Beautiful Fears

Give Your Art a Chance to Exist

Beautiful Fears — Sun, 28 Jun 2026 14:19:33 GMT

Here is the audio version below if you’d like to listen instead <3

While I was getting ready just the other morning, I decided not to throw on my usual podcasts or music playlists, which usually serve to drown out the constant, noisy chatter of my thoughts. Instead, for some reason today, I decided to give myself a little silence while I washed my face, brushed my teeth, put on my makeup... the girlies know the drill.

Instead of rushing through it, I intentionally slowed down – after a week full of noise, deadlines, and constantly feeling like I was rushing, the quiet felt... just really f***ing nice.

Honestly, it felt like giving my brain something it’d been asking for for weeks.

Nine times out of ten when I give myself this quiet space to let my thoughts drift where they want to, I usually catch myself hanging on a quote I heard or read recently or maybe a random song I couldn’t get out of my head...

But on this particular day, it happened to be this semi-random thought that kept screaming at me to pay attention to:

“Don’t share your art for the ‘viral moment’ –
just share it to give it the chance to exist in the first place…”

**[I also think there’s a good chance that this particular thought hit a little harder because it’s officially been three months since I’ve posted anything here on Substack… and even longer on my other social media platforms lol.]

Maybe you noticed. Or maybe you didn’t (truly, either is quite alright by me).

To be honest, life has just been doing its thing lately... quite literally just slapping me with some good ole tough (but necessary) life lessons – mostly around finding a healthier balance between work, relationships, friendships, creative endeavors, and the basics like eating well, sleeping enough, exercising regularly, and trying to spend just a little less of my life staring at screens.

An impossible balancing act… another thing I have definitely talked about before… and I’m guessing a few of you can relate.

I’ll admit (whether people could tell or not) I’ve been actively working through what I like to call one of my ‘sadness waves’.

I don’t know exactly what label I’d put on it – whether it’s burnout, anxiety, depression, or just simply feeling overwhelmed – but every now and then I catch myself spiraling a bit… getting caught up in cycles of negative thoughts and emotions that can be incredibly difficult for me to quiet at times.

One of the nice things about getting older, though, is that I’ve become a lot more familiar with my own patterns. I’ve noticed that every ‘sadness wave’ looks a little different...

But one thing has remained true every single time:

The waves are always temporary.

Even when I’m fully in the thick of one… I can usually remind myself that although it’s incredibly uncomfortable at the moment… eventually I will come out the other side.

And somehow... every single time... I do.

One of the things that continues to help me break the cycle of these ‘sadness waves’ is something so incredibly simple, yet surprisingly powerful:

STEPPING OUTSIDE & GOING FOR A WALK :)

In fact, earlier this week, before an hour-long work meeting, I decided to take a quick walk around my neighborhood, just following one of my usual walking loops. But this time, I made the conscious decision to leave my headphones at home.

No podcast, no music, no YouTube video to override my noisy mind – just me and my thoughts.

And somewhere during the last five minutes of that walk, one sentence kept repeating itself in my head:

“It doesn’t need to be this hard.”

[and when I say “it”... I mean LIFE – just to be clear lol]

Then I had an idea:

Instead of talking to myself like... well... myself... I imagined I was talking to one of my closest friends.

I started with one simple question:

“So... what advice would you give her right now?”

And here’s what came out...

“Maybe you were raised believing that hard work was the only path to success… that you have to grind 24/7 to earn a good life… to be successful… to prove yourself.
But what if... just entertain me for a second…
….what if none of that was actually true???
What if success could also come from having a great idea, a clear goal, good intentions, and leaving enough room for intuitive, free, creative thinking?
What if life didn’t have to feel like carrying absolutely everything – all the time – just because you’ve convinced yourself that you’re capable of carrying it?”

And then I just kind of stood there for a second… jaw dropped ever so slightly…

Because for whatever reason — that thought hit me like a f*ing truck.

It wasn’t necessarily that I’d never heard anything like it before... it was that I had never truly noticed or realized just how deeply I’d been living the opposite…

I know to some of you, that may sound “elementary” or even obvious — likely depending on where you are on your own self-awareness journey too :)

But for me... it felt like one of the biggest mindset shifts I’ve had in a really long time.

And then it really got me thinking...

If that same “work smarter, not harder” mindset could apply to one’s career... maybe it could apply to my creative work, too.

Earlier this week, my fiance and I were talking about how strange it feels to create and publicly share just about anything these days — music, writing, photography, art... really anything creative.

It almost feels like making something meaningful isn’t enough anymore...

Nowadays, you’re also expected to become: a marketer, a content creator, an editor, a strategist... the hat-wearing feels endless.

