They were working on accepting that success didn’t have to mean earning a certain amount of money or accumulating an abundance of material things.

I’ve been reflecting on what the definition of success means to me this year.

My husband and I traveled back home this past week to see our families. While we were driving, we passed a beautiful house that I have admired since I was a child.

A long driveway leads back to a giant white house with large pillars in the front. As a kid, I told my parents I wanted to live there.

I saved my money in the hopes of one day having a beautiful house like that. When we were purchasing our first home, I was proud to use my savings to pay for the down payment.

And yet, once we lived in the house I realized I wanted more. That’s the thing about achievement. Every time I reach a goal, I am already onto the next one.

Success is similar to happiness.

You tell yourself, Once I have this, I’ll be happy.

It’s that moment right before it’s about to happen when you experience the most happiness. The anticipation of knowing you’re going to get everything you want. Only to realize, the moment is fleeting.

This year, I’ve realized success looks more like freedom.

Freedom to create my own schedule. Freedom to spend more time with the people I love. Having enough time to take care of myself. Being able to say yes to an afternoon off. Having the opportunity to pursue an idea simply because I’m curious about it. The accumulation of stuff doesn’t have the same appeal it used to.

Creativity Becomes Another Achievement

The trap for creatives is once you start making money with something you’ve made, it becomes tempting to keep making the item that sells.

Even on Substack, the pages that often are top sellers are the ones teaching you how to grow your Substack. Is that what those writers originally set out to do?

There is nothing wrong with creating something people love. But eventually, you can find yourself creating for the algorithm, the customer, or the paycheck instead of following your own curiosity.

The very thing that freed you can become your prison.

Sometimes the most creative thing you can do is step away from what is working and ask yourself:

What actually inspires me? What do I want to contribute to this world?

Reignite Your Creativity

If you’ve lost touch with that feeling, you don’t necessarily need to sit down and force yourself to create.

Go for a walk.

Take a class.

Dance.

Move your body.

Visit somewhere you’ve never been.

Pick up a book.

Return to your touchstones. The items that remind you what brings you joy. We spent a few days with our best friend and their kids at the beach. The youngest and I were sticking the tiniest seashells to our noses to get them to stick. I took those two tiny shells home as a reminder of our trip.

Creativity doesn’t always return when we demand it.

Sometimes it returns when we give ourselves enough space to notice what we’re curious about again.

Maybe redefining success means giving ourselves permission to stop chasing the next achievement long enough to enjoy the life we’ve already created.

Cleaning the house, washing all the laundry, restocking dog food, cat litter, tying up all the loose ends at work.

The Artist’s Way this week had a few exercises that were more intense. Diving into your toxic habits. Drinking, workaholism, toxic relationships.

Instead I chose to keep it light.

Make a list of touchstones, simple things in your life that bring you happiness.

Not everything needs to be a deep dive into your trauma to make a significant difference.

Here’s my list of small items in my life that make me happy:

My reading chair. Prickly Pete (my cactus of 17 years). My daily planner. My yoga mat. Freshly baked sourdough bread.

Enjoy your week! I can’t wait to hear the simplicities that makes you happy.

A conversation between myself, the owner of the yoga studio where I work, and my co-manager.

I was telling the owner how my co-manager had said we should be playing to everyone’s strengths. I jokingly asked her, “So what are my strengths?” knowing she would play along and tell me it was everything.

We all laughed.

The owner said, “I know what your weakness is. Not knowing when to take a break.”

I keep working long past the point where I should stop.

She brought up the time I came to work after barely sleeping because I was worried our dog who was diagnosed with pneumonia the night before. She sent me home and set up a massage appointment for me once we knew the dog would be ok for me to relax.

Little did she know, that this week’s chapter of The Artist’s Way would be about using toxic habits to block our creativity.

If you couldn’t guess, mine is workaholism.

My co-manager sat there smiling, knowing exactly how much I’ve taken on recently. Silently keeping my secret.

The timing of this chapter feels too perfect. In fact, every week has hit a nerve in some way.

My Finch app—the cutest little bird who helps me keep track of my to do list— suggested this week that I give myself permission to rest.

Apparently, the universe is sending all the signs until I listen.

I can easily make excuses why I can’t take a break. I’m in charge, I love what I do, we need the money.

After all of the financial hits we’ve taken this summer, I am the one who has the ability to increase our income. My husband is salaried, so when we need to make more money, I take on the responsibility without him asking. He would much rather I spend more time with him.

When I think about taking a break, I’m not necessarily thinking about all the things I should be doing. If I stop working for the afternoon, that’s money I could have earned.

So I keep going.

Until I need to sleep, eat or my brain can’t process another task.

I am well aware of what happens when you don’t rest. You get sick. You burn out and your body makes the decision for you.

We’re one week away from vacation, when I’ll be forced to do less.

And yet, I’m almost certain I’ll log on here and there. It’s nice to be able to earn money while we’re away. Yea I know— the excuses keep on coming!!

But at what cost?

My sanity? My yoga practice? My relationships? My creativity?

At what point is enough, enough?

We hired additional help at work. I am now getting an added benefit of hiring someone to provide whatever service I need to make my life easier. The relief is around the corner, if I choose to take it.

I already feel uncomfortable about what I will do with the extra time.

Maybe I’ll read more. Take more yoga classes. Write more. Enjoy a cup of tea in the morning.

I don’t need to fill every moment of every day with something productive. We all deserve rest without earning it.

This upcoming week self protection will mean trusting my life won’t fall apart when I take time off.

That’s the uncomfortable task Julia Cameron gave for the week. Because there’s only so many times you can complain about the same thing before making a change. Especially if you are forced to reread all the times you drone on and on about that complaint.

For months, if not years I’ve been wishing for another day off.

I’ve needed more support and a better schedule structure for a while now. This week, instead of journaling about it, I asked for change.

