Fred Wasn’t Always Fred

I used to think raccoons were just clever little chaos goblins. And maybe they are. But lately, one of them has been showing up in my life in a way I can’t ignore. Not in some mystical dream or vision. Just… in the woods. Behind the house. Every evening between 6 and 9, like clockwork.

At first, it was just funny. My wife and I had been dumping our old food scraps in that wooded spot for years. Usually we’d see stray cats show up to poke around. But lately, it’s been the same raccoon. Every day. Same time. Same path. Like he’s got his own little shift to clock into.

We jokingly gave him a name: Fred.

It was harmless. But also… not. Because the more Fred kept showing up, the more it started to feel like something. Not in a way I could explain. Just in that quiet way certain things hit when you’re finally able to slow down enough to notice.

He Wasn’t Always Fred.

And I wasn’t always someone who would’ve noticed.

For a long time, I didn’t have space for things like symbolism or signs. I grew up fast. I learned to look at things in a “realistic” way—because that’s what you do when you’re stuck in survival mode. There’s no time to wonder if a raccoon means something when you’re just trying to keep your head above water.

But lately, I’ve been trying to let myself unlearn that urgency. I’ve been trying to come back to the part of me that sees the world like a kid again. That believes weird things might actually matter. That healing doesn’t always come from answers—but sometimes from patterns. From presence. From letting things feel sacred even when they’re small.

Fred started showing up right as I was launching a brand, trying to rebuild my life from the inside out. Right as I was reflecting on old family dynamics, signs from nature, synchronicities I’d usually brush off. And now, this little raccoon has become something I can’t shake. Something that feels… woven in.

He’s not in the logo.
But somehow, he’s in the DNA of this whole thing.

Who is Fred really? I’m still figuring that out. But next time, I’ll tell you why I think he’s been following me my whole life—and why I finally noticed.

The Visitor Who Knew Me Before I Did

He didn’t say much. But somehow, I heard him anyway.