• I was at a Flyers game when an 84-year-old woman appeared on the Jumbotron and stole the show.
• The crowd cheered for her and booed the mascot, Gritty, whenever the camera switched away.
• Watching thousands of strangers celebrate her brought me to tears during a difficult time.

Since our kids left for college, my husband and I have been to many Philadelphia Flyers games.

The most recent, against the Colorado Avalanche, felt magical, and it wasn't just the high of a second consecutive win after a nine-game losing streak. There was an older woman, way up in the upper section, who, in a purely joyful moment, stole the show and captured the hearts of all 18,353 of us in attendance.

I'm calling her Good Luck Granny.

People were being shown on the Jumbotron

During the third period, the Flyers were up 3-1, and the crowd was electric. Could they make it two wins in a row? During TV time-outs, cameras stationed throughout the arena pan to fans — parents holding ear-muffed babies aloft, kids jumping up and down, waving "My 1st Flyers game!!" signs — or to our beloved mascot, Gritty, in his Chaos Corner, doing what Gritty does.

I love seeing the reactions of people who make it on the jumbotron, and, yes, I may have, on occasion, attempted to wave at a camera pointed in our direction. Being at the game means losing myself and any worries I might have for a few hours in something everyone can agree on.

With less than 10 minutes left in the third period, the camera found a grey-haired, bespectacled woman, straight out of central casting, in a royal blue hoodie. She was chair dancing, arms up in the air, her bright orange Flyers microfiber towel ready for waving. The arena exploded into a unanimous uproar for this stranger.

The camera panned to Gritty, and everyone booed. Then they went back to the woman, and we watched her moment of recognition in real time along with the guy seated next to her who'd been pointing her out to the cameraman. She lit up and began pointing at herself, as she mouthed, "Oh, that's me!" This was met with uproarious cheers.

I swallowed the sudden lump in my throat and fought back tears as we continued to scream for her.

Everyone was excited for her

Everyone wanted more, and the camera operators obliged, cycling half a dozen times between Gritty, who played along with the boos and disappointment, and Good Luck Granny, who elicited raucous cheering, much to her and everyone's delight. I'm not sure why it made me so emotional, but the feeling remains.

After the game, fans followed and cheered her all the way out of the building, taking photos along the way.

Fans went crazy for her in the comment section, too. Under a video posted by Sports Radio 94WIP Reporter, Dave Uram, @anfieldcards wrote, "I sat right next to her and her daughter, she was crying after being on the screen. It meant so much to her. She's 84 years old but was screaming and cheering all game."

That woman was the distraction I needed

Maybe it's because 2026 has been filled with what feels like an endlessly worrisome, increasingly overwhelming news cycle, along with some personally painful moments. When my mother died in January, a few months shy of her 82nd birthday, I hadn't seen or spoken to her in 17 years. Not surprisingly, this has brought up some complicated feelings. Turning 59 this summer brought up a lot of thoughts, too (because I am a professional overthinker), about my own mortality and what the state of the world might be for my grandchildren.

For those three hours, though, being enveloped by the energy of strangers who come together for a shared, emotionally vested experience, the games have been a salve and a healing distraction. I also believe that now more than ever, we're all craving joyful, feel-good moments like cheering for an unsuspecting elderly woman in a crowded hockey arena.

So, thank you, beautiful stranger, our Good Luck Granny, for your infectious good vibes and an experience that will not soon be forgotten.

• I spent most of my adult life in cities before moving to a rural cabin for my husband's job.
• It was hard to adjust, and I had to confront many of my phobias before moving back home.
• Although I wouldn't choose to live in a cabin again, I'm grateful for what the experience taught me.

At the end of the summer, I packed my bags and two cats and got on a plane by myself, leaving our spacious home in Portland, Oregon, for a two-bedroom cabin in the remote woods of upstate New York.

I was planning to live there temporarily so I could spend some time with my husband, who had rented the place while he was working on a movie in the area. He had moved to the area a few weeks earlier to start work, and he would stay there until mid-November when the project wrapped.

His options for where to stay were limited: a room at a Best Western, or a quaint cottage with a wood-burning stove and brick flooring on a historic acreage with farm animals.

If I hadn't planned to come, he might have just chosen the hotel room, but he wanted a pet-friendly option with a little more space.

I saw staying in the cabin as a chance to slow down a bit after feeling work-related burnout — but I was nervous, too.

The cabin showed me what I took for granted at home

Immediately, there were some things I genuinely loved about rural living.

One of my favorite parts was the privacy. The cabin sat next to a creek and a grove of trees on a massive acreage at the foot of a mountain. It was part farm, part forest.

