Mr. Sunshine Smiles

Hi folks!

How are we almost halfway through 2026 already?!

YIKES!

That means…there is no time to lose. Let’s get right into it!

On March 28, during an in-person session with Ryan where we were catching up over coffee at Sunshine Studio, Ryan felt called to pull a few tarot cards. Whether you believe in tarot or simply appreciate the opportunity for reflection, the cards sparked a meaningful conversation.

One of the cards pulled was the Death card. While the name itself can sound intimidating, the themes were anything but. The words that stood out were death and rebirth, big changes, and a time to move on from something that no longer serves you. At the time, I listened, nodded, and tucked those thoughts away. I had no idea how significant those words would become just a few weeks later.

Another card that he pulled was the Three of Cups. Friendship. Circle of support. Collaboration. Community. Creativity. Shared joy. As those themes were discussed, I found myself smiling because they already felt familiar. I’ve always believed that relationships are one of life’s greatest gifts, but I didn’t yet realize how much I would need those relationships in the weeks ahead.

Three short weeks later, on April 16, I was unexpectedly terminated from my full-time job. Suddenly, the messages from both cards felt less like coincidence and more like an invitation to pay attention.

The past two months have been an emotional whirlwind. (A HUGE shout out to Lititz Apothecary along with Barb and Pam who were so gracious to give me more hours during this period of transition).

There have been moments of uncertainty, disappointment, and questions about what comes next. But there have also been moments of incredible clarity.

When something you’ve known for years comes to an end, you’re forced to take a closer look at what remains.

What fills your soul?

What energizes you?

What brings genuine joy?

For me, the answer wasn’t found in a title, a paycheck, or a carefully planned career path. It was found in people. It was found in music ministry, community, friendships, creative projects, my podcast, writing, serving others, and the simple moments that make life meaningful.

The Three of Cups came to life in ways I never could have anticipated. Friends checked in. Family offered encouragement. Colleagues shared kind words. Members of my church community reminded me of my gifts. People showed up with support, opportunities, prayers, laughter, conversations, and reminders that my worth has never been tied to a job.

During a season that could have easily felt isolating, I was surrounded by a circle of people who refused to let me walk through it alone.

As I look back now, I can’t help but see the beauty in both cards appearing together. The Death card wasn’t about an ending—it was about making room for a new beginning. And the Three of Cups was a reminder that no rebirth happens alone.

I am incredibly grateful for the people who have helped carry me through this season. The last two months have been a powerful reminder that sometimes life’s greatest transformations aren’t found in what we lose, but in what we discover was there all along.

Death isn’t always the end of a life–it can be the end of a version of ourselves that no longer serves us. In that ending, I found the space to be reborn–not as someone new, but as someone more honest, more aware, and more grateful that I ever thought possible. None of this happened alone.

To the people who held hope for me when I couldn’t hold if for myself, who offered their strength when mine was gone, and who reminded me there was still light worth walking toward: thank you. You gave me the energy, the courage, and sometimes just the extra push to keep going.

Most importantly, you helped me find the strength that had been waiting inside me all long.

This isn’t the end of my story. It’s the beginning of a life I’m finally awake enough to truly appreciate.

And with that, keep eyes on my social media platforms for a VERY EXCITING announcement coming Friday, July 3rd!

Sprinkle sunshine always,

JP!

Hi folks!

Cheers to another month coming to an end. We are almost halfway through 2026.

That is CRAY.

Time to dive right in.

May has felt like a month of reflection for me—a quieter season filled with long thoughts, moments of solitude, and trying to better understand myself and the spaces I move through.

Sometimes life gets so loud that we don’t stop long enough to notice what is weighing on us until we finally have a moment to sit still. And in the stillness, old feelings have a funny way of resurfacing.

Lately, I’ve realized how many of my triggers still trace back to my younger years. That feeling of not being invited. Not being included. Watching others gather while wondering if there was something about me that made me less wanted or less enough.

It’s amazing how those emotions from high school can quietly follow us into adulthood, disguising themselves in new situations and relationships while still carrying the same sting underneath.

I think that feeling can become especially amplified within parts of gay culture at times. There are moments where it can feel incredibly exclusive—as though worth is tied to appearance, status, wealth, popularity, or being part of the “right” crowd.