I had a conversation with my boss about finding more reliable help. She immediately scheduled interviews with two promising candidates.

Another unexpected opportunity appeared. A yoga teacher I’ve known for years was looking for a personal assistant.

Earlier this year, I considered walking dogs to get outside more, to increase my step count and spend more time with animals. I didn’t follow through with asking if anyone was looking for that. Part of this job will be to walk her two dogs.

As part of the application process for anyone she hires personally or for her law firm, she asks applicants to complete a personality assessment.

If you’re curious here’s the five elements test she looks at.

My result was The Pioneer:

Think of a massive tree reaching toward the sky — that energy often runs through you. You tend to be a natural leader, driven by growth and a vision for the future, resilient, protective, and constantly seeking to expand.

At the start of each year I set an affirmation for my vision board.

This year my affirmation was:

I am firmly rooted, creating the foundation for enormous expansion.

Whenever I pictured that affirmation, I imagined an enormous oak tree.

At the time, I thought the image represented stability with the potential for future growth.

I didn’t realize it also would represent surviving storms.

This summer has been a hard one.

Financial stress. Losing our cat. Part of our house flooding. Homeowners insurance. The anticipation of living in construction.

I never questioned whether we’d make it through. We’ve survived difficult seasons before and this would be no different.

Oak trees can’t avoid storms, they trust that their root system has cast a wide enough net to support them.

Unfortunately, as I look back to this year’s intention I realize I am getting what I wished for, in a different way than I expected.

I am proving I am resilient.

That personality test didn’t give me new insight into who I am, instead it reminded me of what I am capable of.

Growth rarely feels exciting while you’re living it. Usually it feels uncomfortable and emerges after difficulty. We all have the ability to thrive after facing difficult times.

The struggles of today are growing the roots you’ll rely on tomorrow.

This chapter challenged me to look beyond the excuses we give ourselves and ask a harder question:

What’s the real reason I am not actively pursuing creative endeavors?

Fear has a funny way of disguising itself.

We tell ourselves we’ll start tomorrow. When tomorrow comes, we spend our time organizing our space, answering emails, making lists all to convince ourselves we’re being productive. When in reality, we are avoiding the task that scares us the most.

Once we begin, we have to face the possibility of failure.

Or perhaps something even scarier.

Success.

Instead, we would rather be “busy being busy” than face our self doubt head on.

It’s scary to find out we might not be good enough. Although, I’d be willing to bet that’s not the case.

We have internalized that if you are going to do something outside societal norms, you better be exceptional at it or it wasn’t worth pursing.

If you’re going to write a novel... It better be published.

If you’re going to become an artist... You better make a living from it.

If you’re going to be an actress... You better win an Oscar.

That’s a lot of pressure to place on something that’s supposed to bring you joy.

Give Yourself Time

When my husband and I decided to move to Florida, I told my coworkers I was leaving Pennsylvania.

One of our truck drivers looked at me and smiled.

“I’m so happy for you. I hope I never see you again.”

It might sound harsh to someone who didn’t know our banter, but it wasn’t.

He wanted me to build a life I loved. He didn’t want to see me back at my old job defeated.

That comment still brings a smile to my face, and I hope he’s not working the same job as he was eight years ago either. We both understood the power of growth.

We’ve lived in Florida for eight years now and only recently have I begun to feel like I’ve found my footing.

Not just professionally, but in friendships, in community.

I am forever evolving into who I want to become.

We all want to feel settled into a new life as quickly as possible, but it can take years. We expect transformation to happen overnight, when in reality it’s often it’s an accumulation of small changes over time that shape us. Only in hindsight can we acknowledge all those little moments were moving us along the path.

Enthusiasm Is Better Than Discipline

Julia Cameron suggests relying less on discipline and more on enthusiasm.

It’s easy to get caught up in the idea that discipline is the responsible approach and enthusiasm is childish and unreliable.

Think about the excitement of beginning something new. That energy is what pulls us forward. Discipline doesn’t create momentum, when it’s Thursday and you’ve been stuck on the same paragraph for the past four days trying to perfect it.

Enthusiasm reminds us why we wanted to begin in the first place.

Instead of asking,

“How can I force myself to do this?”

The better question is,

“How can I make this exciting again?”

You Don’t Have to Figure It Out Alone

Successful people have mentors.

There are people willing to share what they’ve learned to help someone else. Asking for help isn’t admitting weakness. Growth rarely happens isolation.

As a child, my dad helped with my homework. When we came across a question I didn’t know the answer to, I kept guessing. Wrong answer after wrong answer. It makes me laugh thinking about my dad suffering through this interaction stuck at the same point waiting for me to admit I wasn’t sure.

Eventually, he said to me, it’s ok to say I don’t know. Prior to this, I didn’t know that was an appropriate answer. I’m sure he wouldn’t remember this conversation but this little moment changed everything. I was able to let go of the pressure of needing to have all the answers.

Professionally, “I don’t know, let me find out and get back to you” is perfectly acceptable.

Personally, it’s ok to admit you don’t know how you feel or what your next steps are.

That’s what mentors are for, to help guide you when you are unsure of the answers.

A Little More Compassion

This is your reminder to be kinder to yourself.

Recognizing that what looks like laziness may actually be fear.

Understanding that growth takes longer than we’d like.

Trusting that enthusiasm can carry you further than pressure ever will.

The next time you catch yourself saying,

“I’m just not motivated.”

Pause.

Instead, ask yourself what you’re actually afraid of. That might be the answer you need to change your perspective.

Questions to Reflect On

• Where in your life have you mistaken fear for laziness?

• What project are you avoiding because you’re worried it won’t be good enough?

• If you approached it with curiosity instead of pressure, what would you do differently?

• Who could you ask for help this week?

Describe your perfect day.

I wake up in a beach house beside my husband and our pets.

