mox·ie
/ˈmäksē
the quiet burn of an untamed spirit, the steady pulse of defiance beneath a calm exterior. It’s the kind of strength that doesn’t ask for permission, the weight of knowing exactly who you are in a world that prefers you uncertain. Moxie lingers in the space between a storm and its first strike, in the pause before a decision that cannot be undone. It is neither loud nor reckless—it is the kind of courage that watches, waits, and moves with purpose, leaving echoes long after it’s gone.

