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It requires me to be fully in my body, while also allowing me to escape the spirals of anxious thought that can sometimes make me feel like a prisoner. The space created is then usually filled with creative ideas, insights into situations, clarity on certain conversations. I feel more grounded in my feet when I leave the gym, somehow taller and more confident in myself.

It is not uncommon for me to spend the 12-minute walk home filling my Notes app with all new words and articulations of more nuanced feelings.

Why does any of this matter to you?

Take it as a gentle reminder from me that spiritual practice happens inside of you, regardless of what you’re doing.

Breakthroughs don’t only happen with yoga or tai-chi. Clarity isn’t isolated to prayer, meditation or gardening. Spiritual practice can happen whatever you’re doing, as long as you’re doing it for the purpose of cultivating experiences and feeling something new.

Stay curious, loveys. And have a great start to the week.

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I approach peri/menopause symptoms the same way I do everything else in life—with curiosity.

Waking up at 4.30AM. Wow, I’m angry. What gentle thing can I do right now to feel better? Reading? Crossword? Mmm, I can’t get back to sleep. Let’s go to the gym earlier than usual.

Numb arm, numb leg, etc. The more you focus, the more your cortisol spikes, the more numb it gets. What is this fear? It’s permanent, not being able to exercise the way I like, dropping and breaking things. Make a cup of tea, babe. Slow down. This will pass.

Curiosity helps me to emotionally regulate and find (some) equanimity.

But what to do with this constant rage?

Two

When I had an office job, if faced with a dilemma, I would ask myself, “What would an over-confident, middle-aged white male do?” And it worked every time.

As I move through the first stages of this last and greatest transformation into full and unapologetic female empowerment, I’ve started to lean even more into my masculine energy. Capitalism, sexism and hustle culture want women to fall apart, they want us to feel unsexy and irrelevant, because they are afraid (rightfully) of what will happen should we move gracefully and boldly towards the deeper power that comes with this transition. They want us crying and messy and unsure of our talents, because in moments of weakness, women have been taught to work harder for validation, to prove that we’re “good enough”.

So let’s not do that. If society wants me to fall apart, because that’s how the status quo gets maintained, then maybe we need a new approach to undermine the status quo and take our power back.

What if we reject what they would have us do and embrace our more masculine energy instead?

What does that mean, concretely? Cultivating focus through structure. Implementing discipline and setting firm boundaries so that we can accomplish our goals. Not apologizing for having feelings or pretending that it isn’t happening.

Letting go of what doesn’t matter and doubling down on what does.

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Let the masculine energy in. It’s already there within you. Every organism has both feminine and masculine energy. It’s a question of balance. We can still be the nurturing, compassionate, feeling creatures we are, but also support our communities, take decisive action and establish justice where it is lacking.

Too many of us are feeling anger at the unfairness of the situation. I say, let’s get curious about our anger. Figure out what’s at the root and then redirect that intensity towards the systems and people that want to erase our power. Let’s redirect it towards positive action that will nourish our selves, our communities.

Three

Yes, you can still be soft and nurturing and kind. Because to be honest, to get through this, you have to love yourself. Love yourself enough to ask doctors more questions, to advocate for options. Love yourself enough to be honest and unashamed of what you’re feeling, of what you need. Love yourself enough to say no when you’re too exhausted, too mad or too sad to do what they want you to do. Love yourself enough to take care of your body, your mind, your feelings.

After a lifetime of battling with self esteem, body image, sexism, racism, capitalism, after a lifetime of fighting to take up your rightful space, nature is forcing you to give yourself the love and care you denied yourself for so long. And that’s why they paint peri/menopause with dark colors, why they make it seem as if our life ends here, it’s because deep down they know we will only get more powerful once we are able to love ourselves truly, once we reach our final and most powerful, embodied form.

And we will get to the other side, but until then, we need to love ourselves right now, to let that love ripple upwards and outwards, so that it can multiply and grow, nourishing our bodies, our minds, and those around us too.

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Last week, I found it in an unlikely place—Mon robot, mon amour, a French-language podcast produced by LaPresse, about people who have relationships with AI. It’s a very compassionate look at lonely/isolated people who are relying on AI not as a replacement for real relationships, but as a way to keep themselves open and vulnerable while they transit through a period of uncertainty.

Not as an escape from the messiness of human interactions, but as a tool for exploring their feelings in a safe space where mis-steps will not re-open old wounds.

I didn’t even get to the third episode before I realized that we are all in the same place right now—trying to figure out what we want, being unshamed of wanting what we want, but also not waiting, and actually looking for new ways to grow, preparing ourselves for when other new doors will open.