If you aren’t pretty enough, connected enough, or socially polished enough, it can leave you feeling invisible. And the truth is, that kind of environment can be exhausting for the soul when all you really want is authentic connection and belonging.

Because at the end of the day, I’m learning that what matters most is keeping focused on what is good for your spirit. The people who make you feel safe. The conversations that leave you lighter instead of drained. The spaces where you can show up fully as yourself without feeling like you have to perform to earn your seat at the table.

I think this is why I can’t stop thinking about the therapist who stopped into the Apothecary recently and told me she would hire me simply because the name on my name tag read as “Mr. Sunshine.” She probably had no idea how deeply that moment would land with me. 

Just a few days ago, I watched a video from Simon Sinek where he shared an article discussing how human beings often only need eight minutes of time from another person during moments of stress to no longer feel alone.

Eight minutes.

There was something incredibly powerful and heartbreaking about that to me all at once.

Maybe that’s the reminder I needed this month though.

And maybe it’s the reminder that you need this month too.

That meaningful connection doesn’t have to be extravagant to matter.

Sometimes healing looks like someone checking in.

Someone listening.

Someone making space for you—whether that means a quick text, phone call, FaceTime, walk, or espresso martini complete with vulnerable and honest words from the heart.

And maybe growth is learning that while exclusion may leave scars, it does not get to define your worth.

There are still good people, good conversations, and good souls out there—and perhaps the most important thing we can do is continue becoming one of them for ourselves and for others.

Sprinkle sunshine always,

JP!

Hi all!

It’s been a tough month to say the least. And the months ahead are going to be somewhat tough as well–but a humbling experience for myself awaits and continues to unfold.

Let’s dive right in.

Life has a way of shifting when you least expect it. One moment, everything feels steady and predictable, and the next, the ground beneath you changes at the drop of a hat. It’s in those moments that you realize how little control we truly have over timing, circumstances, and outcomes.

Some days feel light and hopeful, but others carry a weight that’s hard to explain—a heaviness that lingers in your chest and follows you through even the smallest tasks.

I’ve had days where that weight has turned into overwhelm. Days where my thoughts spiral and I start to question my worth, worrying that somehow the world will look at me and only see failure. It’s a quiet kind of fear, but a powerful one. The kind that makes you second-guess your path, your decisions, and even yourself.

And when you’re in it, it can feel incredibly isolating, like you’re the only one trying to hold everything together while it’s quietly falling apart.

Recently, I’ve been holding onto a quote that has both challenged and comforted me: “we all have to die a little to grow again.” At first, it felt heavy—almost too honest. But the more I sit with it, the more I understand.

Growth isn’t always beautiful or inspiring in the moment. Sometimes it looks like loss, like endings, like parts of your life falling away before you’re ready to let them go.

But maybe that’s where the transformation begins.

Losing a job unexpectedly is one of those moments that stings deeply. It can feel personal, even when you know it’s not entirely a reflection of your worth. There’s a grief in it—the loss of routine, identity, stability, and even confidence.

Picking up the pieces isn’t simple. It’s messy and uncomfortable, filled with doubt and questions. And yet, even in that discomfort, there is something quietly rebuilding beneath the surface.

Because as hard as it is to believe in those moments, things do have a way of working out. Not always in the way you planned, and not always on the timeline you hoped for—but often in a way that leads you somewhere more aligned, more honest, and more fulfilling.

I’m learning to be grateful for the people who have walked alongside me so far, offering love, support, and lessons that have shaped who I am.

For those who may not continue into the next chapter, I carry appreciation for what they’ve given me.

And for the people I haven’t met yet, I hold a quiet hope and openness, trusting that they, too, will play a part in the growth still to come.

Here’s to dying a little in order to grow again.

Sprinkle sunshine always,

JP!

Hi everyone!

Happy almost April!

2026 is flying by! And Mother Nature is still CRAY.

Anyway, it’s time to dig right in, so here goes.

Lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about how I spend my time—and more specifically, who I spend it with. It’s funny how something as intangible as time can start to feel incredibly tangible when you realize just how finite it is.

I’ve found myself taking quiet inventory:

Who leaves me feeling energized?

Who makes me laugh so hard I forget to check my phone?

Who helps me breathe a little deeper just by being around?

I’m learning that it’s not selfish to be intentional here—it’s necessary.

