Tag: life

It’s All About Family

Rediscovering the connections that hold us together.

As the holidays approach at what feels like lightning speed, I can’t help but pause and reflect on what truly matters. In a season filled with gifts, gatherings, and endless to-do lists, it’s easy to get swept up in the noise. But at the end of the day—during the holidays and all year long—it’s all about family.

And when I say family, I don’t just mean blood relatives. I’m talking about the people who have walked with us through life. The ones who show up. The ones who love us, challenge us, support us, laugh with us, and sometimes even cry with us. The brothers and sisters we grew up with, the cousins who feel like lifelong friends, the aunts and uncles who shaped us, the moms and dads who carried us, the grandparents whose wisdom echoes in our hearts. And yes—our friends who became family along the way.

As we continue on this journey we call life, one thing becomes very clear: we need each other.
Through the good times and the not-so-good times, through seasons of joy and seasons of struggle, we were never meant to walk this path alone.

Somewhere along the way, as technology advanced and life sped up, we lost a little bit of that connection. We became more plugged-in, but more disconnected. More reachable online, but harder to reach in real life. And honestly, that’s heartbreaking. I miss the old days sometimes—the days before constant notifications and WiFi, when conversations were face-to-face and time together felt slower, richer, more intentional.

But even as the world changes, one truth stays the same:
Family is where life happens.
Family is where memories are made.
Family is where we return when the world gets noisy.

I love my family—all of them. The ones related by blood and the ones bound by love. And this holiday season, I’m choosing to slow down, to reconnect, and to remember what matters most.

Because in the end, it really is all about family.

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The Long Goodbye

Notes from Alex

About a year ago, I wrote a short story about a journey I’ve come to call The Long Goodbye. The phrase is often used to describe dementia, because it slowly and painfully erodes a person’s memories and personality, leaving loved ones to witness the gradual fading of someone who is still alive. It is, in every sense, a heartbreaking journey—not just for the one walking through it, but for everyone who loves them.

For my family, this has become deeply personal. My father has dementia. Watching the disease touch his heart, his life, his very being, is almost too much to bear at times. There are moments where he looks at us with weariness in his voice and says he is ready to go home. He has told my sister and me this, and he has told his wife the same. Those words carry a weight that cannot be ignored.

In the midst of it all, we’ve found ourselves reminiscing together—about old times, about laughter and love, about people who shaped our family’s story. My Pops often shares memories of my mom, Bobbi, his first wife. They were like two peas in a pod, and I can tell that he misses her deeply. These memories bring him comfort, and in a way, they remind us all of the beauty and richness of the life he has lived.

I share these thoughts not to diminish his relationship with his current wife, but to honor her as well. She has sacrificed greatly to care for my father in this season, and that love and dedication has not gone unnoticed. For that, our family is grateful.

The Long Goodbye is not a journey anyone would choose, but it is one that teaches us to hold onto the good moments tightly, to honor the past, and to walk each day with grace and love for the one we are slowly letting go.

Even in the heaviness of this journey, I am reminded that we are never walking it alone. God meets us in the valleys as surely as He does on the mountaintops, and His love does not fade even when memories do. The Apostle Paul wrote, “Even though our outward man is perishing, yet the inward man is being renewed day by day” (2 Corinthians 4:16).

That truth gives me comfort—knowing that while my father’s body and mind may be fading, his spirit is being kept in the hands of the One who never forgets. And in that promise, we find strength to endure, love to keep giving, and hope to keep walking this long goodbye with grace.

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A New Chapter in Aviation and Life

Back in My Wheelhouse

Over the past few weeks, I’ve stepped into a new role that has placed me right back into the world of Private Jet Aviation. It feels good to be back in my wheelhouse—sales and operations—working with an incredible ops team that truly loves what they do. What makes it even more rewarding is that we are a fully remote team, spread across the country, yet united by our passion for aviation. Different walks of life, different backgrounds, but one shared drive. It shows in the way we work together.

When I came home to Alaska, my heart was set on helping in any way I could. I wanted to contribute, to lend my experience, and to move projects forward. But the reality was harder than expected. Leadership support was missing at key moments, and decisions that needed to be made simply weren’t. It left me confused and, if I’m honest, a little discouraged.

In the end, it became clear that my help wasn’t truly needed in the way I had hoped. That was a difficult realization, and making the decision to move on wasn’t easy. But today, I find myself deeply thankful for this new opportunity and for the people I now get to work alongside.

I still hope the best for the projects happening here in Metlakatla. This is home, and I care about the work being done. But for now, I’m grateful to have found a team and a space where my skills are being put to good use again.