We are experiencing a return to yearning and it’s gorgeous.

A yearning to connect with others, yes, but also to connect more deeply with ourselves.

Am I being overly optimistic? Maybe. But look at the content we’re consuming and being consumed by lately. Heated Rivalry, a steamy series that’s also about emotional connection, consent and care; a lovely paean to ‘if he wanted to, he would’. Love Story, told in the years before apps and social media, when lovers had to go above and beyond to impress, with gestures and words, and bodies weren’t filled with plastic. Even The Pitt! Yes, everyone is swooning over Dr. Roby and Dr. Abbot because they’re handsome, but also because they are competent and decisive, flawed but committed to doing the right thing. Accountability? Hot!

We are all so hungry for kindness and love and connection. Pebbling is cute, but can a meme ground you when you need it most?

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I see this return to yearning in women who have decentered men. Present company included.

We crave vulnerability, we yearn for connection and a partner, but the current world is not providing us with options as men are still trying to confront (or not) their own roles, biases and needs. We have learned how to self soothe, to draw strength from our selves and from our friends, to yearn for other things that are attainable. When we realized that we cannot depend on one person to provide all things, we learned how to spread our needs across our network, with activities and self care.

But the yearning is there still.

I think we have to lean into this more. Experimenting with desire, looking for signals that tell us where to direct that desire. But also accepting the things we yearn for, that they are not cringe, and finding that yearning beautiful. Yearning is important in its own right, it doesn’t need to be satisfied to provide meaning. Sitting in yearning teaches us a lot. First and foremost, it gives us the grace to accept that love and connection when it does come.

What are you yearning for lately?

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As I shuffle through the icy underpass, a few winter cyclists trundle past, a slush-splattered bus roars through. Nothing pretty to look at, but plenty to take notice of. By the time I reach for the door handle, I am eager to be inside — not only because I’m cold and want to warm up, but because I can finally take out my phone and write down all the downloads that came in.

This walk is one of the nicest parts of my day. A daily confirmation that I am on the right path with this writing project, this writing life.

It’s the biggest win in the world to find ease in creativity. I still agonize over tone, plot, whether these words are true to a character, the sorry state of my handwriting, etc. but with this new project, there is less struggle and more joy and I intend to enjoy it while it lasts.

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If you’re looking for some ease in your self-talk as a writer, here are some reminders:

The more you try to force an idea, the harder it will be to find and capture.

The more space you create for the idea to come in, it will do so, without fail.

Don’t think of your idea as finding a four-leaf clover. Truth is, you can step into any park and, if you have the patience, you will find a four-leaf clover. Yes, they are “rare” relatively speaking, numbering just a few among the millions of regular clover. But, don’t forget, a good idea is just one among the many millions of thoughts you have every day. You just have to be patient enough to find it. And who knows what other treasures you might find in the meantime?

What is helping you retain your faith and nurture your patience of late?

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But this was no inspiration out of the blue. I’ve been kicking around this idea—in one form or another—since 2009. It’s just that, only now, did all the necessary pieces fall into place.

Fact is, some ideas may come out of seemingly nowhere, but most of the time, ideas take months and even years to manifest and develop.

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When I started teasing out the full plot of the novel, I built a chronology of how the idea developed. To see if there were any other interesting kernels that could be useful.

It all started in 2009 when I read about a fascinating archetype in my yoga teacher training manual. A few years later, I had an idea for a futuristic short story, but never did anything with it. In 2018 though, I brainstormed with one of my colleagues to understand how the technology could work for that short story, but it was too complicated so I dropped it again. Soon after, in 2019, while vacationing in Italy, I spontaneously started sketching out a character—completely unrelated to any of previous ideas.

Fast forward to this past December.

Following an unrelated email exchange about publishing trends, I realized that the 2019 character could anchor the story developed in 2018. Some of the details changed, and so did the timeframe, but she was the ideal narrator to give the story its necessary legs. And she would embody the archetype I read about in 2009—adding dimension and richness to the main themes.

It was an absolutely miraculous and gorgeous process. I felt like a genius. And the whole thing was far more satisfying that having an idea magically appear, I tell ya’.

As Elizabeth Gilbert once aptly said, “Ideas are driven by a single impulse: to be made manifest”, but there’s no timeline on how long that will take. In my case, my idea needed 15+ years to reach maturity. The opening scene came easily expressly because I had been gathering images, experiences and discussions for so long.

How does this apply to you and your desire to develop an idea for a novel?

Let this be a reminder that ideas are germinating and growing inside of you all the time. The idea you seek is already coming together, but you need to make space for that idea to emerge into your conscious brain.

