Over forty years ago, I worked in downtown Salt Lake City, Utah. Each morning, I’d catch a ride with my dad on his way to work, feeling all grown up as I headed to my job at The Lion House. It was a cozy place that opened for lunch and hosted banquets for weddings and private events. My job was to set up tables and chairs for those banquets, which felt important to me at the time. At the end of my shift, I was given a food credit—just enough for a salad and a slice of freshly made pie. It was a great job, and I loved every bite of that “paycheck.”

Fast forward over forty years, and here I am again, working in downtown Salt Lake City. This time, I’m at OC Tanner, a jewelry store that once was a library and, when I was a child, The Hansen Planetarium. I can still remember the excitement of visiting that four-story building—it looked like a rich person’s mansion filled with stars and planets. I was sad when it closed, and for years it sat empty until OC Tanner brought it back to life as a stunning jewelry store. Now, I walk those same streets again, with a sense of wonder and a smile, realizing life has a funny way of circling back—only shinier this time.

As a kid, I also remember my mom keeping small bottles of essential oils in the kitchen drawer. Back then, I thought they were mostly for old-fashioned remedies or the smell of clean laundry. Sometimes she’d rub peppermint on our temples when we had headaches or apply lavender to our skin when we had sores to help them recover more quickly. I never thought much about it—until years later, when I found myself reaching for those same little bottles. What once seemed like an old habit has become something I now can’t imagine living without. A little drop of comfort, just like those familiar streets of my youth.

When my wife and I first got married, I couldn’t believe she wanted to buy bread crumbs. “We can make our own!” I proudly declared. She didn’t find my enthusiasm quite as charming. You see, I grew up in a big family with nine siblings, and in our home, nothing went to waste. We saved the ends of loaves and leftover biscuits in a paper bag, letting them dry before smashing them into crumbs. It was simple, practical, and—to me—normal. My wife, however, was not impressed. After a bit of tension and an apology, it became one of those stories we laughed about for years.

Then, just this week, the universe decided to have a little fun with me. While at Costco, I bought a huge bag of croutons, only to realize later that there’s no way two people could eat that many. The next morning, Cassie mentioned she needed bread crumbs for dinner. Without even thinking, I said, “Cassie, we don’t need to buy bread crumbs—we have croutons!” She gave me that look for a split second before we both burst out laughing. Turns out, I still have a bread crumb complex. I crushed up the croutons, she made dinner, and it was delicious.

That night, I diffused a little lavender oil in the kitchen—something I do often now. As the scent filled the air, I smiled, realizing how life truly comes full circle. The places we return to, the lessons we relearn, and even the smells that remind us we’ve grown all have a way of grounding us in gratitude. Whether it’s a familiar street, a slice of pie, or the calming scent of lavender, life keeps finding gentle ways to remind us where we began.