I’m up early enough to walk along the sand before sunrise. As the sun begins to peek over the horizon, I find a spot to sit and soak in the beauty.

A few birds land nearby, pecking for breakfast.

The waves crash onto the shore.

Otherwise, the world is quiet.

I head back to the balcony for breakfast before spending the morning and early afternoon swimming in the ocean, reading on a towel in the sand, and probably taking a nap.

Later, I’ll get ready for dinner, my hair still wavy from the salt air. We’ll walk to a local restaurant, stop for ice cream on the way home, and end the day cozy on the couch.

When I picture my perfect day, it’s not fancy. It’s simple.

I’m barefoot.

My nervous system is calm.

I never mention my phone.

I never get in a car.

I don’t focus on my productivity or my accomplishments.

The mornings are slow, and there is nowhere I need to be.

When life is overwhelming, we convince ourselves the solution is a big fix. A new job, more discipline to achieve all the goals you set at the beginning of the year.

But a reset can be simple. We can find a life we love through simple pleasures.

It could be a walk in nature.

A few hours at the beach.

A nap.

Reading a good book.

Share what your ideal day is and how you can bring an element of that day into your life this week.

Leave a comment

My husband and I “celebrated” our 10 year wedding anniversary by spending most of the evening at an emergency vet and leaving with our cat still warm in a body bag to bury in the dark. It was devastating. We didn’t expect that to be our night, just as much as you didn’t expect that to be the end of that sentence.

We only had Catsby a few years, and he was healthy until this final month. He suffered a saddle thrombus blood clot that prevented him from using his back legs.

We held onto the guilt that we promised to give him a good life, only for this to be the situation. He was originally my best friend’s cat, and we loved him since he was a kitten despite only taking care of him the past few years. She sent a voice memo to say goodbye.

Some days I meow expecting him to meow back before running towards me to receive love.

I can see Bailey, our dog, search for him in the morning. The imprint of him has lived on.

It’s been hard, but I’ve had some unexpected moments throughout the week to cheer me up.

A postcard from a friend in New Mexico.

A native hibiscus from the neighbor.

Sharing a bottle of wine and watching a movie with my husband.

Trying out a new brewery.

Dinner with friends.

We didn’t need a big 10 year celebration, we only needed the support of one another. To be reminded to find joy in the simple moments.

It brings me comfort knowing the size of the grief corresponds to the amount of love we had in our hearts.

That was the first word I saw when I opened this chapter.

I had almost finished writing last week’s article when my husband called to tell me part of our house was flooded when he arrived home.

I closed up my computer and headed home.

Lately, it has felt like we’ve been forced into survival mode more than living.

Once again, The Artist’s Way seemed to arrive with the lesson I needed this week.

Julia Cameron writes about surviving the losses we experience as artists: rejection, criticism, and feeling a lack of recognition.

My mind immediately went to every Substack post I’ve published thinking, This is the one.

This is the article people will connect with. This is the one that will catapult my page. Then days go by without a flood of new subscribers or likes.

So I write the next one. I keep going because not every reader leaves a comment.

Not every person who is impacted by your work tells you.

Before social media, there was no way to tell your favorite author that their book changed your life. Or to tell a musician this song helped you through a breakup.

Now, it’s a blessing and a curse to have instant feedback on your work. It’s easy to mistake the lack of likes as failure.

Finding the Silver Lining

Julia writes,

“Every end is a new beginning.”

It’s a throw away quote when things are going well, because you don’t expect things to change abruptly. When you’re in the middle of chaos, this feels like the silver lining. There will be an end to this difficult season, and a beautiful new beginning will emerge.

The word loss feels much bigger to me right now than simply artistic rejection.

The past few weeks have brought overwhelming personal circumstances that have made everything else feel insignificant.

When I think about surviving, I think back to two years ago when our cat, Phoenix, needed a feeding tube.

Every six hours we blended her food and fed her through the tube. This lasted for months. It was exhausting and progress was slow.

Now, two years later she is thriving.

Looking back, I remember the routine of logging her meds, the stress of wondering when this would end, but I don’t remember the hopelessness with the same intensity I felt during that time.

One day I’ll look back on this season the same way. The water damage will be a story we tell. I’ll think of the panicked drive home as a distant memory. A night we spent cleaning until our muscles hurt. A tall pile of towels sat next to the washer waiting to be laundered. I’ll think of the neighbors kindness providing us with extra fans.

The Silver lining: our floors can be replaced with a material and color we chose instead of what the previous owners liked.

Perspective

These past few weeks have reminded me how quickly our priorities change when life becomes difficult.

Real hardship has a way of stripping life back to what actually matters. As we stood there cleaning up the water soaked floor, the every day nonsense didn’t seem as important.

Suddenly it doesn’t matter if your jeans weren’t dry and you had to choose a new outfit.

Or that you forgot to stop for gas.

Or that someone at work made an unnecessary comment.

It mattered that we were healthy, we still have a home that’s habitable, we are surrounding by animals we adore, we can afford to eat healthy food. We are lucky.

“I’ll Be Too Old...”

One sentence in this chapter reminded me of Dr. Edith Eger, a Holocaust survivor.

She questioned whether she should go to school to become a clinical psychologist, because she would be fifty by the time she finished. Her husband replied, “You’ll be fifty anyway.”

Based on the Dr. before her name, you already know what she chose to do.

We convince ourselves we are too old and missed our chance to begin. Or perhaps, even worse, that we will wait to try something until we are older. “Until the timing is right.”

My husband has a drawing table. It sits unused stocked with art supplies, except for the art class I took a few years back. He told me that’s his retirement project. That the table won’t go bad.

Can you imagine postponing something that brings you joy for another twenty years?

I can’t!

How many of us are postponing something we secretly want to do in hopes for the timing to be better in the future?