Read. Observe. Go to the movies. Take walks. Talk to friends, talk to strangers. Make crafts. Every moment of your life is nourishing that idea, whether you are aware of it or not, and you never know when all the pieces will fall into place for you.

So remember to take notes, always. What on the surface seems trivial, may be key later on. And your intuition usually does a pretty good job of identifying what feels interesting and potentially useful.

You have all those notebooks for a reason, friend! Pop one into your tote today, along with your favourite pen.

And if you have an idea you’re working with, can you trace where it all came from?

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He came back almost immediately, “Make it more personal”.

My giggle (“Of course he’s so right!”) turned into a cackle (“Oh, the irony!”)

Because my word for 2026, you see, is people—and that means making everything personal.

There’s a lot of discussion about what isn’t working right now. I’m not referring to war, fascism, climate change and the threat of AI. There’s not much I can do about that anyway. I’m more concerned with what I observe in my city. How people behave in the streets and other shared spaces, how we speak to service staff and our co-workers. All the signs that the social contract is, indeed, fractured.

Others have already written eloquently about the rise of apathy and declining engagement in our post-pandemic context. If you missed it, there’s how we all have main-character energy now (reducing everyone else to NPCs), the enshittification of tools we once used to tell our stories, and how everyone wants a village, but no one wants to be a villager.

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So, knowing what isn’t working and having some clear ideas about why, what now? What can we—you and me—do to improve our lives and our communities? With the underlying hope that, ultimately, in connecting with other humans on a small scale, we might potentially create a ripple that shifts the bigger problems that plague us.

And then I fell upon this article by Rachel Barr — How to Build a Romantic Resurgence — in which she posits that a society built around metrics and measurable success is making us less human. Definitely read the whole thing, but here are the main ideas:

The key to true societal change is coming back to people.

To this end, here is what I am committing to in 2026:

1. Embracing the values of the New Romantics — favouring humans over metrics, walking more, writing more, making things more, talking to people more.

2. Making more things with my hands — including food to share, embroidery projects and more poetry collections that help create conversation.

3. Amplifying projects, people and initiatives —especially those that value DIY, making and craftsmanship.

Is this overly optimistic of me? Perhaps, but if you look carefully at the culture around you, you’ll notice that humans are already making gains over metrics. The decline of Marvel movies and the resurgence of well-written and visually stunning films like Hamnet and Sentimental Value. On TV, the popularity of Heated Rivalry, made with a tiny budget and with unknown actors, made us all believe in intimacy and love again. Beyond that, Porsche’s latest ad marks a return to hand-drawn art and 3D animation, and Pixar also is working on a new hand-painted feature called Gatto.

The momentum is only starting, so it’s the perfect time to add our efforts to the cause.

Looks like the aggressive shoving of AI down our necks may be forcing our creative brains to come back online. It may not be obvious quite yet, if only because it’s moving at human speed and not mega-server-processing speed. It takes time to make things, tell stories and build relationships, there are no shortcuts.

I suppose that means I need to add a fourth item to my list… Being patient with myself, with others and with the process.

I feel good about 2026. What about you?

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The window from the bedroom, however, frames a view of the cortile and the palazzine across the way, facades painted in honeyed shades of cream, yellow and orange, antennae of all heights rising into a sky that’s still pale blue as the sun edges its way up. A woman stands in a window almost exactly mirroring mine, her profile pointing south while mine points north, the both of us contemplating breakfast, what the day holds, the exquisite transparency of this morning light.

In the evening, the colours deepen at golden hour. The windows across the way now showing a table set for four, an apron darting by, a steaming black pot on a trivet. Children, presumably, being called to dinner. To the right, a dark-haired woman pins laundry on the clothesline, her hands efficient and white. And over there, a tiny girl does homework, her grandfather standing over her, instructing with a pointing finger. Just below, leonine shadows are picking over the garden wall as lights begin to switch on all around.

This feeling is part of why I am so enamoured of Rome, these homes built for humans, for the community, that make you feel like you belong.

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How wonderful to be a witness to the lives of others and be witnessed in turn. To wonder about their joys and sorrows, and speculate on what stories they are telling about you. What a privilege to see the everyday items and rituals that punctuate the human experience unfolding around you. And oh, the tenderness I feel in watching a white tshirt slip off a clothesline and float down two floors to the bramble below. Wishing I could wave to the woman who was there just before, to enthusiastically point to where it fell, to see her grin in gratitude, perhaps raise a hand, and then bask in the warmth of that brief connection.

But her kitchen window is dark and I have a reservation for dinner.

