Reigniting the Fire: From Embers to Flame

 

There’s a moment in an interview with Michael Franti that’s stayed with me. He spoke about how a roaring fire, once reduced to embers, doesn’t need much to come alive again, just a gentle breath, a little attention, a whisper of wind. And suddenly, the flame returns.

That image, embers waiting patiently for someone to believe in their potential, feels deeply personal.

Franti once said, “I think of love as an action. Finding something that’s outside of yourself, to serve someone else’s soul, helping to ignite someone else’s spirit, to bring about ease of heart and joy, serenity in somebody else.”

That quote reminds me that reigniting a fire, whether in us or in others, is about connection. It’s about showing up, listening, and offering warmth when someone feels cold inside.

Not long ago, I found myself in a place I never expected to be. The fire inside me had dimmed. Life hadn’t knocked me down in one dramatic blow; it had chipped away, little by little. Leadership challenges. Personal loss. The closing of a school that meant so much to me and many others over its nearly 100-year history. Followed by a pandemic that tested every ounce of strength I had. I kept going, kept smiling, kept leading. But inside, I was unraveling.

Reaching out to an old fraternity brother, now a nationally known psychiatrist, was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. I didn’t want to admit I was struggling. But I did. And that moment became my breath on the embers.

I started talking to someone regularly. For a short spell, I took the meds, I so reluctantly avoided. I had hard, honest conversations with my wife and best friend. I unpacked boxes of pain I’d stored away since childhood: abuse, rejection, loneliness. I learned that my humor wasn’t just a part of my personality; it was my armor.  And slowly, the fire began to flicker again.

Michael Franti’s metaphor isn’t just poetic, it’s practical. Sometimes, reigniting your inner fire doesn’t require a dramatic overhaul. Sometimes, it’s a quiet decision: to reach out, to speak up, to journal, to listen to a song that makes you feel something again.

Franti reminds us: “It’s never too late to start the day over.”

That truth has carried me through more than a few dark mornings. It reminds me that healing doesn’t have a deadline, that grace can meet us wherever we are.  “Sometimes the hardest thing to do is just to stay human.”

In moments of deep struggle, staying connected to our humanity —our vulnerability, empathy, and hope —is an act of courage.

“I don’t know if music can change the world overnight, but I know that music can help someone make it through a difficult night.”

That line resonates with me. Music doesn’t just entertain, it heals, it comforts, it reminds us that we’re not alone.

For me, music has always been that breath. Songs like “Knowing You” by Kenny Chesney or “Just Once” by James Ingram don’t describe my life literally, but they stir something profound within me. They remind me of who I was, who I’ve become, and who I’m still becoming.

Healing isn’t linear. It’s not a checklist, it’s a dance. Sometimes graceful, sometimes clumsy. But it always begins with one step. One breath. One ember.

Franti also said: “A lot of times we look at the whole world and think, ‘It’s so daunting, how can we change the whole world?’ You don’t need to do that. What you need to do is change your world a little bit, and see if you can, through example, inspire others to do the same.”

That’s what I’m trying to do, change my world a little bit. I want to share my story. Offer a breath to someone else’s embers.  If you’re reading this and your fire feels dim, know this: you’re not alone. You’re not broken. You’re not beyond reignition.  Sometimes, all it takes is a gentle breath. A conversation. A song. A prayer. A moment of courage.

Let that be enough to start.