Life has a way of reminding you—quietly at first, then all at once—that change is not always something to resist. Sometimes it is the very thing that keeps you breathing.
These past few months, I kept saying my plate was full. Family. Work. Managing an estate. Anyone who has done it knows it is not a small task. It sits on your shoulders in ways people don’t see. On top of that, I was writing more books and trying to build a business I hoped would launch January 1st. I had a date in my mind. A clean beginning. But my health declined. The year opened with hardship. People I knew passed away. Other changes came—some good, some not. That is life. It does not ask permission.
I write this not to complain and not to ask for sympathy. I write it for the ones who are trying. Writing and posting on Substack comes with its own quiet battles. Doubt. Discipline. The fear of being seen. The rewards are there, but they belong to those who stay consistent with themselves. So I let go of what I could not control. I made room.
Many of the stories were born here. You watched them take shape. A year later, some became books. Many of you bought them. I have never taken that lightly. That someone would spend time—and money—on something I created with nothing but honesty still humbles me. Thank you. Truly.
When I look back, it feels unreal in its own quiet way. One hundred inspirational stories in one hundred days. Memories written down so they would not disappear. Other people’s journeys told with care. Long nights at the keyboard while the house slept. My fingers moving faster than my fear. I was not chasing applause. I was chasing truth. Or maybe running from silence.
There were nights I posted and waited. Waiting for someone to confirm the old voice that said I was not enough. Writing made me vulnerable in ways I did not fully understand. But it also gave me something no one can take.
It gave me legacy.
Not the loud kind carved into stone. The quiet kind that lives on pages. A place where my children can find me when they are ready. Not the version shaped by conflict or someone else’s anger. My version. The story of a father who struggled, failed, and kept trying.
For more than five years, I have written here not with a strategy but with a need. I wrote because I needed to breathe. Because there were things inside me that had nowhere else to go. I hoped someone might read and feel less alone.
This year, as I reorganized my Substack, I wrestled with direction. When to post. How to balance writing and the podcast. What the rhythm should be. After my last podcast, something shifted. It was not dramatic. Just clear.
So here is the rhythm moving forward:
Mondays will be reflective stories—life, growth, understanding.
Wednesdays will be a storytelling mini-series, like reading a book together one chapter at a time.
Fridays I will introduce the guest for the upcoming Monday show—writers, painters, creators sharing their journey and soul work. You will have the chance to submit questions and be part of the conversation.
The Hole Project and special editions of Stories, Soul Work & Substack will be woven in as they unfold.
At the start of the year, I did not have clarity. Some of it came through health challenges. Some through loss. Some through simply living. That is how direction often arrives—not forced, but formed.
Sometimes direction does not happen to you. It happens through you.
We all struggle. We all question. But change, even when uncomfortable, is usually preparing something better. Not everything needs to be pushed. Sometimes you sit back. You trust the shift.
Wishing you clarity in your own unfolding.
Your Fellow Writer,
Rinaldo
Thank you for reading. This work is reader-supported, and your presence here matters.
About the Author
John Rinaldo writes Soul & Stories, a weekly publication centered on soul work, reflection, and the quiet process of becoming. He also hosts the live podcast Stories, Soul Work & Substack every Monday at 4 PM EST, where written ideas open into honest conversation.
He is currently working on The Hole: Forgotten in the Shadows, a documentary written and hosted by John Rinaldo and Hassan, telling the story of Italians who resisted and secretly helped smuggle Jews to safety during World War II.
© 2026 John V. Rinaldo. All rights reserved.
This work is protected under U.S. and international copyright law. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, displayed, or transmitted in any form without prior written permission. Official publications are released only through verified accounts directly controlled by John V. Rinaldo.
Your words resonated and moved me. My favorite quotes are ,"That is life. It does not ask permission," and I let go of what I could not control. I made room. I'm glad you found something that will help you. When life played fruit-basket-upset with me (I actually died twice in Feb a year go) I went in the opposite direction. I now live in the moment, wringing out as much joy out of each day that I can. I notice. I appreciate. I am grateful. We all face changes and hopefully we all find solutions that work for us. I hope 2026 is a great year for you, John.
‘Long nights at the keyboard while the house slept.” Is there a writer in the room cannot recognize themselves in this sentence? The solace of early mornings (or nights) in a quiet house, with the soft melody of the keyboard singing us home. Always enjoy reading your offerings!