When I hear the word influencer, I think of social media, followers, algorithms, all that. But lately, I’ve been wondering something different. Maybe the people who influence us most never needed a platform. This week, my dad received a diagnosis that has our family walking through a new season. I don’t want to share the details, but yesterday morning, while I was working out, I felt this nudge to do something for him. When my grandmother passed (his mom), I kept some of her handkerchiefs. I thought, maybe I’ll embroider one with a simple design, pray over it, tuck it in a card and send it to my dad. So, I went looking for those hankies. And as I sifted through, I found one folded differently. Inside was Livia’s ponytail, the one I thought I’d lost. It literally knocked the breath out of me. I held it, I ran my fingers over it, I kissed it over and over again. And for a few moments, it felt like I could hold my daughter again. And then this morning, before I could even fully process that, Facebook showed me a memory. It was Jake holding Livia on a scale at the hospital. When I posted it years ago, I captioned it “Strength.” Tomorrow, Jake competes in a weightlifting competition. Strength isn’t really about the weight in your hands; it’s about the weight you carry in your heart. It’s the unseen things. The grief, the love, the hope, the moments that have changed you that quietly shape who you become. And perhaps that is where our greatest influence comes from. Not from how loudly we speak or how much of our lives we put on display, but from how we choose to carry what life has given us. It’s in the way we show up for people, even when it’s hard. In the compassion we offer when no one is watching. In the kindness and patience we choose when we’re carrying something heavy of our own. Because when we live that way, we give others permission to do the same. To be honest about their own struggles, to lead with tenderness, and to let the things they’ve walked through shape their character rather than harden their hearts. Maybe that is what true influence looks like. Leaving people a little more compassionate, a little more courageous, and a little more willing to live this life with intention.
And this morning, I walked Finley out to her car. She’d just gotten her school parking pass. The number was 267. Livia’s birthday. I smiled and told her, “Liv’s saying hi to you.” Maybe people would call these coincidences. Maybe they’re just gentle winks that remind us to pay attention. And that’s what started me thinking about influence. Maybe the greatest influencers aren’t the loudest voices. They’re the ones whose lives leave fingerprints on our hearts. My grandmother still influences me, my dad, Jake, Finley, and of course, Livia. She changes how I move through the world. She reminds me to slow down, to hold people longer. To live with compassion. It really matters. Every single day IS extraordinary.
Maybe that’s why I’ve been thinking so much about influence lately. We often measure it by numbers or the loudest voices, but maybe it’s been about the quiet shaping all along. The people, the moments, the memories we let touch our hearts will spill over into how we live. So maybe the question isn’t "who is influencing me," but "who am I becoming because of what I choose to let shape me?" And for me, Livia keeps influencing me every single day. Not because she’s physically here, but because the love she left behind still shapes the way I treat people, and the way I choose to carry this fragile, beautiful life. And maybe that’s the kind of influence worth pursuing. The kind that isn’t built on attention, but on character. The kind that quietly changes hearts long after we’re gone.
Maybe we’ve been measuring influence wrong all along.