At the end of the day, I see this as another reminder that the journey—whether in aviation, family, or faith—isn’t always a straight line, but every turn has a purpose in shaping where we’re meant to be.

Faith-focused:
“Through it all, I’m reminded that God’s plan often unfolds in ways I don’t expect, but always in ways that prepare me for where I’m meant to be.”

Family-focused:
“It’s another reminder that the work I do isn’t just for me—it’s about creating stability and setting an example for my family, showing them that resilience matters.”

Aviation-focused:
“Much like flying, this journey has had its turbulence and course corrections, but every adjustment keeps me moving toward the horizon where I’m meant to be.”

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A Word About My Father

Notes by Alex – FreeWrite

“A Life of Love, Laughter, and Family”

I wanted to take a moment to talk about my father, Alex Atkinson Sr. He’s a great man—now in his 80s—and throughout his life he has shown what it means to live with love, honor, and respect.

Growing up, my sister and I always knew we were deeply cared for. Dad didn’t just say he loved his family; he showed it in the way he supported us, stood by us, and carried himself with quiet strength. His example taught us that family is something you don’t just belong to—you invest in it, you nurture it, you hold it together.

I remember him telling me how much he had learned from his own father—“Pops.” He picked up the ways of hunting, fishing, and providing, and then carried those lessons forward. Dad shared them with his nephews, with me, with my cousins. That spirit of passing things down—knowledge, traditions, laughter, and care—has always been his way of looking out for our big family.

What I’ll never forget is his smile. Around family, he always had a big grin on his face, ready to laugh, ready to make others laugh. Joy seemed to flow naturally from him, and it lit up our gatherings in a way that made everyone feel at home.

My dad is an amazing man. Not just because of what he’s done, but because of who he is. He is love in action, the kind of steady presence that anchors a family. And for that, and for him, I am forever grateful.

Closing Reflection

As I look at my own life now, I realize how much of my father lives on in me. His lessons about love, honor, and respect shape how I show up for my family and community today. His laughter reminds me to bring joy into every room I enter. And his faithfulness inspires me to stay grounded in what truly matters. In many ways, I see my role now as carrying the torch he lit—continuing the legacy of care, faith, and strength that he embodied so well.

The Bible says in Proverbs 20:7, “The righteous lead blameless lives; blessed are their children after them.” I see that truth in my father’s life. Because he walked in integrity, we—his children and family—continue to live in the blessing of his example. I carry the torch he lit, continuing the legacy of care, faith, and strength that he embodied so well.

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🕰️ The Time to Journal Is Now: Begin to Document Your Life

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.

Your story matters. Let it unfold.

— Alex

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“Finding Light in the Dark Night”

Notes by Alex – By Alexander Atkinson

Through the Dark Night of the Soul

Today, I found myself slowing down—taking a real, honest look inward. It’s been a season of self-evaluation, reflection, and growth. But let me tell you, growth isn’t always beautiful. Sometimes, it feels like a storm, like wandering through a tunnel with no light in sight. I’ve come to call that time in my life “the dark night of the soul.”

It was rough—probably one of the hardest things I’ve walked through. But the biggest takeaway I have from it is this: YOU CAN GET THROUGH IT.

When you’re in the thick of mental and emotional struggle, it’s easy to believe it will last forever. But growth often begins in the moments when we choose to take one small step forward, even when it’s hard. For me, that has meant actively working on my mental well-being, choosing not to sit in the darkness but to walk toward the light.

Growing through mental health isn’t just about surviving—it’s about actively nurturing ourselves, seeking connection, and using the resources available to us. Here’s what I’ve been learning:

1. Self-Care and Well-being

  • Mindfulness and Meditation:
    Even a few minutes a day of slowing down and just being present can make a difference. Mindfulness has helped me quiet the chaos inside and tune in to what’s real and true.
  • Physical Activity:
    A simple walk, moving my body, getting outside—it’s surprising how much it shifts my perspective and mood.
  • Sleep Hygiene:
    I’ve learned to value rest. Without it, the mind struggles to heal and reset.
  • Healthy Diet:
    Eating well isn’t just for the body—it impacts the mind. Balanced meals, less processed junk, and being intentional with what I put into my body have helped me feel more stable and energized.
  • Limit Substance Use:
    Letting go of things that numb me has allowed me to feel again—and feeling, though hard at times, is part of true healing.
  • Practice Gratitude:
    Gratitude has been my anchor. Some days it’s as simple as saying, “I’m thankful I woke up today,” and other days it’s a long list of blessings.

