There’s something deeply humbling—and quietly powerful—about standing at the edge of a brand-new chapter when the world assumes most of your story is already written. I turn 51 this week, and instead of winding down, I feel like I’m just beginning.
On Tuesday at 3:30 PM, I’ll welcome a baby girl into my home. This is a foster placement, with the very real possibility that it could become a foster-to-adopt journey. And while I know the road ahead will have its challenges, I’m stepping into it with an open heart, steady hands, and a sense of peace I haven’t felt in a long time.
I’ve spent the past few weeks turning my spacious apartment into a home that’s ready for her—folding tiny clothes, rearranging furniture, building a space that feels safe, calm, and full of love. There’s no family here, no big support system, no partner. Just me and Pippin Took, my beloved dog who has faithfully walked with me through so many seasons of life. But somehow, that’s enough. More than enough.
I’m not doing this out of impulse or loneliness. I’m doing this out of calling and conviction. This is something I’ve long felt drawn to, and after years of service to others—through foster care, CASA, volunteer work, ministry, and my law enforcement support community—it feels like all roads have been leading to this moment.
A Life That Fits
There’s also a certain calm in the air these days. 406 Back the Blue, the support organization I founded, is running like a well-oiled machine. After years of pouring my own time, energy, and resources into it—building it from the ground up with no outside help—it’s finally in a place where it practically runs itself. I can’t even begin to describe the peace that brings. The mission, the momentum, the people who have joined in support of our officers—it all continues to move forward even when I’m not holding the wheel every minute. That’s the sign of something strong. Something that will last.
Working from home has only added to this sense of alignment. My job with the spine surgeon is structured perfectly for this new season of life. I work Monday through Friday, 7 to 5, and my apartment has become this quiet, productive sanctuary where I can get things done, sip coffee on snowy mornings, and spend precious time with Pippin curled up beside me. There’s rhythm. There’s purpose. And for the first time in a long time, there’s contentment.
Rooted in Montana
Pippin and I are back in Montana now, and I can say without hesitation—we’re home. It was never my intention to leave permanently, and now that I’m back, I know in my bones that this is where I’m meant to be. Montana has its rough edges. It can be harsh and cold, both in weather and in the way some folks treat you when you’re “from California.” But it’s also real. Gritty. Beautiful. Honest. And I’ve never been afraid of working hard to earn my place in a community. My life here is rooted in service, in love, and in truth.
Becoming Mom
Becoming a mom at 51 wasn’t something I could have scripted, but it feels completely right. I’ve lived a rich, complicated, joy-filled life. I’ve loved deeply, survived heartache, and stood alone more times than I can count. I’ve built a career, served strangers, supported law enforcement across Montana, and fostered hope in places most people don’t even see. And now—I get to open my home and my heart to one tiny human who might just change everything.
There’s fear, sure. There’s the reality of doing this solo, of being “the only one.” But more than anything, there is joy. Quiet, steady joy. The kind that grows from knowing who you are, why you’re here, and what you were made to do.
This is my new beginning. Not a reinvention, not a rescue, not a last-ditch attempt at anything—but the next right step in a life that’s always been defined by faith, love, and courage.
So here we go. Tuesday at 3:30. My birthday on Wednesday. A new chapter, a new life, and a love that’s already filling these walls.
Thank you for walking with me.
– Samara
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