Tag: love

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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“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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A Moment to Freewrite: The Beat of Our Culture

“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.

Let the drums echo. Let the stories live on.

— Alex

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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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“Fading Light, Rising Words: How the Wilderness Inspires the Page”

“How the Evening Wilderness Awakens the Writer Within”

It’s late evening now. The kind of late that’s still not quite dark, not in Southeast Alaska. The light recedes slowly here, like a shy guest at the end of a long gathering, lingering near the doorway before slipping out unnoticed. Above the forested slopes and jagged ridgelines of the Prince of Wales-Hyder region, the sky burns with soft fire—rose golds and dusky lavenders blending into a cobalt sea overhead. The sun has dipped, but its memory lingers, casting long blue shadows across the spruce trees, across the tidepools, across me.

This is the hour that often sparks something in me—the quiet ignition of an idea, a phrase, a scene I didn’t know was waiting. It’s as if the land itself is whispering: Are you ready to write now?

And it begins with sound. The world hushes in the absence of engines and voices. A raven croaks from somewhere unseen, its echo bouncing off the cliffs like an old drum. The breeze carries the faintest tremble of the ocean—distant, steady, like breath. And then there’s the intimate rustling of leaves, the kind that almost sounds like a conversation between the trees. The wind moves through alder and cedar, stirring branches like fingers running over old piano keys. Nature, at this hour, becomes composer and orchestra both.

The air—what a strange, wonderful thing it is. Sometimes in July, it holds a ghost of warmth, especially inland. But more often, as night sets in, it breathes cool across your skin, reminding you that summer here is always borrowed time. It smells like salt and sap and earth—like wet moss, like a tide gone out, like rain that hasn’t fallen yet. I close my eyes, and it feels like a sigh against my face, a promise of another morning just beyond the trees.

My boots press into a forest trail damp with dew, the ground soft but solid beneath me. I run a hand across the rough, flaking bark of a cedar tree—the kind of tree that has seen more sunsets than I’ve seen seasons. The moss at its base is thick and bright, spongy like it was made to remember the shape of your step. Stones along the trail are slick and smooth, worn down from years of storms and glacier-fed runoff. Everything out here holds history, even if it doesn’t tell it outright.

And then, there’s this one small thing.

A single wildflower—monkshood, I think—growing from the edge of a rock. Its hooded purple bloom glows like a secret in the fading light. Most would walk by without noticing. But something about it stops me. The way it leans just slightly toward the west, catching the last amber sliver of sunlight. The way it holds its space—fragile, maybe, but not weak. That’s a story, I think. Not the flower itself, maybe. But the way it stands alone, defiant and delicate, in the dying light. The way it refuses to be swallowed by shadow.

This is how inspiration works for me. It starts outside. It starts with watching and waiting and listening. It starts in the fading light.

What about you?

What places stir your thoughts into motion? What time of day helps you find your voice? Do you wait for silence, or do you write amid the noise of life?

Here in Southeast Alaska, in the stillness between the tides, I find mine.

And if you’re ever searching for yours, maybe come stand in the hush of this wilderness. The story might already be waiting for you.

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What It Means to Be Connected


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.

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The Voices of Wisdom: Elders of Metlakatla

Guardians of Wisdom: Honoring the Elders of Metlakatla

In the close-knit community of Metlakatla, the Elders have always held a place of honor and reverence. Their wisdom, gathered over a lifetime of experiences, is a precious gift that has been passed down through generations. These stories, traditions, and teachings are the threads that weave the fabric of our cultural identity.

Growing up, I was fortunate to hear these stories firsthand. My grandparents would share tales of fishing and hunting, of the tribe and its people, of family and community. These moments were often shared in the most serene settings—while casting lines into the water with my grandfathers, or gathered in the warm glow of the living room. Each story was a lesson, a piece of history, a reminder of who we are and where we come from.

The Elders spoke of the natural world with a reverence that was palpable. They taught us the ways of the land and the sea, how to respect and live in harmony with nature. They shared the importance of working together, of supporting one another, and of the deep bonds that hold our community together. Their words were imbued with the traditions, songs, and stories that define us as a people.

Yet, as time marches on, there is a growing concern that these invaluable lessons might be lost. Many of our Elders have passed on, taking with them a wealth of knowledge and wisdom. In our smaller community, the oral traditions that have sustained us for so long are at risk of fading into obscurity.

But it is within our power to preserve this legacy. By actively listening, recording, and sharing the stories of our Elders, we can ensure that their wisdom continues to guide future generations. It’s crucial that we take the time to sit with our Elders, to ask questions and listen intently. We must document their tales, their teachings, and their traditions, so that they can be passed down, just as they were passed down to us.

These stories are not just a reflection of the past; they are a beacon for the future. They teach us about resilience, community, and the importance of cultural preservation. They remind us of our roots and inspire us to carry forward the values and practices that have sustained our people for generations.