2. Building Connections and Support

  • Social Connections:
    We are not meant to walk this life alone. Spending time with friends, family, or just being around people who bring light helps chip away at the loneliness.
  • Support Groups:
    Finding people who understand—who get the struggle—has been powerful. There’s strength in knowing you’re not the only one fighting this battle.
  • Volunteering:
    Helping others, even in small ways, shifts my focus outward. It gives me purpose, and purpose is a powerful antidote to darkness.

The truth is, mental health isn’t just something we “fix” once. It’s something we cultivate—through small, daily practices, through seeking help when we need it, and through being gentle with ourselves in the process.

If you’re in that dark night of the soul, I want you to know that you are not alone. The road through it may not be easy, but there is a way through. And on the other side? Growth, resilience, and a deeper understanding of who you are.

“Even the darkest night will end, and the sun will rise. Healing begins the moment you believe you are worth the light.”

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Thank You, Grandpa Harold

by Alexander Atkinson Jr.
Notes by Alex

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.

So today, I simply want to say:

Thank you, Grandpa.

Your faith lives on in me.

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Ride Now, Ride Now: The Call to Courage


When darkness gathers, it’s not the time to retreat—it’s the time to rise.

“Arise, arise, Riders of Théoden!
Fell deeds awake, fire and slaughter!
Spear shall be shaken, shield be splintered,
A sword-day, a red day, ere the sun rises!
Ride now, ride now! Ride to Gondor!”
— J.R.R. Tolkien, The Return of the King

There’s something in the human spirit that stirs when we hear a battle cry—not one born of violence, but of resolve. Tolkien’s words don’t just belong in the realm of fantasy. They live in us. They echo in our quiet moments of doubt, in the face of rising storms, in the still morning when the world hasn’t yet caught fire—but you know it’s coming.

We all face our own “sword-days.”
Moments where everything is on the line.
Where darkness tries to crowd in.
Where you feel the pull to sit it out, to stay hidden, to let someone else ride.

But we weren’t made for retreat.

We were made to rise.

Like the Riders of Rohan, sometimes we are called to charge—not because the odds are good, but because the cause is just. Not because it’s safe, but because someone must stand. Because honor, truth, and courage still matter. Because deep in our souls, there’s a warrior cry waiting to be released.

And here’s the thing: it’s not about war. It’s about courage.
It’s about how you face your battles—your setbacks, your disappointments, your losses, your doubts.

Maybe today your battlefield is a broken dream.
Maybe it’s a silent struggle no one else sees.
Maybe it’s leadership under pressure, or being a light in a weary family, a divided community, or a hurting world.

But no matter the shape of your battle, the call is the same: Arise.

Arise with love.
Arise with faith.
Arise with vision.
Arise not because you’re fearless, but because you’ve chosen to move forward anyway.

We may not ride horses to Gondor.
But we do ride into each new day—often with splintered shields and trembling hands.
And still we ride.

Because someone’s waiting on the other side of your courage.
Because your rising may awaken another.
Because light is stronger than darkness—and it travels fastest through the willing.

So whatever today holds, ride boldly into it.

Ride now. Ride now.

– Notes by Alex
A place for reflections, reminders, and the quiet roar of courage.

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Unity in the Village: Why Love Still Matters in Small Town Life

“Choosing Unity Over Division in the Place We All Call Home”
By Alex Atkinson Jr.

I’ve lived in a small town most of my life. Metlakatla, Alaska, is home—and like many small towns across the country, we carry both the beauty and the burden of close-knit living. We know one another. We share history, hardship, and hope. But like any community, we also face our fair share of challenges.

Not all small towns are the same, of course—but many of us experience familiar themes. Tensions rise, misunderstandings brew, and sometimes, unfortunately, divisions set in. And to be honest, that’s the part of small-town life I find hardest to watch.

“We don’t have to believe the same to love the same.”

Division can come from anywhere—a disagreement, a difference in how we do things, or a clash of beliefs. Maybe we see the world through different lenses. Maybe our upbringings or faith journeys aren’t identical. But in the end, none of that should keep us from being united.

I’m not here to say we all have to agree on everything. That’s not unity—that’s uniformity. What I long to see is something deeper: honor and respect. Even when we do things differently. Even when we believe differently. A place where you can be you, and I can be me—and we still choose to love each other anyway.

No jealousy. No hidden agendas. Just a genuine attitude of care and kinship.

That’s what family is. That’s what community should be. Not perfect. Not always peaceful. But deeply rooted in love—the kind that ties us together in the storms, not just the celebrations.

In a time when the world feels more divided than ever, maybe our little town can stand out—not for how we argue, but for how we stay connected through it all. Love still matters here. And maybe if we choose it, again and again, we’ll help write a better story for the next generation watching us.

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“The Blanket, The Dream, and the Song”

By Alex Atkinson Jr.

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.

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