, and keep sharing. You never know what spark might light the next fire.
There are moments in life that are too exact, too timely, too profound to be coincidence. I want to share one of those moments with you—an experience that has stayed with me for years and still stirs something deep in my spirit.
I was living in California at the time. One night, before our regular home group meeting, I had a vivid dream—so vivid it woke me up and lingered in my thoughts the next morning. In the dream, a man stood before our group, speaking. I couldn’t understand what he was saying, but I saw him clearly. He called me forward and “protocoled” me—something I wasn’t raised with or fully understood at the time. In the dream, he draped a large wool blanket over my shoulders, one with Native designs, vibrant and heavy with meaning. As he placed it on me, he spoke of how the Creator had called me to lead our people. Then, just like that, the dream faded.
I woke up thinking, What was that?
The next morning, I arrived at the house for our meeting. People were getting the coffee and donuts ready—everything smelled like breakfast and fellowship. As I walked in, I noticed a man behind the counter. I’d never met him before. But when our eyes met, we both froze for a second.
“I know you,” he said.
“I know you too,” I replied. “You were in my dream last night.”
We both laughed, a little startled, a little amazed. His name was Reesey. We sat down, and he began sharing about his journey—how he had been learning about Native American culture, about honor, land, music, and story. And just like in my dream, he stood up, spoke to the group, called me forward, and protocoled me. He reached into his bag, pulled out a Native American wool blanket, and draped it over my shoulders.
He spoke about the calling our Creator had placed on my life, calling forth things that had been buried, dormant—things that were waiting to awaken.
I was wrecked. In the best way. It was one of those moments you don’t forget, that marks you for life.
Then Reesey shared another story—one that shook me even more.
He told us about a group of First Nations people from the Pacific Northwest who had traveled with a woman named Linda Prince to British Columbia, and then all the way to Jerusalem. They sought permission to sing and honor the land and its leaders at the Western Wall. With permission granted, they approached the wall in full regalia, singing the songs of our people—the drum echoing through the holy site.
As they sang, the rabbis came out, visibly moved.
“Why are you singing the songs of our people?” they asked.
“These are the songs of our people,” the leaders replied. “Songs buried for generations. We believe now is the time to bring them back.”
The rabbis, stunned, responded, “You don’t understand. You’re singing in ancient high Hebrew. These are songs of worship given by the Creator.”
Let that sink in.
The rabbis told them: You might be the lost tribe of Israel.
How do you explain that?
You don’t. Not with logic, anyway. Only the Creator could orchestrate something so layered, mysterious, and beautiful.
That story has stayed with me just as much as my dream about Reesey. It awakened something in me—something ancestral, something holy, something deeply tied to identity, purpose, and land.
I believe these songs, these stories, these blankets of calling are rising again. And I believe our Creator is on the move.
“The songs of our people are being awakened again.” —Alex Atkinson Jr.
“A Night of Song, Dance, and Ancestral Pride in Metlakatla” Notes from Alex – July 16, 2025
I wanted to take a moment to share something deeply personal and powerful that I experienced yesterday here in my hometown, Metlakatla.
NOTE: This is the song(s) sang last night, but the recording is from a few years ago I love love love this song series:
A local dance group performed at the Longhouse—an evening of dance and song offered in honor of the guests who are visiting and helping our community. What struck me most wasn’t just the performance, but the spirit behind it. The conviction in the voices, the rhythm of the drums, the movement of the dancers—it brought tears to my eyes.
As I sat there watching, I felt something I can only describe as sacred. The songs carried a weight, a history. In that moment, I imagined our ancestors standing with us, watching with pride. It was more than a performance—it was a living memory. A connection between past and present, carried in each step and every note.
To the dance group who performed last night: thank you. Your passion and dedication to keeping our traditions alive stirred something deep in me. And to others in our community who do the same—your work matters. It uplifts us. It reminds us of who we are and where we come from.
I’m so proud to see our people embracing our culture—our songs, our stories, our history. These traditions aren’t relics. They are alive—and they are powerful.
Amazing things are happening here in Metlakatla. I’m grateful to witness them.
Why Belonging, Support, and Shared Purpose Matter More Than Ever
In a world that often pulls us in different directions, the power of connection has never been more important. Whether you’re in a tight-knit village like Metlakatla, a family business, a church group, or a professional team, the strength of any group lies in its ability to connect on a human level. But what does it really mean to be connected?
Belonging: The Heart of Connection
At the core of every thriving community is a sense of belonging. It’s more than just being present—it’s being seen, heard, and valued. When people feel accepted and understood, they naturally show up more fully. It’s the invisible thread that makes someone say, “These are my people.”
Shared Identity: Our Common Ground
Communities with strong connections often share more than just physical space. They share stories, values, and a collective history. Whether it’s a cultural tradition, a shared vision for the future, or simply growing up in the same place, shared identity is what gives a group its soul.
Mutual Support: Leaning on Each Other
True connection means knowing you can count on others—and they can count on you. It’s the neighbor who shows up when your generator goes out. The friend who listens without judgment. The coworker who steps in when you’re overwhelmed. Mutual support transforms groups into families.
Meaningful Relationships: Depth Over Surface
Surface-level connection isn’t enough. We thrive when we build meaningful relationships—when we know people’s stories, their struggles, their dreams. Authentic connection requires vulnerability, trust, and a commitment to showing up for one another in real ways.