I’ve even heard artists talk about making “fake fan accounts” just to convince the algorithm that their work deserves to be seen on people’s timelines...

I mean...

...isn’t that kinda crazy???? The game really has changed.

**Also – before I continue, I’m going to shamelessly plug my fiance’s new song under his new DJ/artist project, KDip – it’s called “Keep Going”, which is actually pretty fitting for everything I’m about to talk about!!

Whether you need a new banger for your lift or workout, a run, an angsty walk, your work commute, or just some good weekend dance vibes – I think y’all will prob enjoy it ANYTIME, ANYWHERE :)

And if darker, underground club music is more your thing... I’ll happily brag (someone has to!!) about his original DJ/artist project, Neo Fresco.

Thank me later, music lovers <3

More importantly though... Beautiful Fears honestly wouldn't exist (or at least not yet) without my partner subconsciously reminding me that making art is worthwhile... even when no one's watching.

Even if you never get the ‘viral moment’.

Even if the response isn’t immediate.

You’re still giving something you created a chance to exist in the world… !!!

And I honestly believe that if you’re creating something that’s authentic to you...

it’ll eventually find the people it’s meant to find.

Which really brings me back to where this whole thing started:

So... yes... I’m finally taking my own advice.

I am intentionally making space for this creative work again :)

And honestly... maybe I needed this reminder just as much as anyone else… !!

And what a perfectly universal message for myself to reflect on again as well:

a reminder that even if this piece never goes ‘viral’ or read by that many people…

even if it reaches only ten people instead of ten thousand…

I truly believe creative work has a life beyond the day we release it into the world.

Somewhere, someday, it’ll find the person (or people) it was meant to find.

And honestly, maybe that person is you… or maybe it’s someone who won’t even be born until 2079, stumbling across these words decades from now for reasons neither of us could possibly imagine.

So, I was thinking... maybe you could use this moment as a little reminder:

go for the walk... (and plz try leaving the headphones at home!!)
let your own thoughts catch up with you without all the background noise
give yourself the same advice you’d give to one of your closest friends
and finally — let your creative work exist in the world. You never know who might need it, when they'll find it, or why it'll resonate with them… :)

And if you’ve made it this far... I hope you know that I’m really glad you’re here, and I appreciate your patience while I found my way back. <3

A home full of strangers

Beautiful Fears — Fri, 20 Mar 2026 21:44:12 GMT

🎧 If you’d rather listen, the audio version is below.

Once again, I was a first-hand witness to the beautiful work of the universe this week — and once again, it felt like the exact thing I needed (right when I needed it) showed up at my door.

Earlier this week, I was drafting outreach emails to a few venues in Oregon for very early wedding planning shenanigans. About a week before that, I had made a list of venues and contacts to reach out to, and while browsing one venue’s website, I noticed someone on their team describing their experience as:

“working at the intersection of the live music industry and nonprofits”

My immediate reaction was: wait… that exists?? I love that… !!!

Reflecting on it now, I think another reason that moment stuck with me was because it was a little reminder that career paths are not all linear like I was often told (and more often believed) — nothing is actually that ‘cut and dry’ in the world, it’s nuanced and weird and fun (if you want it to be!!).

Honestly, I had just never heard someone describe their work that way — blending the nonprofit space and the live music industry… even now I’m like, “duh… of course you can!”

But it’s these moments I need to slow down and actually notice — because they quietly break down beliefs that no longer serve me, while helping me build new ones.

Like this:

I believe we can create beautiful things in our own worlds and realities. We can blend our passions, our interests, our industries… in fact, we should try our very best to do so if we can!!”

And reflecting on what felt like such a small, minor moment… it ended up feeling like exactly what I needed: a sort of quiet but clear permission.

So anyway… back to the story.

When I went back to the venue’s website to send emails earlier this week, the staff page was gone… like fully disappeared from the interweb lol. The very page I had just been reading in depth — getting inspired and taking notes — just a week or so before.

It felt strange… and honestly a little frustrating that I hadn’t written down her email. But I did write down a name.

(yes, I am patting myself on the back for that one)

So naturally, I head over to good ole trusty Google and type in her first and last name. The very first thing that popped up on the search was a link to an Instagram page, and without even digging into anything else, I immediately clicked on it to check it out.

The very first thing I saw was their most recent post: a flyer for an upcoming nonprofit fundraiser event that looked so cool — bringing people together with live music, DJs, aura paintings, typewriter poetry, flash performances, even tattoos(!!!).

And then a thought pulled me back to why I was there in the first place (lol):
“wait… is this the same person from the venue in Oregon?? I’m confused…”

Same name, yes. Same kind of overlap — artists, storytelling, nonprofit space… also yes.