I am hungry, but also thrilled at the prospect of what else might unfold out here when I return.

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More specifically, I just finished reading a book on the philosophy of menopause and the closing line is too good not to be shared. Here it is, translated from the Italian by me:

Accepting every day that we are no longer what we were the day before is the only wisdom that allows us to not live with regrets, remorse, with constantly disappointed hopes—but to live, instead, with the pieces that we have accumulated over time, lost, and then found again, pieces that are randomly thrown together, like objects in an old drawer, but that we can string together with the love we have for ourselves.

Or, arguably, that can be strung together with artistic expression.

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Travel postcard from Rome

Buying a little gift? It gets wrapped in cute paper.

Grabbing an assortment of pastries for dinner? It gets wrapped in cute paper.

Bought a slice of pizza to eat in the park? It gets wrapped in cute paper.

Want a bag? That’s 20 cents. But the wrapping? Free—and did I mention it’s cute?

They often seal the wrapping with a sticker or a ribbon But sometimes, the clerk does an origami fold that seals the wrapping without tape.

Everyday items dressed up with simple artistic flair, making the mundane all the more wonderful.

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The book immediately tumbled into my hand, “La donna é mobile” by Gloria Origgi, a slim treatise on the philosophy of menopause. The last copy. And on the topic of my next writing project.

Well played, Universe. Well. Played.

I haven’t finished reading it yet. I studied philosophy in university and I can read Italian with ease, so the writing is accessible, but it’s slow going nonetheless. There are gems to be underlined on every page and sometimes, after reading a passage, I just need a moment to reflect on what Origgi says about this major transformation and how we can use it as a tool for growth.

There is this one passage about “female time”, in which Origgi distinguishes the time that is imposed upon women by capitalism, patriarchy and culture, from the actual, natural tempo of our biological bodies. It’s so rich! So I used DEEPL to do a quick and dirty translation that I cleaned up and refined for your reading pleasure.

The transformation that began a few years ago has taken us to another shore. A tectonic plate has shifted, even broken away, and we find ourselves for the first time in uncharted territory. Time here works differently than before, but it’s a tempo that finally takes into consideration the true pace of a woman's life, sometimes faster and sometimes slower. We experience our life as a woman with its accelerations, pauses, cycles, and non-linearity. And this female time, although it is a difficult, sometimes painful experience, can also be liberating: female time breaks away from the irreversible, merciless, and entropic straight line of Western time, pushing us from order to disorder, from being to non-being. Female time comes with a notion of irreversibility—for we are not the same after menopause—making it a more complex dance, composed of highs, lows, pauses, and bursts of overwhelming intensity.  But we know that this experience defines us only for a short time, that many of its symptoms endure only as long as the transition lasts, that these symptoms will not be with us always. We will not be in menopause forever. Ice touched by the sun inevitably melts, turns into water and then vapour. But nothing prevents those droplets of vapour from turning back into ice somewhere else. Everything flows, yes, but not like traffic, more like water in a stream, encountering obstacles, rolling over stones, nurturing life and splashing when we dive into it. The experience of this time that is entirely ours, biological rather than physical, woven with delicate embroidery, guides us to a part of life and a relationship with ourselves that uncovers new qualities, or qualities that were less evident before, such as autonomy. For the first time, after this dark journey into the depths of our bodies, we no longer depend on anyone: not on our children, not on men, not on professional expectations built on the vertical, homogeneous, and linear nature of male time. The experience of this life transition frees us from a perception of ourselves that is deeply rooted in what “female life” has previously been structured around, that is, depending on and managing dependence: i.e. being directed by the needs of others, by the expectations of others, by a tempo set by others without any consideration of female rhythms.

Does any of this resonate with you? (even if you haven’t started the long journey into your third act) I highlighted my favourite line, but what else stands out for you? I would love to hear your thoughts, as always.

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Especially when travelling by plane.

You step into this big metal tube, and even if—intellectually—you understand that it’s moving, your brain can’t measure distance the way it does on a road trip. A few hours and a movie or two later, the plane lands and suddenly, magically, you’re somewhere else. Is this jet lag? Or time-travel lag? Who knows! Does it matter? Just wash your face and go cry in front of some beautiful art, okay?

This continuity reset, I have come to realize, is why travel is so deeply healing for me. Spend too much in the same place, doing the same things, I become less aware of the passing of time, my lens narrows, the wells of creativity are less active, moving in smaller, more subtle circles, but not open enough for bigger ideas to come in. I land and my senses dilate once more, awakened by this new environment to navigate and be immersed in.