The Fear of Getting What We Want

Julia talks about fearing success as much as failure. The idea that you will have to uproot your entire life if you are successful in following your dreams.

A few years ago I was working toward my sommelier certification.

I completed Level Three and started wondering whether I should continue. If I finished… then what?

Somewhere in my imagination, finishing meant accepting a job that required traveling through France most of the year. Realistically, very few jobs actually look like that. If one did, I’d probably love it. It didn’t seem worth it to continue for something I might only use as a skill for myself.

We tend to stop ourselves before life has the chance to provide us with incredible opportunities. We don’t take a small step to improve our current situation, in fear that that step will snowball into a life we aren’t ready for.

Continue to Pivot

Strength isn’t about removing all the obstacles. It’s about continuing to pivot. To forge a new path forward.

This week I urge you to take one small step towards something you’ve been wanting to complete.

Write a paragraph. Doodle on a blank page. Book a class.

You don’t need to worry about where you’ll end up years from now.

You just need enough strength to take the next step.

I am sorry that I will never again see...

...the world the way I saw it as a child.

The above statement was an exercise from this chapter. Finish the sentence. I am sorry that I will never again see… Now consider how you’d finish the sentence.

As a child, everything felt possible.

I could be the next Julia Roberts or Stephen King. I could be an astronaut, an actress, an author. None of those dreams seemed unrealistic because I hadn’t learned that life often forces you to be practical.

I never cared about what I wanted to be when I grew up.

I wasn’t the child who always answered “teacher,” “doctor,” or “firefighter” when adults asked that question. I remember needing to fill out that question for a homework assignment and I think I made up an answer because I didn’t know what to say.

A little girl came into work recently and asked me what my first job was.

I told her I worked in the gift shop at a hospital.

She asked in all seriousness, “Wasn’t that sad? Hospitals are sad.”

I explained it wasn’t. People were excited when flowers arrived or family came to visit.

She proceeded to say, “That’s why I can’t be a doctor. It’s too sad. I’m going to be a lawyer.”

She seemed so confident, like this is a topic that is discussed often in her house.

That was never me.

As a child, I spent countless afternoons wandering the public library or browsing bookstores. If my dad let me, I could spend hours there deciding what I wanted to read next. I’d come up with a stack full of books and he had me widdle it down to three, assuring me we could come back for the others.

I imagined writing a book of my own. Carefully placed on the shelf amongst all the other authors. But in all honesty, it didn’t feel like an actual career. I’d never met an author. Schools push very specific careers and writing books wasn’t one of those choices. Instead, I considered journalism, but I didn’t want to interview people. I ended up studying finance.

From a young age, I cared much more about what I wanted to experience.

I wanted to see the Eiffel Tower.

The tulip fields in Holland.

Big Ben.

The Great Wall of China.

The glaciers in Norway.

Whenever my aunt stopped at a travel agency, I’d grab the thick travel books to learn about more destinations. Every page was full of possibilities.

That curiosity has never left me.

I still can’t understand people who don’t feel pulled to experience the world.

The food. The languages. The history. The architecture. The people.

Every place tugs at my soul.

Another exercise asked us to identify an opportunity we missed as children.

Two years in a row, the first thing that came to mind was summer camp.

Now, I have no idea if summer camp is actually like The Parent Trap, but that’s exactly how I picture it.

I’m not a camper.

I don’t like bugs or the endless noises from the woods.

But I do love sitting around a campfire eating s’mores.

As I reflected on that answer, I realized this might be why I have this deep desire to attend and host yoga retreats.

It’s the adult version of a summer camp.

A place where curiosity is encouraged.

A getaway that’s acceptable to arrive on your own, but turn strangers into friends.

The chance to make lifelong connections.

Younger me was more tuned in to how I wanted to live my life. That’s probably true for most of us. It’s easy to lose track of what you desire when you’re focused on all the small tasks that need to get done in the day. I’m making my way back to her.

How can you tune back into what you’d like out of life?

Begin with a moment to pause and notice how things have shifted for you creatively.

We are heading into Week 14 of The Artist’s Way. As we move through the Summer Solstice, the longest day of the year, I invite you to allow your life to mirror what nature provides: more light, more expansion, and more possibility.

The first half of this journey asked us to identify what was holding us back. We examined our fears, our negative beliefs, our scarcity mindset, and the stories we tell ourselves about who we are and what we’re capable of. It’s time to let that heaviness go.

Now comes the next phase: Shedding those old beliefs and move towards connection and compassion with ourselves.

Last week, I wrote about leaning on my support system of family and friends during a stressful week. When I opened the book and saw that the next chapter focused on connection, I couldn’t help but smile at the synchronicity of this experience.

Recovering a Sense of Connection

Perfectionism

I used to wear perfectionism as a badge of honor. Now I understand I used it as an excuse.

Perfectionism allows us to stay busy without moving forward.

A perfectionist will rewrite the same piece over and over rather than finish it. They’ll obsess over a single sentence instead of completing the chapter. They’ll continue tweaking, adjusting, and polishing because finishing means risking judgment.

I’ve been writing a book for a couple of years now.

I spent most of the first year procrastinating writing, then I asked for an accountability partner which helped me make tremendous progress. I reached 40,000 words.

But now I’ve resorted back to making almost no progress. I continue to “edit” what I’ve written instead of finishing the story first. Finishing is vulnerable, it means people would then ask to read it.

Perfectionism doesn’t leave space to be a beginner.

It doesn’t allow room for mistakes, but mistakes don’t make you any less of an artist. It doesn't make you a bad person.

Instead, embrace learning something new. Let go of the attachment that it needs to be flawless.

Jealousy

Instead of seeing jealousy as something ugly or shameful, Julia Cameron suggests that jealousy can act as a guide.

Jealousy often points us toward something we secretly want.

The fear underneath jealousy is the belief that there isn’t enough success, creativity, or opportunity to go around.

