A Path with Heart

A year after Starry Bridge opened its doors to the world, I found myself in a new city, painting trees, sky, and light.

In front of me, in the backyard, stood a willow tree.

It brought me back to last summer solstice, when I wrote:

A willow branch may flutter wildly in spring — but who’s to say it isn’t dancing freely in the wind?

Starry Bridge began as a personal act of love. Over the past year, it has grown into a community practice — helping families move from carrying it alone toward visible belonging, while creating space for parents to step forward, lead and advocate in various shapes and forms.

Many of us, myself included, carried inherited ideas about what autism or neurodiversity should look like. But children do not live inside categories as neatly as adults create them.

Starry Bridge is designed with autistic children and their families deeply in mind, but it is not built as a separate world. Some children are neurodiverse. Some are siblings, friends, or classmates. We do not ask children to stand on opposite sides of a label before they are allowed to play together.

A safe space is not only where families are protected from judgment. It is where we slowly become brave enough to be seen.

This year, we gathered — through movement, family activities, and birthday celebrations.

We learned — through researchers, specialists, guidance, and practical consultation.

And slowly, we became more visible — as parents began stepping forward, leading, advocating, and creating new spaces for others.

Relocating from Buffalo taught me something I could not have known at the beginning: a bridge becomes real not when one person stands at the center, but when many hands help it reach further.

With gratitude, I watched Starry Bridge’s Buffalo local team continue carrying the work forward — launching new creative initiatives such as the Sunday Flea Market and Buddy Up Program. And as I settle into Nashville, I hope to help build a second home for Starry Bridge here.

The music behind my painting is David Lanz’s “A Path with Heart.” Perhaps that is what this first year has taught me: a path with heart is not always grand or certain.

Sometimes it is a website opened on the longest day of light. Sometimes it is a birthday party where a child does not have to perform belonging. Sometimes it is a parent stepping forward, a team carrying the work onward, or a new city where the same bridge begins to take root again.

May we continue walking this path with heart.

And may the light we found together keep growing, wherever the bridge takes root next.

Jing

Summer Solstice, 2026