A Quiet Sunday

Today, on a windy Sunday, my kids, Petra and Alexander, and I set out to distribute flyers for my photography business around Jersey City and Hoboken. What seemed like a simple errand soon turned into a quiet, meaningful adventure—one that felt significant despite its simplicity.

As I handed out each flyer, I couldn’t help but notice how my children, walking silently beside me, seemed to understand the task without saying a word. They didn’t ask for toys or become restless—they simply moved through the day with a stillness that was both grounding and profound. In their quiet presence, I felt an unspoken support, a reminder of how much they absorb without speaking, how they share in our moments even in the most subtle ways.

At the end of our journey, I bought them toys as a small token of thanks for their patience and quiet company. Later that night, Petra casually mentioned a toy she had noticed at the bookstore in Hoboken. She hadn’t said anything at the time, but there it was—her quiet reflection, tucked away in the back of her mind.

We only visited a few places, but it wasn’t about the destinations or the number of flyers. It was about that fleeting, shared connection—the quiet bond that forms when you move through the world together, even in silence. As Petra settled into bed that night, she turned to me and said, “I’ll always remember today.” And in that moment, I knew she would.