I rarely saw other people most days, and got plenty of work done. While at the cabin, I started working on the second draft of my novel while planning for my next full-time role.

However, it was also tough to adjust to rustic life. For most of my adult life, I'd lived in cities, including Los Angeles, New York, Atlanta, and Portland.

Back home in Portland, I'd gotten used to our walkable neighborhood with incredible coffee shops just steps away, plus a slew of local wine bars, restaurants, and other small businesses easily accessible by bike.

Although there were a few charming spots in the general area, the surrounding town beyond the acreage was pretty lackluster, and we were living in a grocery-store desert. I was surprised by how little there really was to do, considering we were only about a two-hour drive from New York City.

Then there was the cottage itself. After living in a house with a dishwasher and an espresso machine, I had to get used to sputtering hot-water taps and Keurig coffee.

Still, none of these inconveniences was the end of the world, especially since I'd only be living here for one month. The biggest challenge, though, was confronting my obsessive-compulsive disorder.

Living near so many insects forced me to face my OCD

Rustic cabin living meant that there were bugs everywhere, pretty much all the time.

Moths, stinkbugs, crane flies the size of my palm, spiders, grasshoppers, and even crickets managed to sneak their way inside. Outside, I'd get swarmed by mosquitoes and gnats.

One night, I counted over two dozen sizable bugs that had somehow snuck into our cabin. Sometimes the bugs made me feel trapped because I couldn't fully escape them, no matter where I was.

This might be an annoying inconvenience for people used to suburban life or climates with fewer bugs, but for me — someone with OCD — it felt like a test from the universe.

Although every person with OCD can and will have completely different fears, obsessions, and compulsions, many of mine center on fears of germs, disease, or contamination.

For me, a fear of hurting myself or my pets due to something in the environment — for instance, ticks with Lyme disease — can trigger compulsive handwashing, body-checking, and a general sense of anxiety throughout the day. When these compulsions come into play, I often become less productive, more distracted, and late for everything.

The presence of so many bugs, plus corners layered with dust and cobwebs, triggered my fears of contamination and heightened my anxiety. Early on, I was even afraid of walking on the grass outside, since upstate New York has many more reported cases of Lyme disease than in Oregon, my home base.

I was also concerned that my spouse, while working on location in the woods or other areas, might bring ticks home on his clothes, transmit them to me, or fall ill from a bite.

Being exposed to my fears eventually helped them fade

Despite all of this, about a week in, I started to settle into cabin life a bit.

My fears were there, but nothing bad happened. The bugs didn't go away, but they didn't get us sick. The cats were happy. At one point, I walked across the grass to go see the goats on the property, and I didn't get any ticks.

It might sound silly, but for me, this was a bit of a breakthrough.

I love animals, nature, and traveling the world, but the intense, intrusive thoughts that OCD brings can make it difficult to enjoy a new adventure without a constant baseline feeling of anxiety.

The best part about living in this rural landscape was being able to see and get close to so many animals. On the property, there were free-range chickens and geese, plus wild turkeys, foxes, deer, and tons of blue jays.

And there was this squad of hilarious goats, sheep, and a cow. With time, I was able to enjoy the experience.

Spending a month in upstate New York isn't something I'd do again, and after a month at the cottage, I was excited to return to our spacious house and walkable neighborhood. But I'm grateful for the experience that allowed me to try out a new lifestyle, challenge my OCD, and come out stronger.

• Despite having a lot of friends in college, I felt like I was surrounded by strangers.
• After a careful analysis, I discovered meaningful connections fulfilled me more than casual ones.
• I stopped spreading myself too thin and have since focused my time on a smaller circle of friends.

My 21st birthday party was packed with a dozen faces I half-knew. They all smiled as I blew out the candles and made a wish, yet I felt as if I were surrounded by strangers.

As I looked out into the crowd, I realized that most of my friendships were surface-level, rather than genuine connections. We talked about upcoming school assignments, trending TV shows, and our favorite restaurants, but I wanted more.

What was supposed to be a celebration turned into a rude awakening: Did these people even know me at all?

I've always been someone with many hobbies, which meant making friends across all walks of life. Although I'm lucky to have so many people in my corner, there came a point where it felt like I was collecting friendships like tokens rather than forming meaningful relationships.

The realization set in: I had tons of friends, but somehow, I was lonely.

I needed to learn how to distinguish casual friendships from meaningful ones

Even years after graduating from college, I couldn't shake the feeling that I'd been collecting the wrong type of friendships.