And your girl is in need of some healing. Burning off the crust, as I call it.

So I am taking my depleted little self to a new destination (Paris) and then following that up, as the Tragically Hip instructed, with something more familiar (Italy).

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I’ve been getting so many recommendations for Paris, but it’s become overwhelming. Everyone has their experience of the city and they want to share it with me—it’s a joyful thing and I appreciate it.

But I am also a traveler who wants to have my own experience. I don’t like moving according to a checklist. Obviously, I am eager to visit the famous attractions and monuments that make the city iconic, but I am also looking forward to the in-between times when I can wander and explore, stumbling upon little treasures in unexpected places.

I just need to be immersed in beauty right now and cry in front of art at least once a day, is that too much to ask for?

If given the option to go up the Eiffel Tower or sit at a sidewalk café with an espresso and a book I can pretend to read while staring at passerby, I will choose the latter.

You know me—I need to do some faffing wherever I go.

What are the destinations that have opened you up to new ideas? Or maybe even changed the whole course of your life?

Write about it. Tell me about it. Call your mom about it!

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Two men and one woman. I don’t know if there’s any romantic involvement between them, as I’ve never seen them touch or be affectionate. In fact, they tend to stand in a triangle formation and do their strength training exercises facing one another, maintaining an overly-intense eye contact usually reserved for champagne toasts. I sometimes wonder if they aren’t a secret coven and this is how they covertly practice witchcraft, swinging dumbbells as they mutter spells.

They look French from France, a random assertion that only other Montrealers can understand. On some cellular level, we have stored data about the French Québécois face—and they don’t have the right features. I suppose I could take out my earbuds and listen for the accent, but they rarely speak. One man is bald with a beard and the other is clean-shaven with a pouf of hair. A nice symmetry. She, meanwhile, is slim and pleasant looking, but not visually a fit with her lily-white gym buddies.

Every time I see them, I wonder, “How did they come to this arrangement?”

The only answer I can muster it, “There are little dramas everywhere, if you take the time to look.”

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The Thruple may appear in one of my short stories one day, but I’ll need to let it marinate until I come up with a fitting circumstance to challenge their dynamic.

My main point here is, anything can inspire a short story, poem, song or novel.

When Taylor Swift announced her engagement to Travis Kelce last week, some immediately suggested that her next albums would be the lesser (for lack of heartbreak) or that the divorce album would be a banger. This got me and my creative buddy—singer-songwriter Julie Neff—talking about the limited ways in which we define a good story worth telling.

“Why does it always have to be about a break-up or pain?”

Yes, Taylor Swift writes evocatively of longing, love and loss, finding the words for moments that so few among us can articulate, but she’s also written songs about friendship and family, growing-up and self-discovery, death and rebirth.

Where are you limiting yourself? Are you only writing about breakups because that’s easy for you? How can you challenge yourself to write outside what feels comfortable and easy? Are you underestimating the drama of the everyday?

And don’t forget—no one story is ever about just one thing. If you want to write a love story, you still have to write secondary plots that gravitate around the couple. They do not live in a bubble, after all. You are creating a universe with a complex hub of stories that run parallel, that overlap, that get tangled up and threaten the happiness of the beloved couple.

My guess is that many of you have a moment or a character that you’d love to write about, but you’re convinced that it’s “too boring”, that no one would want to read it. I challenge you to write that idea on a piece of paper and start brainstorming about what that story could look like. You might surprise yourself with what’s possible once you start unpacking it.

And if you want a second opinion, send it to me. I’ll give you some feedback!

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Lastly, if you’re strolling around NDG, one of my poems is in the window of Encore Books and Records until September 11. Do feel free to linger in front for a few minutes, if only to encourage other passerby to stop and have a look.

If you don’t have a chance to get there in time, you can read the poem here.

The desire to do something is strong, but the options seem few. I can’t stop a genocide. My words can’t end war. Posting memes won’t change any minds. But there is something I can do to make my community stronger and more empowered, to replace that helplessness with purpose.

I can make things.

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For all the power I don’t have, I do have eyes that see, hands that move, ears that listen, a mouth that speaks and a face that people want to talk to. It has been the greatest joy of my life, in these last few years, to use these resources in service of a greater good.

Making bread and sharing with friends and neighbours. Launching the perimenopause/menopause project in collaboration with Erica Botner. Assisting friends with CVs and podcasts, editing documents, and contributing to their artistic projects. Teaching yoga.

Actions that nourish me and help others too.

In a world that seeks to automate my life, disconnect me from others and influence my opinions, I am choosing to make more things with my hands, to build and expand my communities, to talk about big ideas that spread compassion and understanding.