We see someone else doing the thing we dream about and immediately assume they’ve taken our spot.

As if there can only be one author. One artist. One photographer. One yoga teacher.

Creativity isn’t a competition.

Someone else’s success does not diminish your potential.

Let jealousy simply be information to guide you to the life you truly desire.

Risk

What would you do if you didn’t have to do it perfectly?

This question struck me, because I don’t know if I have an answer. This is where I will be focusing my energy during my morning pages this week.

I’m curious what your answers are.

Leave a comment

Would you start a business? Write a novel? Change your career?

This Week’s Invitation

As we move into the second part of this journey, I encourage you to find something you genuinely want to learn.

Reach out to someone you admire.

Find your community. Be open to connection.

I often think about how we quit something right before we are about to have a breakthrough. Trust that the possibility of the life you want to create, isn’t as far away as you imagine.

That life can be waiting on the other side of perfectionism. It’s hidden in the things that make you jealous.

That life is already trying to find its way to you.

First, an injured kitten. Then our air conditioning broke.

In Florida.

In June.

With temperatures hovering around 93 degrees every day.

It feels like one of those weeks where each problem arrives before you’ve solved the last one. The stress compounds. Every day feels heavier than the one before.

Woven throughout the week have been moments of connection that remind me life is bigger than whatever crisis is happening in front of me.

What I remember are the people.

Lunch with a friend where we sat outside talking for hours.

My morning FaceTime with my best friend before work.

The yoga students who continue showing up to my classes each week.

The friend who saved the day with a portable AC unit.

My coworker sending a sarcastic text when someone at work does something ridiculous.

My husband making me laugh even as every domino seems determined to fall.

These are the moments that pull me out of my head and back into the present.

When life feels overwhelming, I find it hard to focus on anything else. This week reminded me that the quality of my life is measured less by how smoothly things go and more by the people I get to experience it with.

The good moments are better celebrating together.

The difficult moments can be made lighter by someone’s ability to make me smile.

My husband and I are celebrating our tenth wedding anniversary next week.

When I think about our wedding day, the ceremony was beautiful but more important was the weekend we all spent at the bed and breakfast.

After the formalities were over, we ordered pizzas to the pool. We spent the afternoon with our family and friends, carefully swimming so we wouldn’t ruin our hair and makeup. Later that night, we went out for drinks and came back to eat wedding cake on the porch.

Those are the memories that mattered more than what napkins or centerpieces we chose.

It’s hard to believe it’s been ten years, yet we still have the same group of friends. The same support system.

When I first started dating my husband, I told my best friend that I couldn’t get enough of him. Years later, when we got engaged, she told me that’s what she remembered most from that conversation.

I hadn’t remembered that conversation until she brought it up.

That statement remains true.

No matter how much time passes, it never feels like there’s enough.

That’s why these relationships matter so much.

Life is always going to hand us broken air conditioners, unexpected expenses, stressful weeks, and plans that don’t go the way we imagined.

What matters are the people who remind you there is still joy to be found in the middle of it.

P.S. After writing this, our kitten went to the optometrist and they said the ulcer in her eye is healed!! Here she is after her appointment today.

It was supposed to be a week about inviting abundance into my life and examining my relationship with money.

Ironically, I spent $250 on an unexpected vet visit.

How is that cultivating abundance, Universe?

Phoenix, our aggressively antisocial cat, scratched our new kitten’s eye. It’s hard to look at, but somehow she is still bouncing around full of energy despite the four prescriptions she takes morning and night. Her cone only makes her look more pathetic.

I told my husband this week that I feel like I’m standing on the edge of a cliff in Ireland. My toes are hanging over the edge and one strong gust of wind could send me over.

It feels overwhelming to think about her healing process.

The extra money we didn’t plan to spend.

The flights and rental car we had just paid for used up the extra money I knew I had.

The fact that my only day off this week was spent sitting at the vet for hours before coming home to nurse her.

When I first started this chapter, it felt like I was setting good things into motion.

Then life happened.

This week of The Artist’s Way taught me instead of focusing on my current bank account, to trust that one difficult week doesn’t erase an abundant life.

I was lucky that three meetings I had scheduled this week were cancelled, granting me more unexpected time at home.

All week, I have focused each day on listing the things I am grateful for.

The Universe has your back

As I worked through the exercises, one thing I wanted to accomplish was clearing out some clothes I no longer wore.

Months ago, I cleaned out my closet and set aside a pair of ripped jeans that I thought someone else might be able to repair and enjoy.

A few days ago, they sold. These are the moments I am reminded that the universe heard my intention and put the plan in motion.

Artist’s Date

My artist date this week was picking blueberries.

It’s the only time of year I really enjoy blueberries, when I am able to pick them myself.

They are sweet. It’s easy to get lost in a flow state picking in the field with the birds chirping. A reminder that nature can heal your soul on the roughest days.

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At least half of my classes over the past few weeks have been filled with new students, and they are my favorite people to teach. Advanced students are easy. You say the name of a pose and they let muscle memory take over and move directly into the pose.

Beginners hold a sliver of nervous energy of not knowing what to expect and not yet realizing what their bodies are capable of.

I still remember that feeling of being a new student after seventeen years.

As a child, I practiced yoga at home on a random TV channel that featured a woman teaching class. In high school, I chose yoga on free days in gym class. In college, I took a semester long yoga course.

But walking into a yoga studio for the first time felt terrifying.

No one was there for school credit. Everyone had chosen to be there. I assumed they would all be good. I didn’t know what people wore, if there would be enough space, or how signing up worked.

I showed up three hours early in jeans and a tank top while running errands to buy a class pack and make sure I could reserve a spot for later that night.

I was only interested in hot yoga.

At the time, I was running and I hated it so much that I was searching for anything to make it more enjoyable. I read an article saying hot yoga was excellent for runners.

