Twice in the last week, I’ve dreamed of the Fibonacci sequence. I don’t remember either dream – only that in the second dream, I kept reminding myself that I had to remember those words when I woke up.

Of course, when I woke up, all I could remember was that there were two words I was supposed to remember. I knew they were related to something scientific and the first word started with “F.” Charlene knew right away what it was.

I had to look it up. It turns out that the Fibonacci sequence is about math. (Which sort of explains why I didn’t know anything about it. Sorry, Mr. Koch.)

The Fibonacci sequence is a series of numbers, often visualized as a graceful spiral resembling a snail shell, where each number emerges by adding the two before it. For example:

0+1=1, 1+1=2, 1+2=3, 2+3=5 etc.

As it turns out, the sequence appears in nature – a lot. It models how things grow. From the spirals of a sunflower to the branches of trees, it suggests progress that builds on the past and organic – unrushed – development and growth.

It all seems random at first but it’s deeply structured. A hidden order that maybe symbolizes my search for meaning in emotional or complex situations. Or a message to me to trust that things are falling into place even if I can’t see how.

It’s kind of poetic, isn’t it? A whisper from my mind saying, “Don’t forget. There’s a pattern to it all.”

The sequence is also tied to the golden ratio – the perfect proportion – which is often seen as the most pleasing proportion in art, architecture, and design. I think, in a way, that certain parts of my life have started aligning in that same, elegant way. Not in a flashy “everything is perfect” kind of way. But in a “I’ve found a rhythm that fits” kind of way.

That same feeling of quiet alignment – like things are falling into place – has echoed through my creative process, too.

For the past few months, I’ve been working on a novel – a fictional piece but, in many ways, each time I read the latest chapter, I find that it’s a reflection of me. Not in a literal sense; none of the characters are me. And yet, page after page, I find pieces of myself woven into their stories. Their fears, their longings. They echo the things I’ve felt but never said.

It’s strange how honesty finds its way in – even without permission.

It’s been hard at times.

Mostly the good kind of hard.

So, maybe that’s what the plea to remember the Fibonacci sequence – that quiet unfolding of numbers – was this morning. A reminder that this is also what the writing process has been for me: an unfolding. A way to honour where I’ve been. Each chapter building on old pain and new insight, slowly revealing something meaningful. My own snail spiral of healing.

I think there’s something beautiful about how my mind chose Fibonacci as the reminder. It didn’t reach for a name. Or a memory. But a pattern that only makes sense when you step back and see the whole spiral.

A pattern that feels chaotic up close, but from the right distance… starts to look like harmony.