I’ve also been leaning into the moments that feel like small magic. The kind that sneak up on you make you pause in stillness—laughs at the family dinner table, cocktails with friends, game nights with people who make us laugh until our cheeks hurt.

Those moments used to feel like bonuses, but now they feel essential. They remind me that joy doesn’t always come in big, life-altering waves; sometimes it’s tucked into the quiet corners of ordinary days, waiting for you to notice.

Alongside that, I’ve been craving comfort in a way I never really have before. Soft blankets, familiar routines, evenings that don’t ask too much of me. There’s something powerful about choosing “comfy cozy” on purpose—about letting yourself rest without guilt, about not needing every moment to be productive or impressive.

It feels like a quiet rebellion against the constant push to do more, be more, prove more.

At the same time, I’d be lying if I said it’s been easy to stay positive. The world feels heavy lately—like there’s always something new to carry, something else to process. And I’m starting to realize that it’s okay to admit that.

It’s okay to feel sad, to feel overwhelmed, to not have a perfectly optimistic outlook all the time. There’s a strange kind of relief in allowing those feelings to exist without trying to immediately fix or reframe them.

Sometimes, just acknowledging the weight is enough.

And in the midst of all this reflection, somehow, I’ve also watched Zootopia 2 six times since it dropped on Disney+.

Six. Times.

At first, it felt like pure comfort watching, but somewhere along the way, it started to feel like a gentle reminder. Beneath the humor and the nostalgia, there’s this simple but profound message: we’re all different, and that’s not something to tolerate—it’s something to embrace.

Maybe that’s the thread tying everything together for me right now.

Being intentional with my time, holding space for both joy and heaviness, finding comfort where I can—and remembering that empathy isn’t just a nice idea, it’s something we have to actively practice if we want to make this fractured world feel a little more whole.

Sprinkle sunshine always,

JP!

Well, hey there folks!

February is almost over and it has been just about a month since my last post!

Say WHAT?!?!

Where is the time going?! Goodness gracious me.

There is a kind of love that exists before romance, before friendship, before anyone else ever gets a say in who we are. It is the quiet, steady relationship we build with ourselves. Self-love is the most important love because it is the foundation every other connection stands on. The way we speak to ourselves becomes the way we allow others to speak to us. The way we value ourselves shapes what we believe we deserve.

The discovery of self-love is never finished. It isn’t a destination we arrive at, unpack, and stay forever. It is evolving, shifting as we grow, stumble, learn, and try again. Some seasons we feel strong and grounded, confident in our skin and certain of our worth. Other seasons feel foggy, like we’ve misplaced the map and can’t quite remember how to get back home to ourselves. Both are part of the journey.

In a world filled with highlight reels and polished images, it can be so easy to lose our footing. Comparison sneaks in quietly. We measure our bodies, our successes, our relationships, our timelines. We scroll and suddenly everyone else seems brighter, further ahead, more put together. In those moments, self-love can feel distant, like a language we used to know but can’t quite translate anymore.

But the beautiful thing about self-love is that it is patient. It waits for our return. We are allowed to wander and still come back. We can catch ourselves in the act of comparison, take a breath, and gently turn inward again. We can remember that someone else shining does not make us dim. There is room for all of us.

Coming back to ourselves means becoming our own biggest fan. It means cheering for our progress, forgiving our missteps, and choosing compassion over criticism. It means celebrating the small victories no one else sees. It means learning to sit with who we are today while still believing in who we are becoming.

Self-love asks us to participate in our own lives as allies rather than enemies. To speak kindly. To rest when we need it. To try again when we fail. To believe that we are worthy of the same tenderness we offer so freely to the people we love.

And maybe that’s the real practice: not perfection, but returning. Again and again, as many times as it takes, we come back home to ourselves.

Sprinkle sunshine always,

JP! 

Well, hi there folks!

It is officially 2026!

Am I the only one that feels like 2025 just flew by?

Actually, it FLEW by.

Yes, that is all caps.

Well, we are starting this January with some words for you enjoyment!

Well buckle up because here goes!

There’s no single photo that can hold an entire year.

I tried—scrolling through my camera roll, pausing on moments that made me smile, moments that made my chest ache a little, moments that felt like milestones. But the truth is, this year wasn’t about what I captured. It was about what quietly changed me.

This year was a collection of feelings more than events.