It only took two classes for me to decide I would no longer be running.

When I went to buy my class pack, I met the owner of the studio. We talked for a while, and for some reason, despite never again seeing her do this for anyone else, she suggested I observe a class that was already in progress.

It was Mysore style Ashtanga.

For anyone unfamiliar, Ashtanga is a challenging style of yoga. Poses are given to you as you advance through Primary Series (a set sequence). A Mysore class is a self-led practice. The students know the sequence and move through it at their own pace while the teacher quietly offers adjustments instead of leading the room.

Except for those soft whispers, the only sound was the collective breath of the students.

I sat in the corner on a stack of bolsters. I planned to stay for a few minutes and ended up staying for almost an hour.

I was mesmerized.

One woman floated from Downward Dog to a forward fold. If you’ve never seen anyone float, it’s incredible! They use their core to hover their feet over the mat a few inches before lowering down softly. Everyone was deeply focused. The room warmed from their bodies and breath alone.

When I left, I had one thought:

I need to try every form of yoga.

Later that night, I came back for my first hot yoga class.

This class was filled with ordinary people who didn’t look like the version of yoga media represented. It has always felt more accessible if you can withstand the heat.

At the end of class, lying in savasana, my entire body tingled.

I had made it through.

On the drive to my second class, I knew I wanted to teach yoga.

At the end of that class, the teacher announced she would be hosting her first teacher training later that summer.

A few months later, I was sitting in that training.

Less than a year after that, I completed my 200 hour certification in Ashtanga.

The next time I entered the Mysore room, I placed my mat beside a sheet of paper with the sequence I was trying to memorize.

The man next to me asked if it was my first time.

When I nodded, he smiled and said, “Coming to this class means you’re serious about yoga.”

I smiled back because he was right.

During my first teacher training, we went around the room introducing ourselves and sharing why we were there.

My answer was simple.

“I want the entire yogi lifestyle.”

At the time, I didn’t understand how true that statement would become.

Now I practice almost every day. I meditate. I found more compassion for others and for myself. I became pescatarian. I teach multiple classes every week. I help run a program that gives students who can’t afford a membership access to yoga.

My yoga mat has traveled with me. It has been covered in sweat, sometimes tears and when I practice at home many dog paws.

It has become the place where I return to feel most like myself.

It brings me joy to witness new students find their footing in something new, because you never know what experience could change the direction of your life.

I finally splurged on a few things I had been avoiding buying for months: the MAC eyeshadow I had completely used up and kept trying to replace with cheaper alternatives, and two bottles of perfume, including one I broke on our last vacation.

These are things I use almost every day, yet I delayed replacing them because there were always more “important” things to spend money on.

It made me stop and think about the choices I make with money. At the end of the day, what matters most is whether those choices align with my priorities and values. If they do, I rarely regret them.

I grew up in a frugal household. I remember buying my first expensive foundation and telling my mom I wasn’t sure I should spend the $25. She told me it was worth paying more for a quality product.

I’ve held onto that advice, despite the fact she never buys anything nice for herself.

I own nicer wallets that have lasted me for years. I have Vera Bradley blankets that weren’t cheap, but they’re long enough for my tall husband, incredibly cozy, and have survived countless washes over the last decade.

But abundance doesn’t have to come from buying something expensive.

Abundance can be an afternoon free from responsibility.

Time spent with the people you love.

Giving yourself permission to choose what you want instead of what everyone else wants.

One afternoon, I mentioned to a coworker that if I were truly overwhelmed by everything I needed to accomplish, I probably wouldn’t be spending my free time reading.

She promptly replied, “You shouldn’t feel guilty for relaxing. You don’t need to be productive every second of the day.”

She’s absolutely right.

We don’t need to earn rest.

How often do we convince ourselves that only after every item on the to do list is complete can we enjoy ourselves?

There will always be more to do.

Abundance is allowing yourself to rest anyway.

To use your money to create security, but also to enjoy the small luxuries that make life feel beautiful. It’s the bouquet of flowers you bought for yourself. It’s the latte with a friend. It’s the new centerpiece for the dining room table.

A small luxury for me is paper.

Books. Journals. Index cards.

A new daily planner. I can’t tell you how excited I get buying my planner each year. It may honestly be one of my favorite purchases. The blank pages feel like there are endless possibilities for the year.

Another luxury is baking.

My mom loves to bake, and as a kid I always helped her.

I begged for an Easy-Bake Oven and never got one because my mom promised I could bake whenever I wanted. I didn’t need to make one tiny cookie with a lightbulb.

We made pies, tins of Christmas cookies, angel food cake—where I was warned not to jump around because the cake would fall, although I can’t remember ever actually jumping, and cakes with homemade icing.

I was never interested in simple box cakes. I would find elaborate recipes and insist that we learn how to make them.

As an adult, I rarely bake.

The excuses are endless: It’s messy. It’s only my husband and me eating all that sugar. I don’t like following instructions. It takes too much time.

A few years ago, we watched a children’s bakeoff, and those kids were incredible. I was inspired to buy two round cake pans to make a layered cake.

They’re still sitting in my cabinet. Unused. Waiting for the day I’m ready to challenge myself to bake on my own.

Reflection

I’ve always believed that “Future Me” will have the money, the time, and the resources to live the life I dream about. I’m confident that’s still true.

But there is no guarantee that version of the future exists.

Abundance isn’t something waiting for us someday.

It’s learning to appreciate the small luxuries available to us right now.

This week, I’m trying to pay attention to those moments.

To examine my relationship with money.

To question what I’ve been postponing.

To discover what makes my current life rich, even if it’s not in the traditional sense.

“We’re easy.”

“We can do whatever you want.”

“I bet you can’t wait until we leave.”

“We don’t want to be annoying.”

Most of these comments came within the first twenty-four hours, though they continued to pop up throughout the week.