It is my sincerest hope that making changes at a micro level will eventually grow into a wave, and then more big waves, and then sea change. If we can become more fully engaged in our lives and actively support one another, if we can shake off the apathy and stop doomscrolling, then we just might make something better out of all this.

Meet Sophie Viau, founder and operater of No Gloss

This vision was what led the making of With Your Teeth in My Heart. Working with my friend, designer Jean-François Poliquin. Choosing local printers that we could meet with face-to-face. Creating a custom stamp to number each copy. Offering to manually insert artwork into the final printed manuscript before binding.

Every effort has been made throughout this process to showcase the humans behind the words and art. And that’s why I was especially thrilled at the prospect of using risography, and of working with Sophie Viau at NoGloss.

Located on the outer edge of the Mile-End, in a cosy, light-filled space, nestled in a warren of other studios, NoGloss creates riso prints, zines, illustrations and posters with soy-based inks, producing colour saturations and layers that give off a “lo-fi handmade feel with a touch of nostalgia”. Another ex-pat from the advertising world, Sophie Viau is as no-frills and charming as the art she creates.

To see more of Sophie’s projects—or to get a quote for one of your own—follow NoGloss on Instagram.

Psst! Making things with your hands also had a meditative effect that helps alleviate anxiety. Just sayin’!

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If you want to take your dreams of being a full-time writer seriously, you also have to take care of the business side of things.

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Without further ado, I present to you the new adrianapalanca.com.

Special thanks to Tom at Visual Communication Source for building me a clean, functional website and with plenty of room to grow. Loads of announcements coming this fall, so it’s nice to have a single source of news and updates (and in the process inspire you to submit your own writing 🥸).

Shout-out also to Saint-Aubin Photo for the cute headshot.

And because you deserve a treat for sifting through more admin, here’s a recent poem-in-progress.

ad xo

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Projects stumbling along, not developing as hoped. Stagnancy in the job market. Offers seemingly taking forever to materialize. Relationships facing so many unexpected starts and stops. Health issues lingering.

Not even the winds can decisively push away the clouds and allow the sun (or rain) to pour down on us. Instead, we just repeatedly take off or put on the same damned layers, sweating in this muggy soup of air despite it all.

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Me and everyone I know is so eager to move on, but the old is still pulling on our heels—the new only just coming into sight, but not quite here yet. A younger version of me would have applied pressure to situations and people, desperate to squeeze something definitive out of the hazy unknown, but not so much anymore.

I am happy to spend time with good people, to trust that moves are being made on my behalf behind the scenes, that all of the reflection and hard work I am putting in now will bear fruit in the fall. I have good food and patience and so much love around me.

All good things will happen in good time. For me, and for you.

What am I working on, you ask?

With Your Teeth in My Heart

My debut poetry collection is set to be released in the fall and there’s a cover I can finally share with you. Isn’t she the prettiest? 🤭

The P/M Project

Also, I am working with Erica Botner, a recreational therapist, to write a guide for women navigating the peri/menopause years. The goal is to compile stories, practical tips and overall support so that our second spring becomes a moment of insight, growth and expansion, rather than an ending or a fading away into irrelevance.

Why are we doing this?

Because the medical community still underserves uterus-having bodies. Because so many of us were raised by mothers who did not have the vocabulary or ability to speak openly about our bodies. Because as women, we have always relied on one another and traditional knowledge to survive the wilderness of womanhood. Because community is always part of the solution to any problem.

Because future generations deserve to feel less lost when their time comes.

How can you contribute?

Complete our 100% confidential survey while enjoying you next cup of coffee!

The response thus far has been overwhelmingly generous. But not surprising. After years of being ignored or dismissed, women are eager to speak of their experiences, to be heard, to be seen again.

How lucky am I to bear witness to such strength, such vulnerability?

I hope you will add your voice too!

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In many ways, Jean-François Poliquin is my twin. In that, his love of design takes the same shape as my love of words. Infinitely curious, constantly learning, passionately sharing knowledge with others, marrying substance with style, joyfully tweaking every detail and showing integrity in every thing. And JF’s talent/love for design is evident in his clothes, in the living space he’s created with his partner, in every vacation photo and even in the name of their beloved corgi.

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When it came time to choose a designer for With Your Teeth in My Heart, I knew that JF could deliver something that would reflect me, my writing and the values dearest to my heart. I gave him carte blanche—”I want you to make something that you’ll also be proud of”—and what he delivered went above and beyond.

