The Vision Thing: Lighthouse in the Dark

(for my dad — you had the vision thing)

Once I heard Simple Minds’ Vision Thing,

I knew it was written for men like you.

Jim Kerr wrote it after losing his dad.

It’s not a ballad. It’s not weepy.

It moves with purpose—

like a man who knows grief but chooses to dance anyway.

That line—“You got the vision thing”—

it’s not about eyesight.

It’s about something deeper.

A kind of strength.

A spiritual compass.

The way certain people just see what matters

and carry it—quietly—until the end.

They say some people lead by shouting.

Others lead by example.

But some lead by light—

a quiet kind that glows steady,

never asking for praise,

never needing to be seen.

You had the vision thing.

You saw what mattered before I could name it.

You saw goodness in people—even when it cost you.

You saw past the moment, past the storm.

You carried something I couldn’t always understand—

but I always felt.

There were years I didn’t realize how much I was watching you.

And years I didn’t know how much I needed to.

But I see it now.

The vision.

The strength.

The love.

Some of us spend our whole lives searching for a lighthouse.

But I had one—

long before I understood what I was looking at.

The jokes.

The smirks.

The songs that played too loud.

The advice you didn’t always say out loud

but somehow folded into my bones.

You didn’t need the last word.

You had the long view.

You had the vision thing.

And I carry it forward, with every step.

Every time I hear that song,

I feel it again—

like your hand on my shoulder from the other side of the veil.

Like you’re still steering the ship,

even when I think I’m lost.

It wasn’t perfect.

Nothing ever is.

But it was real.

And real things don’t die.

They echo.

They hum in the background of our best moments.

They show up in the way we raise our own kids.

In the way we whisper keep going to ourselves on hard days.

In the songs we crank up loud on long drives—

just to feel closer to home.

You had the vision thing.

And now, I carry it too.

Not always gracefully.

Not always with your calm.

But I’m trying.

I see it clearer now.

You didn’t just give me your name.

You gave me your light.

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Searching For Stars

So Far Away: The Things That Still Hold Us Together

By Lauren Nixon-Matney • December 12, 2025

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Thank You, Danny Go!: A Letter From Our Living Room

By Lauren Nixon-Matney • December 12, 2025

Dear Danny Go (and Mindy Mango), We weren’t looking for you—but somehow, you found us. It was in the recommended section on Happy Kids TV. Jaxon clicked on it for his sister Maggie, and just like that, something lit up in our living room. The colors, the energy, the fun costumes, the absolute joy of it all—we were hooked. Not just the kids. Jamie and I too. It didn’t take long before Danny Go! wasn’t just something our kids watched—it became something we danced to, sang along with, laughed through. Something that made us all feel lighter. There’s something rare and magical about a show that doesn’t just entertain your kids, but actually pulls you in too. For us, Danny Go! is that magic. Whether it’s “ The Floor is Lava ” or any of the countless jams we’ve rewatched again and again, it’s more than background noise—it’s an invitation. To move, to play, to be present. We’ve turned living rooms into obstacle courses, let loose in the kitchen, and found ourselves grinning and dancing when we thought we were too tired to do anything at all. It’s a way to reset a rough day, a cranky morning, or a bedtime full of wiggles . It’s become a happy place. At first, Danny Go! was just this bright, silly, joyful thing we all loved. But then I started learning more—about you, Daniel and Mindy, about your son Isaac, about the love and resilience at the heart of it all. And suddenly, it wasn’t just fun anymore. It was inspiring. The kind of inspiring that sinks in deep because you recognize something in it. I too know what it means to be moved by your children to do something that matters. In its essence Searching for Stars was born from that same place—wanting to create light because of the light our kids bring us every day. Knowing what Danny Go! came from—knowing the beauty and bravery behind it—just makes every song, every dance, every goofy costume feel even more meaningful. It’s not just a show. It’s a gift. Thank you so very much. For the joy. For the music and movement. For the way you’ve turned your story into something so bright and full of life. Thank you for making something that brings my kids happiness, and for letting that happiness spill over to the rest of us too. You’ve given us more than a show. You’ve given us a reason to dance when we’re tired, to laugh when we need it most, and to remember that play matters—maybe even more than we think. You remind us that joy is a kind of medicine, and that silly, colorful, creative love can be a force for good in the world. From one parent trying to build something inspired by their children to another: thank you for the light you’ve made. You’ve brightened our living room—and our hearts. With love and gratitude, Lauren