It only took a few hours for me to turn to them and say, “You’re allowed to take up space. You can show up exactly as you are and we’ll still love you. You don’t need to worry about being annoying or asking to do something you want on your vacation.”

I joked that my husband makes annoying requests all the time. That’s not exactly true, but we both have things we’d like to do, and in our relationship we choose to enjoy some of those experiences together. For example, while I would never choose to attend a baseball game on my own, I love sitting outside waiting for the mascot to appear, snacking on a pretzel and spending the evening with my husband.

One of the things I appreciate most about our relationship is that neither of us feels the need to shrink ourselves down to be loved. We can be opinionated. We can have strong personalities. We can be exactly who we are.

The comments from our friends reminded me how often we spend our lives focused on not being a burden.

How many times have you pretended to be less of who you are in the workplace, in friendships, in relationships to fit in? Do you waste time trying to be less demanding, less emotional, less opinionated, less of yourself in hopes that others will like you more?

It’s common to make ourselves smaller because we’re afraid of being “too much.”

But the people who are meant for you don’t need a watered down version of who you are.

The best thing I ever did for my career was learn to speak my opinion—respectfully, but confidently.

The best thing I ever did in relationships was allow myself to be vulnerable enough to show people who I really am.

I never want to be loved for someone I was pretending to be.

My mom likes to say matter of factly that everyone loves me.

I assure her, they definitely don’t.

Honestly, I’m okay with that.

I’d rather someone dislike me for who I am than love a version of me that doesn’t exist.

The people who love me were never asking for a smaller version of me. Chances are, they aren’t asking that of you either. Most of the time, that pressure comes from within.

How would today be different if you trusted you already belong? Can you show up unapologetically yourself?

Trust that you are enough.

I work a lot because I carry this underlying fear that I’m not earning enough money. I used to be the person who caught every mistake, every plate from dropping until it almost burnt me out and I decided it wasn’t worth my sanity. I chose to take on the extra work, because somewhere along the way, I learned being dependable made me valuable.

In many ways, I’ve sabotaged myself creatively trying to maintain that image.

A coworker once told me that if he had to bet on someone not showing up or arriving late, he would never choose me because I’m always early and always reliable.

I took that as one of the biggest compliments. I am proud to be that person. But I wonder, how much of my identity has been built around never disappointing anyone?

Because my payoff for staying blocked is exactly that:

I don’t disappoint the people around me.

I don’t have to let anyone down.

When we moved to Florida, I remember nervously calling my district manager to tell her I was leaving. She was thrilled for the next part of my life. I felt guilty leaving during a busy season at work. In the end, they were fine. There was no reason for me to feel bad for living my life.

I am lucky enough to have people who support me, but it’s the same support makes me feel I am indebted to them.

My desires have never wavered.

Whether I imagined myself at 20 years old or 65 years old, I always pictured the same things:

Traveling the world.
Owning a home at the beach.
Going on yoga and meditation retreats.
Taking girls trips.

The vision itself never changed, only my willingness to believe it was possible did.

I am only now realizing, the title of this week’s chapter is Recovering a Sense of Possibility. Yes, the possibilities are endless.

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I didn’t fully realize until today’s chapter that this was the work we’ve been doing. I’ve written several posts recently about negative self talk, not recognizing at the time that The Artist’s Way was dragging those thoughts to the surface.

I’ve been reflecting on what no longer feels aligned in my life.

Instead of gripping so tightly to every thought and emotion, I’ve been allowing my moods, perceptions, and experiences to move through me like a river.

My last post speaks on this metaphor.

I can choose to believe that opportunities will continuously present themselves to me.

The Virtue Trap

With unlimited opportunities coming our way, it’s important to say yes to the things that light us up, but it’s equally important to say no to the things we cannot or should not take on.

This isn’t the time for people pleasing.

It’s instead a moment to appreciate solitude. For creating enough space to hear yourself think again. Reconnect with what inspires you. It’s impossible to rejuvenate yourself as an artist when every moment of your life is filled with obligations, distractions, and commitments to everyone else.

Do you sacrifice your own interests to pick up a shift for a coworker?

Do you spend money on unnecessary household items while convincing yourself the things you desire are too indulgent?

From the outside, this behavior looks selfless. Responsible.

But internally, resentment builds from all the energy you continue giving away to everyone except yourself.

There are a few things on my vision board I continue to put off: take a writing class, learn ballet, have professional photographs taken.

Yet I continue finding reasons why I “can’t” afford them.

Could I afford them if I prioritized them more than another kitchen gadget, side table, or rug?

Probably.

I’ve realized that in order for me not to feel guilt around spending money, the purchase has to align with my values.

I value traveling.
I value high quality food.
I value learning.
I value challenging myself creatively.

When I spend money in alignment with those values, I don’t regret it.

Scarcity Mindset

I’ve written before about scarcity mindset.

Audrey Lefler

Do you live in a scarcity mindset?

I’m reading a book that asks the question. Do you live in a mindset of abundance or scarcity? Do you think there’s “not enough” for you…

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6 months ago · 11 likes · 10 comments · Audrey Lefler

A scarcity mindset keeps us small. It keeps us stuck.

It causes us to grip every opportunity so tightly out of fear that another one may never come. But when we cling too hard to what we already have, we leave no room for something better to enter.

Without action, manifesting alone isn’t enough to create the life you want.

My husband and I are planning a trip next spring to Amsterdam for tulip season and Paris.

To prepare, I’ve been teaching extra yoga classes to save money. Then last week, our neighbor asked if we knew anyone who could paint their porch.

I volunteered to do it.

I spent two afternoons outside painting (something I genuinely enjoy) while getting paid to do it.

It was calming. I enjoyed getting to know our neighbors better, spending time outside, and knowing the money would go toward something meaningful to me.