Shared Experiences: The Glue of Community
From potlucks to fishing trips, community cleanups to youth basketball leagues—shared experiences create memories that bind us together. These moments deepen our bonds and remind us that we’re in this life together.
Active Participation: You Get Out What You Put In
Connection is a two-way street. It doesn’t happen by accident—it happens when people actively engage. Show up. Contribute. Help set up the chairs, lead the project, share your voice. Your presence matters more than you realize.
When Connection is Missing: What Can Be Done?
Disconnected communities don’t just feel lonely—they become ineffective. But we can bridge the gap:
Start with Communication: Honest, respectful conversations lay the groundwork for trust.
Create Opportunities to Gather: Don’t underestimate the power of a meal, a story circle, or a volunteer project to bring people together.
Encourage Collaboration: Shared work builds shared purpose.
Practice Empathy: Listen deeply. Be willing to see the world through someone else’s eyes.
Celebrate Diversity: Unity doesn’t mean uniformity. Our differences are strengths, not weaknesses.
Support Inclusive Leadership: Leaders who prioritize people over power are the ones who build lasting communities.
Address the Hard Stuff: Conflict, fear, or mistrust can block connection. Face it head-on, with grace and honesty.
Keep Showing Up: Relationships take time. Don’t give up when things get tough. Be patient. Be consistent.
Final Thoughts: Building Connection is the Work of a Lifetime
To be connected is to be human. It’s how we thrive. It’s how we heal. It’s how we build communities that last.
If you’re part of a group that feels disconnected right now—don’t wait. Start with one conversation, one shared meal, one small act of care. That’s how we begin again.
Let’s talk: How do you build connection in your own community? What’s worked—and what hasn’t? Drop your thoughts in the comments or share this with someone who could use a reminder that connection is possible, even now.
“From Self-Governance to Self-Made Futures: Metlakatla’s Next Chapter”
Post:
Metlakatla, Alaska has always been more than just a dot on the map—it’s a story of resilience, sovereignty, and vision.
From our earliest days, we have stood apart as a self-governing, self-sustaining community. Guided by leaders who carried deep wisdom and clarity of purpose, we built a home grounded in shared values, spiritual strength, and cultural pride. For decades, we thrived through industries that suited our land and waters—timber, fishing, canning. We didn’t just survive—we built, we led, we governed ourselves.
But times change.
Markets shift. Global demand for timber and fisheries has waned or rerouted. The industries that once sustained our families and funded our futures are not what they once were. And so now, just like our ancestors did generations ago, we stand at another crossroads. Another moment of reckoning—and possibility.
We are once again being called to be trailblazers.
This time, it may look different. It may look like small businesses, like digital creators, like food sovereignty projects, local tourism, artisan crafts, technology, and cultural exports. It may mean turning inward to invest in our young people’s ideas, or turning outward to build bridges with global markets that respect our values.
Whatever the path—we must create it.
Entrepreneurship isn’t just for the big cities. It belongs here too—in the soul of a people who have always carved their own way forward. Is it scary? Yes. Is it risky? Of course. But risk has never stopped us before. From crossing oceans to forming new systems of governance, to asserting our rights as the only federal Indian reservation in Alaska—we’ve always moved forward.
The next generation of Metlakatla leaders, builders, and visionaries is already among us. They’re watching. Listening. Learning. They need to see us take that first step toward new ideas, new businesses, new industries—rooted in who we are, and bold about where we’re going.
We are a community with the heart of pioneers. Let’s keep pioneering.
Let’s build again. Let’s lead again. Let’s dream—and do—together.
Call to Action:
Now’s the time to step up.
✅ Got a business idea? Share it with a mentor, or start sketching out a plan. ✅ Interested in entrepreneurship? Attend the upcoming Community Innovation Workshop at the Civic Hall (date TBD—stay tuned). ✅ Know a young person with a spark? Encourage them. Uplift them. ✅ Let’s talk, brainstorm, and build—together.
Drop a comment below with your ideas, or message me directly if you want to collaborate. Our future is still ours to shape—let’s make it bold.
Many years ago, when the world seemed to spin just a little too fast, I found myself caught in the whirlwind of relentless work. My days blurred into nights, and I lost sight of what truly mattered. As the hours piled up, they exacted a toll far heavier than I had imagined—my marriage.
I take full responsibility for the crumbling of my relationship with my wife. The absence of moments we should have shared, the laughter that never echoed through our home, and the love that slipped through my fingers—all were casualties of my ceaseless ambition.
After the divorce, a new ache settled in my heart. I longed to see my boys, to be there for them as they grew, but the harsh reality of finances held me back. I tried everything within my power to scrape together the funds to visit them, but it was never enough. The distances, both physical and emotional, widened with each passing day.
My heart remains broken, the weight of regret a constant companion. Yet, in the quiet moments, I hold onto a glimmer of hope. I hope that one day, my boys will understand the depth of my love and my sorrow. That they might find it in their hearts to forgive me and let us rebuild the bridges that time and circumstance tore down.
Through this haze of past mistakes and lingering pain, I strive to become a better man, worthy of their forgiveness and love.
I hope this resonates with you and reflects your journey. If you’d like to add more details or adjust anything, please let me know.
Notes from Alex 