It sounded like singing my heart out at a Katy Perry concert with Devin and Karey and surrounded by strangers who somehow felt like friends for a few hours. It tasted like adult beverages shared over laughter—the kind that sneaks up on you and reminds you how good it feels to be fully present.

It looked like saying yes before I felt ready—starting a podcast with Karey, trusting that our conversations were worth sharing, and learning as we went–and laughing all the way. It looked like stepping into the role of Music Director at St. Luke with equal parts humility and awe, realizing how sacred it is to be trusted with something that touches people’s hearts.

It felt like beach trips that filled my cup in familiar ways—and one that changed me completely. My first solo beach trip taught me how to sit with myself, how to listen to the quiet, how to breathe without rushing to the next thing. The ocean didn’t ask anything of me. It simply reminded me that rest can be healing.

There were firsts that still make me smile: my first Market Days in Chicago with Devin, soaking in the energy, the joy, the freedom of it all. Casino trips with Marissa—late nights, bright lights, and memories that didn’t need photos to be permanent. Moments that live somewhere deeper than my phone.

This year was also about people—the kind who anchor you.

Quality time with friends and family grounded me more than I can fully put into words. Long conversations. Shared meals. Comfortable silences. Being reminded, again and again, who I am when I’m surrounded by the people who know me best.

It was walking into my first Hope Noted Summit carrying questions and quiet heaviness—and walking out carrying something lighter. Not answers necessarily, but hope. And sometimes, that’s enough.

If this year taught me anything, it’s that joy doesn’t always announce itself loudly. Sometimes it shows up softly. Sometimes it looks like rest. Sometimes it’s choosing presence over productivity. Sometimes it’s realizing that you don’t have to earn the right to slow down.

As I step into 2026—the year of the Horse—I’m choosing forward motion with softness.

This will be a year of tending to my mental health with intention. A year of reading more and cluttering less—both in my space and in my mind. A year of recharge, not rush. Of honoring my energy instead of draining it.

Here’s to the year that held me when I needed it most. And here’s to the year ahead—one I’m stepping into gently, bravely, and with an open heart.

Sprinkle sunshine always,

JP!

Hi all!

Surprise! It’s me!

The week of Christmas and I’ve got some new words for you!

Yay!

Let’s get right down to it, shall we?!

The week of Christmas carries a unique kind of energy. It’s filled with lights, music, gatherings, traditions, and expectations—but also with exhaustion, reflection, and sometimes quiet heaviness. While the world feels loud with celebration, this week can be a reminder that joy doesn’t have to be rushed, forced, or perfect.

This season invites us to pause.

Protecting your peace during the week of Christmas isn’t selfish—it’s necessary. Between last-minute errands, family dynamics, social obligations, and the pressure to make everything “magical,” it’s easy to forget to check in with ourselves. But peace isn’t found in doing more; it’s often found in doing less.

Mental health matters just as much during the holidays as it does the rest of the year—maybe even more. It’s okay if this season brings mixed emotions. It’s okay if you feel joyful one moment and overwhelmed the next. Giving yourself permission to feel exactly where you are is a powerful form of self-care.

This week is also a reminder of the impact kindness has—especially the quiet kind. Kindness toward others looks like patience in conversations, grace in misunderstandings, and understanding that everyone is carrying something unseen. But kindness toward yourself is just as important. Rest when you need to. Step away when things feel heavy. Say no without guilt. Say yes to moments that fill your cup, even if they look simple or still.

As Christmas approaches, remember that presence matters more than perfection. The most meaningful moments often happen in the in-between: a shared laugh, a moment of silence, a deep breath taken before reacting. These are the moments that protect peace and nurture connection.

May this week be less about expectations and more about intention. Less about doing and more about being. And as the year winds down, may we all move through this season with softer hearts, steadier minds, and a little extra kindness—for others and for ourselves.

Sprinkle sunshine always,

JP!

Hi folks!

It’s about that time for your monthly Mr. Sunshine blog post!

Thank you for being a part of this journey and continuing to support me and read my words!

Let’s get right down to it because before we know it, Thanksgiving and Christmas are going to be here and over in the blink of an eye!

In a world that often praises strength, independence, and resilience, men are frequently expected to carry emotional weight in silence. Yet true strength isn’t found in pretending everything is fine—it’s found in acknowledging that our mental and emotional well-being matters.