I realized many of my relationships had been rooted in transactions or shared activities, which may explain why I was still feeling lonely.

Upon reflection, I noticed that the most genuine friendships I had involved some emotional depth and connection. I only have two of these in my life — one who lives close by, and another who is across the country.

Regardless of where they are, the empathy goes both ways — I share in their joys and sit with them through their struggles, and they do the same for me. We're not just shoulders for each other to cry on, but supportive pillars who help each other walk through life.

These were the friendships that fulfilled me most, and I needed to make more room in my life for them.

In order to do this, I needed to figure out what was holding me back. I came to the conclusion that, when it comes to friends, I'd kept many people at a distance, afraid that opening up would make me seem like "too much" or leave me hurt again.

I'd also been spreading myself too thin, trying to maintain too many relationships instead of investing in the ones that mattered most. For example, I felt like I rushed through dinners to mentally check a box that I was keeping up the relationship. Not only was that a waste of time, but it led to major emotional burnout.

Now, I focus on a handful of friends with whom I can build a deeper bond. Even though I only have time to see a select few people, I make sure the few hours we spend together are packed with thoughtful, not superficial, conversations.

Recently, I spent some time with a work colleague outside the office, and we discussed how fitness helped us during difficult points in our lives. We connected on something beyond our jobs, and for the first time in a long time, I felt less lonely.

Once I stopped chasing a bigger circle and was more vulnerable, I felt less alone

At first, it was difficult to let go of my larger circle. There's nothing wrong with casual friendships, but they couldn't give me the depth I was craving.

Instead, the friends I need are the ones who will hold me up at my worst and cheer me on at my best without expecting anything in return — and I never think twice about doing the same for them. These connections take more time and care to develop, but are well worth the wait.

Once I started watering the friendships I truly valued, I noticed our moments together aren't rushed, and our connection is stronger now because of the care we put into each conversation.

This year, I'm thinking about having a birthday dinner with two or three close friends rather than a larger celebration. Ironically, when I began filtering superficial relationships out of my life, I felt less lonely — and that's all I could have ever wished for.

• Caitlin Conway is a mom of two who lives in Colorado.
• She sends her two kids, ages 8 and 5, to a forest school and homeschools them.
• She says the impact on them physically and emotionally is unparalleled.

This as-told-to essay is based on a conversation with Caitlin Conway. It has been edited for length and clarity.

Years ago, when my oldest was an infant, my husband and I had seen a documentary about outdoor schooling in Nordic countries. It really resonated with us, but it also felt intense because we're not used to seeing that kind of setup here. It was cool, but also terrifying — kids were using knives in the woods.

Then I found a forest school in Colorado, where we live.

We started forest school when my oldest was 4.5

We started my son on the coldest day of the year, in February, and I was nervous. We sent him out, and when he came home, he didn't say anything about the weather. He never even mentioned that it was cold; he was immediately engrossed.

It was his primary source of education until two years ago, through first grade. They age out of a full-day program around then, so we now homeschool and leverage a homeschool enrichment program for him because we were not ready to leave the program. My youngest attends forest school three days a week and is also homeschooled the other days.

The school goes from 9 a.m. to 3 p.m. every day as long as it's 15 degrees Fahrenheit or warmer. Sometimes they have a shelter; sometimes they don't. They learn how to keep their bodies warm.

The primary focus is on social and emotional development. It gives kids opportunities to test their capabilities, both physically and emotionally. The guides are there to keep them safe, but they're not there to solve a kid's every problem. They learn to negotiate conflicts with each other and can get help when they need it.

When at home, we also prioritize being outside

We don't follow a strict homeschooling curriculum. Our main focus is on exposure. We homeschool so they can continue to stay outside and strengthen their bodies and minds. We've also found a group of people through forest school that we call our homeschool co-op. It's two other families, and we all help facilitate "adventure days" outside.

I'm not sitting at a kitchen table with them all day. We do an art program, and both kids also take piano lessons and swim. We also do our own work around reading, writing, and math.

I never expected to be homeschooling my kids, but they love it

I don't have an educational background. I come from early-stage start-ups and am currently a real estate agent. But I continue to double down on this method because I see an incredible impact on my kids' ability to adapt to different situations. They can sit still at a restaurant, but they can also jump off a cliff into a river. They know that bravery has a great payoff.

The hardest part is other people's opinions. We've had to defend what we're doing, something I'm sure every homeschool parent has had to do. An instant reaction to me sharing that my kids are in the woods all day is, "But how are they learning if they're not in the real world?" That can be frustrating, but I think it's important to make sure people know there are other options for early childhood development.