The visual lay-out is a stunning array of blues and purples, and while the design is very refined, it still has a DIY feel that makes it accessible and warm. But beyond that, JF chose a font created by a Montréal-based designer, he found a female-led small business to take care of the printing and another to handle the binding, all local. The printing process itself, risography, has a long tradition in Québec churches and schools. Every detail of this little book in steeped in this city, in our community.

The collection is split into three sections that can be read individually as a whole, complete story, but when read altogether, there’s a larger narrative arc connecting the three. Water runs through all the poems, and the cover reflects that, but what JF did for the section breaks truly floored me.

Up until I opened the file, I hadn’t reflected on how (or even if) the other elements resonate in the text. But when I saw the section breaks, I was floored to discover that JF had (somehow? witchily?) created images that represent the elements that actually do rule each section—air, fire and earth.

Good design truly does help you see the content from a different perspective.

Needless to say, I am in awe of what he has accomplished and cannot wait to share the full project with you very soon. In the meantime, here’s a taste.

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Listen, I am not condemning her writing in any way, but personally, I have never been able to connect with her characters. I barely made it through “Normal People”, had to skip to the end of “Conversations with Friends” and I haven’t bothered with anything since.

Touted as the first great Millennial writer, Sally Rooney has a well-deserved and passionate following, but her flat, muted style offers me no point of access. The lack of interiority—that is, scant description of the character’s emotional life—locks me out of the narrative every time.

If you, Main Character, don’t care about the decisions you’re making, then why should I? You want to be narcissistic and self-destructive? That’s okay! But can I get a little glimpse into the why? And if at the end, MC, you haven’t evolved in your thinking or actions, then why did I read this novel? I need something or someone to root for.

At least Lena Dunham gave me Shoshanna!

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I reckon that a lot of this boils down to a generational thing.*

I was born in the early 70s and like other Gen X kids, I developed a rich interior life early. Because there was no Internet to distract me from my thoughts, I learned to sit with those thoughts, relying on my senses and observations to show me the way through. My world was limited to my neighbourhood, the newspapers that came into the house, the library and my extended Italian community. Until I could afford the record store, music happened mostly on the radio. Popular TV shows came on once a week, but my older brother didn’t like the same shows, so I watched more Star Trek than I would have liked.

And because we didn’t have helicopter parents, no one was tending to our feelings or worrying about our self-esteem. Most of us had to build problem-solving skills early, learn to read situations quickly, and figure out how to self-soothe while still struggling with tying our shoelaces.

We always had the find the answers on our own, and we continue to do so, good or bad. Today, most of us are still self-directed, confident in who we are and way too busy doing to engage in a lot of showing. Notice how you don’t see many Gen X influencers.

When I look at my Millennial friends, I see the shift. As the first generation of digital natives, they were able to explore the world, practically in real time, without leaving the house. I marvel at how they use shared cultural moments, media and vocabulary to express who they are and their ideas, to connect with the world around them. Tattoos telegraph personalities before lips have parted. Their interactions a string of references, in-jokes and musical tastes that they leverage to constantly communicate this is who I am.

Millennials absolutely have interiority, but so much of their development seems to have hinged on projecting outwards, taking bold action and sharing what makes them unique. They experienced and learned how to channel their emotions differently, the way they consumed and disseminated culture is so different too—and that perhaps explains why Rooney’s writing resonates with them. She speaks to a generation that is more vocal and visual, rather than my more deeply reflective peers who are eager to meet other seekers on the path.

So yeah, I like a novel that balances action with interiority, that gives me insight into who this main character is and why they make certain choices, allowing my awareness and empathy to expand as I take the information in. I am able to read and enjoy other Millennial writers, but when that interiority is lacking, I just can’t connect with the story.

What compounds all this is our “unprecedented times”, in which the social compact is breaking down, empathy is at an all-time low and fascism is making a fashionable comeback. Now more than ever, I don’t want to read about passivity and disconnect. I want to read deeply human stories that remind me of our shared humanity, and that offer glimmers of hope.

How much interiority do you like in your stories?

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*I am using generational labels to establish a baseline for my thoughts; that said, I am absolutely aware that not everyone fits into the generational stereotype, so please take this post for what it is — observations and my perception of said observations.

Next on the reading pile

And yet, in recent weeks, I have also been to the movies, the theatre and the museum, I’ve read many books, journaled and embroidered, and I’ve spoken to friends old and new. There’s been gardening and baking, cleaning and cooking, home improvements and plant maintenance. I started weight lifting at the gym and committed to a more consistent yoga practice.

So much goodness going into my brain and body, but barely anything coming out.