Opportunities arrive once we are honest with ourselves about what we want. We need to be clear with the universe.

The Payoffs of Remaining Stuck

Staying stuck protects us from uncertainty.

If we never fully try, we never have to face rejection.

We get to romanticize the life we could have instead of risking finding out what might actually happen if we pursued it.

My payoff for staying stuck?

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During an interview, I was once asked how I handle difficult situations.

After years of managing a retail store, I had a polished answer ready. I explained that I remain calm, professional, and compassionate while still enforcing company policy. I focus on de-escalating situations to uphold a good customer experience and protect the business.

It was a strong professional response.

Then, the real me slipped out.

“I hold onto those feelings for the rest of the day.”

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The unease of confrontation in a workplace setting tends to stay with me. I replay conversations long after they end. Sometimes for hours, or long into the next day. I question how I handled things. Was I too firm? Not understanding enough? How angry were they when they left? Would my boss support my decision?

The thoughts stack endlessly.

Years ago, a woman threw a bag at me because I wouldn’t accept a return on Christmas items after the holiday — a policy clearly posted throughout the store. That moment lasted only seconds, but the memory has stayed with me for years.

After I admitted how long I carried these interactions, the interviewer offered advice I’ve never forgotten.

“Imagine a river flowing downstream, every interaction, especially the difficult ones, is a leaf. Let the leaf fall into the water and watch it drift away.”

I still return to that image on particularly hard days.

There’s a concept that emotions move through the body in about ninety seconds, that is, if we allow them to. During that time, we can notice the physical sensations: cheeks warming, hands shaking, muscles tightening, breath becoming shallow.

If we stay with the feeling instead of resisting it, it naturally fades.

What keeps the emotion alive isn’t the moment itself but the story we tell afterward.

The story that I was right (despite the chance I was wrong)
The story that I might get in trouble.
The story that someone will complain.
The story that this interaction could change how others perceive me, or worse how I perceive myself.

The mind keeps replaying the scene long after the body is ready to let it go.

Interestingly, I don’t hold onto conflict the same way in my personal life. I trust that disagreements with friends won’t end relationships. The stakes feel different, even when the emotions are similar.

Looking back, I wish I had this advice earlier in my career. I wish I had known that letting go wasn’t about trying to ignore the experience, it was about allowing it to pass through to free up space for moments I want to hold onto.

Now, when a difficult moment lingers, I pause and picture the river.

I watch the leaf fall.

And I let the current carry it away.

The media deprivation puts my nervous system into a state of shock. I feel uncomfortable, and this is coming from a person who practices yoga at home without music, someone who meditates. I spend at least an hour when I wake up journaling, meditating, practicing yoga, and sitting with my thoughts.

It’s not the silence that makes me nervous. I like to hear my own thoughts.

It’s the lack of knowing what I want to do with my time when it’s not filled with reading.

It’s facing the mundane household tasks without a form of distraction.

The first day was the most productive. I wrote for hours and knocked out a few upcoming posts.

Subsequent days were less productive.

Overall, it’s worth doing, if only to see how you react to detaching from social media, the news, and the ongoing noise.

You will learn more about yourself than you expect.

My Artist’s Date

Our neighbor asked if we knew someone who would paint their porch. While we didn’t know anyone available, I wanted to do it.

I love painting.

In fact, my childhood bedroom wasn’t painted by me, despite having designed the whole thing, because my dad assumed I was too messy for his perfectionist self to allow me to paint.

In our first house, my husband had me tape everything off because I am good with precision, but didn’t really want me to paint because I’m “messy.”

This was the first time in a long time that I was able to get to work on my own.

A can of paint, a roller, and a small brush.

I spent two afternoons outside painting.

No music, no podcasts, only my thoughts and the paint.

I didn’t feel anxious with the silence.

I felt in tune with myself.

I have loved to paint since I was a child.

I was awarded six full hours of painting.

This date didn’t require me to drive anywhere.

It didn’t cost anything.

In fact, I was paid.

And yet it’s one of the best Artist’s Dates I’ve done.

I love working with my hands.

It takes me out of my head and into real life.

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I took on too much and then panicked about the lack of time I had to do it all.

We’ve all been there. It comes on fast, you think things are going well and all of a sudden your to do list feels out of control.

I wasn’t sleeping well, and my nervous system felt completely fried.

Then my husband surprised me by bringing home a one pound kitten he found.

I was hesitant, but I usually am. I always let logistics guide my thoughts before my heart takes over.

Taking care of a small kitten was an added responsibility I didn’t currently need, but as you may know, we save animals at our house. It’s who we are at our core.

And as it turns out, this decision forced me to slow down.

What’s helping this week

I’ve been sitting with the kitten while I journal. It’s a bonding experience for us and I can still write my morning pages.

My husband and I stopped by the library and checked out movies we’d been meaning to watch but never found the time. If you haven’t browsed the movie section at your local library lately, you might be as surprised as we were by how many new releases they have.

We picked up snacks from the grocery store, including Magnum raspberry chocolate bars, which were decadent and worth every penny.

I’ve spent less time scrolling on social media and more time making sure Berlioz is fed, warm, played with, and thoroughly snuggled.

At night, I’ve curled up on the couch with a biscotti and a cup of tea, breathing in the scent of the tea and savoring the sweetness of the biscotti.

Instead of ending my evenings with my laptop and phone, trying to squeeze in one more task, I’ve been choosing to be cozy with my new found friend.

What I’ve noticed

The common thread in everything that’s helping is connection.

Connection to new life.

Connection to myself.

Connection to my senses.

Connection to my relationships.

When we have constant access to emails, notifications, and the endless stream of information online, it’s easy to feel burned out.

What’s been healing is returning to what is right in front of me.

A tiny kitten.

A warm cup of tea.

A movie night with my husband.

When life feels overwhelming, the greatest relief comes from deepening the connections that matter most.