Men’s mental health has long been overlooked or minimized, but the reality is clear: without tending to our inner world, every other area of life suffers. Careers, relationships, friendships, and even physical health all begin to feel the strain when the mind is overwhelmed or neglected.

That’s why pausing—truly pausing—to understand self-love is essential. Self-love is not indulgence or ego; it’s the foundational act of giving yourself grace, compassion, and space to grow. It’s allowing yourself to rest when you’re tired, to feel without judgment, and to acknowledge your worth without external validation.

When men slow down enough to check in with themselves, they often discover unmet needs, unresolved stress, or emotions they didn’t realize they’d been carrying for far too long.

Making your mental health a priority isn’t a luxury; it’s a responsibility. It requires consistency, honesty, and sometimes uncomfortable change. That might look like setting boundaries, seeking therapy, having hard conversations, or stepping back from environments that drain you.

It can also look like embracing healthier routines—exercise, mindfulness, hobbies, or quiet moments of reflection. The goal is never perfection; it’s a commitment to choosing yourself, day after day, even in small ways.

At the end of the day, caring for your mental health is one of the most powerful acts of leadership you can offer yourself and those around you. When men prioritize their inner well-being, they show up with greater patience, presence, and authenticity.

They become better partners, better fathers, better friends—and most importantly, better versions of themselves. No one else can take care of your mind for you. It starts with awareness, continues with intention, and grows with courage.

And you are worth that effort every single day.

Sprinkle sunshine always,

JP!

Hey there, friends!

It’s that time again — another post from yours truly!

Speaking of time… it’s currently 1:04 a.m. as I write this. What can I say? Sometimes my best ideas show up after midnight (or technically, very early in the morning).

Anyway, let’s get down to it.

I don’t know if you’ve noticed — but there’s been a lot of heaviness floating around lately. The world feels a little more divided, a little more tense, and honestly, that can weigh on anyone.

It’s tough to stay upbeat when everything feels uncertain. Especially for those of us who usually see the glass as half full and sparkling.

That’s why the title of this week’s post is a simple reminder: you are enough.

And because I’ve been collecting little bits of wisdom lately (thank you, internet, podcasts, and random coffee shop walls), I wanted to share a few that have really hit home:

✨ Go where your energy is celebrated.
✨ Quality over quantity.
✨ Broken crayons still color.
✨ Comparison is the thief of joy.
✨ Your tribe is your vibe.
✨ Protect your peace.
✨ “No” is a full sentence — no explanation needed.
✨ You. Are. Enough.

As we start wrapping up 2025 (how did that happen so fast?!), I hope the next couple of months bring you love, joy, and laughter — the kind that fills your cup back up.

Let’s keep lifting each other higher, spreading a little kindness where it’s needed, and remembering to give ourselves a break too.

Sprinkle sunshine always,

JP!

Well, folks—here we are.

It’s almost the end of September. Fall is in full swing, pumpkin season has arrived, and somehow it’s been just over a month since I last shared some words with you.

WOOO!

But let’s dive right in, shall we?

September is Suicide Prevention Month. While I personally haven’t faced those struggles in my own life, I know many people do—and it’s important to pause and acknowledge that.

So if you’re someone who needs to hear this today:

You are not alone.

You are appreciated.

You are worthy.

You are loved.

And the world needs your story.

Over the past year, I’ve been leaning into the practice of self-love—making sure my cup is full so I can show up as my best self for my family, friends, and community. Because the truth is simple: if we can’t love ourselves first, how can we fully share love with the world?

This past weekend reminded me just how powerful that practice can be. I had the absolute pleasure of attending my first-ever Hope Noted Summit at Pineapple Manor in Millersville. The experience was filled with restorative yoga, forest bathing, and blackout poetry—all surrounded by a community rooted in love and free of judgment.

It was glorious. And honestly? I didn’t realize how much I needed it until I was there, fully immersed in the moment.

If you’re not already following Hope Noted on social media, I can’t recommend it enough. Alicia and her amazing team were such a joy to meet in person, and the work they’re doing is deeply inspiring.

hopenoted.com

So, what’s the takeaway?

Be intentional about creating time for you—whatever self-love looks like in your world. And above all, keep seeking connection: with yourself, with others, and with the world around you.

Sprinkle sunshine always,

JP!