Naming What Was Already There

There came a point when the work no longer felt like a collection of thoughts or parallel paths. It had a shape—still fragile, still forming—but present enough to be acknowledged.

Naming it didn’t arrive with certainty. It arrived gently, almost reluctantly. As if the idea had existed long before I was ready to speak it aloud.

Manna felt less like something I chose and more like something I recognised. A word rooted in nourishment, provision, and care. Not abundance in excess, but enough. Enough to sustain, to grow, to continue.

Giving it a name made the responsibility real. It asked for commitment—for patience, honesty, and restraint. It meant accepting that this was no longer just a personal reckoning, but something that would need to hold others with care.

Manna didn’t begin as a brand or a project. It began as a promise to stay close to what matters—to people, to place, to process—and to allow beauty to take its time.