A story of disruption, resilience, and that unexpected moment when life forces you to pivot into a new version of yourself.

This video previews “Agility” on Human Being with Dr. Susan – Episode 7. Aired 11/21/25 on Sandcastle Radio, America’s Hottest Online Variety and Music Station.

Agility and the Unlit Candle: A Personal Story from My Mom

Here’s a personal story about agility—a story from my mom. It’s a story that lives at the center of my family history—my personal history. Years ago, she wrote it down and titled it “The Unlit Candle.” It’s a story about disruption, resilience, and the unexpected moments when life forces you to pivot into a different version of yourself.

1970: A New Start in Delaware
The year was 1970. My parents were brand new to Delaware—young, hopeful, starting out with a baby girl and a handful of dreams. My mom had left her job at the University of Illinois to care for me. My dad had just started his first role as a chemist at DuPont. That’s why they moved to Wilmington. Money was tight. Life was simple, but it was good. My mom planned my first birthday with absolute joy. She baked a beautiful cake, decorated it with balloons and baby toys, and placed one large candle in the center—unlit, waiting for the moment. Family came in by train. They rented chairs for the living room. It felt like the beginning of something.

The Fire
But the morning of the celebration, just before lunch, my dad said, “Hold up. I smell smoke.” He opened the apartment door, and a wall of thick black smoke poured in. In seconds, my mom grabbed me. Everyone ran out barefoot into the sunlit parking lot, watching as the fire department fought flames pouring out of the lower level. That beautiful cake never got sliced. That candle never got lit. Later that day, once the fire was out, they were allowed back in to salvage what they could. Much was destroyed—clothes, keepsakes, their few newlywed belongings. Even the wire hangers were covered in soot and had to be scrubbed by hand. My parents had no renters’ insurance, no safety net—just each other and a baby with a birthday that never happened.

Aftermath and Unexpected Generosity
My parents relocated us to a motel. My grandmother and my aunt went back home. My mother called her family, embarrassed and overwhelmed. My Aunt Judy got on a plane immediately, traveling from Illinois to help. A local professor’s parents opened their ornate home to my parents and the baby—people they’d never met, because generosity has a way of finding people who need it. Eventually, my parents moved into a small bungalow and then into the home they still live in today. One disruption after another, and yet somehow they kept finding the next right move.

The Lesson My Mom Never Wrote
That’s the part my mom never wrote explicitly—but what the story teaches: agility is born in moments you never asked for. The moments where the plan burns down, literally or figuratively, and you’re left standing in the parking lot with nothing but a baby on your hip and a cake you never got to eat.

The Meaning of the Unlit Candle
The unlit candle became more than a story. It became a truth—a celebration that didn’t happen, plans that got erased, a version of life that didn’t survive the smoke. But also this truth: some candles don’t need to be lit to change your life. That day taught my mother—and eventually me—that agility isn’t a personal trait. It’s a response pattern. A willingness to regroup when you’re exhausted, to pivot when you’re heartbroken, to rebuild when you’ve already rebuilt more times than feels fair. It’s the ability to say, “Okay, this isn’t the story we planned, but it’s the story we’re in, and we’ll write the next chapter from here.”

Glimpses of a New Beginning
The unlit candle reminds me that every disruption contains a glimpse of a new beginning—even if you don’t see it at first, even if it’s wrapped in smoke, even if it costs you more than you thought you could bear. My mom survived that season. My parents built a life from those ashes. They restored what they could. They released what they couldn’t. And they kept moving forward.

What Agility Really Looks Like
That is agility. Not glamorous. Not poetic. Not Instagram-worthy. Just steady, human, persistent movement through uncertainty. And sometimes the most powerful symbol isn’t the candle you light—it’s the candle you never got to. I’m proud of my parents. And I think part of my agility comes from that moment when we lost everything in the fire.

___________________________

Wishing you glimpses of new beginnings, even when your candle remains unlit.

Susan Hendrich, with special thanks to my amazing Mom, Virginia Hertzenberg

__________________

Explore more with Dr. Susan

Dr. Susan’s website: http://www.sashaphilosophy.com

YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/ ⁨@susanhendrich⁩ 

LinkedIn: https://www.linkedin.com/in/hendrich/

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/hendrich/

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=61584417516967