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The problem, I suspect, is that my baseline has been thrown off. Disrupted sleep and digestion (thanks hormones!). Lack of freelance work making my days a little too unstructured. The horrors of the world persisting. Unpredictable weather cutting short my rambles. The weight of so many loved ones struggling in survival mode.

So while I wait for balance to be restored, here are some goodies. If anyone has books to recommend in turn—or if you have ideas for getting creative again, drop a comment! DM me! Send smoke signals!

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Reading recommendations

The secret at the heart of Meg Wolitzer’s The Wife is fairly easy to guess, so the reveal is not the main driver of this novel. What is, is the well-paced peeling back of Joan Castleman’s trajectory from a talented young woman in her first year at Smith College to the embittered, put-upon wife and mother, who has been coddling her “brilliant” writer husband for 40+ years. The depiction of women’s lives in the 50s-60s-70s is especially relevant in our current timeline, where “trad wives” and a longing for pre-feminism days is all the rage.

Liz Moore’s The God of the Woods is such a well-written page turner, I read all 496 pages in four days. Moore dots all her “i”s and crosses all her “t”s, delivering classic storytelling that doesn’t need a surprise twist to leave you feeling satisfied. Her characters are compelling and beautifully developed, there are two mysteries, family secrets galore, power and class dynamics, campfires and cocktails. Also takes place in the 60s and 70s, so they have to solve the mystery using their brains alone.

Don’t let the BookTok hype fool you. Jacqueline Harpman’s I Who Have Never Known Men is not a beach read — it’s a dystopian novel narrated by a girl who was raised in captivity with 39 other women in a cage underground. They have no memory of how they got there and when they miraculously escape, they find an unending grassy landscape with relentlessly mild weather and an occasional river. Harpman asks us, how to make sense of your self in a world without men, books, and anything beyond the basic necessities? In a world stripped of beauty, is it still possible to love and be loved, to be content with one’s life? If you’re feeling lost and lonely lately, this may not be the read for you. But if you want something that makes you question your priorities and reinforces your gratitude, then get thee to the bookstore!

New poem

Lately, I have been writing poems that take place all over Montreal. This latest was inspired by a walk home along Saint-Denis. It’s an homage to our beloved city, built on such a human scale that every outing inevitably involves a run-in with someone you know… or used to know. In case you missed it on Instagram, here it is again:

That’s all for now, folks! As always, your feedback is my favourite thing, so don’t hesitate to reach out. Fingers crossed that we all get more sun this weekend!

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Let’s take a stroll!

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You’re downtown and home is a short walk away. You’re hungry and eager to be reunited with the meatball sandwich waiting for you in the fridge. As you cross the McGill campus, there are paved paths pointing in every direction. But there are also worn footpaths that cut more directly across; the grass trampled by the passage of many others who were also eager to get home a minute or two sooner.

Unless I’m faffing, my feet will always take the footpath—sometimes consciously, but most often not. This compulsion works the same way desire does (thus the name). A need is activated deep inside your self and you feel compelled to move in a certain way. It may not make sense to others, but you cannot silence it or behave otherwise.

But why choose “Desire Lines” as the new name of my Substack?

I have a reputation for doing things my own way. I’m a Gen X kid raised by Italian immigrant parents, we didn’t have the Internet and I only had one much-older brother. I grew up always figuring things out on my own and my natural inclination to self-direct was only reinforced over time. Autonomy became my ultimate goal, I felt empowered and my confidence grew with every new achievement, no matter how small. I also learned how to conserve my energy in an environment that was constantly making demands on my attention.

To this day, I don’t like people telling me what to do and I like to work smart, not hard.

That said, I am not a contrarian at heart. I don’t want to be a rebel either. I choose the desire line over a traditional path—professionally, personally or creatively—because doing so (a) helps me attain my goal more efficiently and/or (b) it’s more aligned with my vision.

Since I started this Substack in September 2023, it has evolved. What started as an online collection of thoughts and concepts related to writing a novel, is now a general notebook about writing, using creativity to change how you view the world and allowing the world to transform your creativity in turn.

Going forward, that content and tone won’t change, but I needed a name that was more fitting. And Desire Lines feels right.

Whereas once the path was paved and edged with neatly trimmed shrubs, now we find ourselves in a tangle of wildflowers and long grass, following buzzy bees and butterflies across a dusty trail to find a river, clearing or some other unexpected marvel.

Let’s see where these desire lines take us.

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What are your experiences with desire lines? What steers you towards one path or another? And what area of your life could benefit from a sudden veer to the unknown?

If you want to learn more about desire lines, read this excellent article in The Guardian or visit the dedicated Desire Lines Subreddit.