In Metlakatla, the voices of the Elders are a cherished treasure. It is up to us to honor their legacy by ensuring that their wisdom is never forgotten. Let us be the keepers of their stories, the guardians of their teachings, and the bridge between the past and the future. By doing so, we can create a world where the richness of our heritage continues to thrive, guiding and inspiring the generations to come.

This story highlights the invaluable wisdom of the Elders in Metlakatla and the importance of preserving their legacy for future generations.

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HOPE in the Heart of Metlakatla

From Isolation to Unity: A Community’s Journey of Hope

The small yet resilient community of Metlakatla, Alaska, has faced its share of challenges, but nothing quite like the isolation brought on by the lockdowns of 2020. The global pandemic forced people into their homes, away from the warmth of family gatherings, the joy of community events, and the support of close-knit tribes. In a place where social bonds are as vital as the air we breathe, the sudden separation created a void, a sense of hopelessness that permeated the hearts of many.

For the people of Metlakatla, the lockdowns were more than just a physical barrier—they were an emotional and spiritual battle. The enemy of our souls, loneliness, found fertile ground in the isolation, planting seeds of doubt and despair. As the days turned into weeks and months, it became evident that humans are inherently social beings, created to thrive in the presence of others.

The lockdowns hurt our people deeply. Families felt the sting of separation, and the tribes saw the fraying of the communal fabric that had held them together for generations. The effects lingered long after restrictions were lifted, leaving many to struggle in the darkness of their own minds, searching for a way back to the light.

But even in the darkest of times, there is always a glimmer of hope. In Metlakatla, that hope is rekindling, one act of kindness and one gesture of unity at a time. It starts with acknowledging the pain, recognizing the toll that isolation has taken, and understanding that it’s okay to feel lost. From there, we can begin to heal.

The message is clear: We need each other. It’s time to come together once again, to stand united as a community, a family, and a tribe. Hope is not lost—it is merely waiting to be reignited. We can draw strength from our shared experiences, finding solace in the fact that we are not alone.

Healing begins with small steps. Reaching out to a neighbor, checking in on a friend, gathering safely in ways that bring joy and comfort. It’s about rebuilding the connections that were strained and finding new ways to support one another. Together, we can restore what was broken, bridging the gaps created by confusion and division.

There is hope today. It’s in the laughter of children playing, the smiles shared at the local market, and the stories told around the dinner table. It’s in the determination of our youth, striving to overcome the darkness and carve out a brighter future. It’s in the hearts of our elders, who carry the wisdom of resilience and the spirit of community.

To the people of Metlakatla, know that you are not alone. We stand together, hand in hand, heart to heart, facing whatever challenges come our way. We are stronger together, and by uniting, we can create a future filled with hope, healing, and restoration. Let us move forward, with courage and faith, knowing that as a community, we will rise above the darkness and shine brightly once more.

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Walking Through Grief: A Mother’s Legacy

Finding Light in the Darkness: A Mother’s Unyielding Spirit

In the cold, dark depths of a late December, surrounded by the quiet stillness of winter, I found myself grappling with the most profound grief I had ever known. My mother, Roberta Atkinson, had been taken by cancer, a relentless foe that ravaged her body but never dimmed her spirit. Despite the pain and fragility that marked her final days, she remained a beacon of light, always smiling whenever family gathered around her.

Her last Christmas was a bittersweet gathering. We came to be with her, to surround her with love and warmth, knowing it would be her last. Seeing her so frail was heartbreaking, and I found myself consumed with anger towards God. “How dare you,” I would think and sometimes shout in my mind.

One evening, I stepped outside onto the front porch. The landscape was barren, the plant life dormant under the blanket of winter. As I stood there, venting my anger through prayers, an unexpected and beautiful fragrance filled the air—fresh flowers, so vivid and out of place in that wintery scene. I looked around, puzzled, unable to locate the source of this miraculous scent.

When I returned inside, my mother, resting on her bed in the living room, greeted me with a radiant smile. “Did you smell him?” she asked.

Confused, I responded, “What do you mean?”

“My Angel,” she said softly. “He is here, and he smells like the most beautiful roses.”

In that moment, I was struck by the strength of her faith, a faith that never wavered, even in the face of death. Her belief in the presence of an angel, the source of that heavenly scent, brought a sense of peace that I could not deny. It was a reminder that her spirit, her love, and her unwavering faith would always be with us.

My mother was an incredible woman, full of joy and always encouraging those around her. Her laughter, her smile, and her ability to live in the moment left a lasting impact on everyone she met. Even though it has been many years since she graduated from this life to the next, the pain of her absence still lingers. But so does the warmth of her spirit and the lessons she imparted.

Grief is a journey, a path we must walk, often filled with anger, sorrow, and confusion. Yet, it is also a path that can lead to healing, to moments of unexpected beauty, and to the enduring presence of those we love. My mother’s legacy is a testament to the power of faith, the strength of the human spirit, and the everlasting impact of love.

Though it still hurts, remembering her smile and the angelic fragrance of that winter evening brings comfort and a reminder that her spirit is always with us, guiding us through our darkest days.

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