But once I clicked on the nonprofit’s website link in the Instagram bio, I realized it was definitely not the same person. This nonprofit was not based in Oregon… and had zero affiliation with the venue I had originally been stalking for wedding planning shenanigans…

Not me being all “wahhh where’s the email address I need???” and the universe just being like, “bitch, shut up and look up!”
(obviously said in a sweet, endearing tone… I’m sure)

I literally gasped a little when I saw it — the address: Los Angeles, CA.

And I most definitely whispered something like, “you’ve gotta be kidding me… what are the chances…”

Okay… so obviously, now cue the rabbit hole.

I spent the rest of the night going through their website, following my curiosity, falling in love with everything about them — their mission, their programming, the way they create these intentional, creative spaces for artists and community.

It is a female-founded nonprofit theater company building “creative nests” – safe, inclusive, purpose-driven spaces for storytelling.

(also - if you’re curious, you can check them out here: https://www.thenestla.org/ + see the upcoming event info below)

And then I saw they had an event the next night on Wednesday (this week) –an open stage for poets, musicians, storytellers…

With “price it yourself” tickets, welcoming any and all to perform or just attend (with all ticket proceeds going directly to the nonprofit as well).

MY HEART.

I’ll be honest though – lately I’ve been in a bit of a hermit phase (maybe lame, but quite needed)... but this was the first thing in a while that I felt genuinely pulled toward.

So I texted a friend and within a minute she responded: “I’m down. That looks really fun.”

So Wednesday comes, and of course, the intrusive thoughts start creeping in throughout my day:

“You’re pretty tired today…”
“Maybe you should just go next time… they do it every month for a reason!!”
“You should probably just stay home, not sure if you’re up to meeting new people or not...”

But for the first time (maybe ever), I could literally see those thoughts for what they were – my brain trying to keep me safe, comfortable, predictable. And underneath that… something stronger persisted – a quiet but clear message:

you’re supposed to go.

So we went :)

We showed up a little late (of course), and immediately realized how intimate it was – maybe 10-15 people total… cue the second wave of my intrusive thoughts just before we open the door, yelling in my mind:

“It’s not too late to leave…!”

But we didn’t – and I’m so glad we didn’t.

Because within minutes of sitting in that room, I felt something I can’t fully explain in words on a page.

The best way I could describe it (and I don’t say these words lightly because these places for me are few and far between…) – but there was something about the energy, the environment, the people… I’m not even sure what exactly…

but for some reason it felt like “home.”

I know it might sound weird because (in my mind) it is!!

There are VERY few moments in my life where I’ve felt that comfortable, that quickly, in a room full of strangers. Usually I have my guard up quite a bit – trying to get a sense of the people around me, the dynamics, the roles… just observing, filtering, easing in.

But here? In just a few minutes… my body relaxed almost instantly – I literally felt it happen.

From the very first performance we watched, I was reacting openly, laughing, responding, fully present… and I remember having this eureka moment.

[side note - i just heard that word again for the first time in a long time the other day and was just reminded at how much i love that word lol)

As i was saying, eureka moment in real-time:
“Wait… you feel safe here…”

I think one of the biggest potential reasons for that was something I noticed so clearly across every single person who went up to perform that night:

Vulnerability.

One singer admitted he usually only performs alone in his apartment on TikTok live – and was very open to sharing how he was surprised by how nervous he felt in front of a room of people.
Another artist talked about how she hasn’t performed for a live audience in five years and wants to start up again.
Another was a poet who was working on gaining confidence and practicing sharing her work out loud for the first time, being read in her own voice versus being read by someone else.

None of it was polished, in fact – all of it was far from perfect.

But it wasn’t performative, it was all so beautifully real.

Vulnerability has a kind of sexy magnetism you can’t ignore.

And the room met every single person with warmth – it genuinely felt like we were all already friends, just hanging out on a random Wednesday night.

At one point, my friend and I even leaned toward each other like,
“Should we go up there…?”

(I should note: my intent for the night was to get the vibes to see if I liked it, and then I was thinking of reading a piece at next month’s event and hoping my friend would sing one of her songs then too — so for this particular evening, we were absolutely not prepared to actually perform lol.)

But that’s just how safe it felt… that’s how inviting it was (for reasons I still can’t fully explain or understand…).

Another thing that struck me was how storytelling showed up in every form that night – music, poetry, monologue, comedy, you name it. All different mediums, all doing the same thing:

Letting someone be seen.

And in return, making you (the audience) feel less alone.

It was like vulnerability + connection = something really fucking beautiful.

After each performance, I found myself wanting more – more art, more stories, more connection. I found myself hearing a lyric or a line in a poem, deeply moved in the moment and at the same time this overwhelming feeling of, “these are my kind of people…”

It felt like being dropped into a room full of people whose brains work like mine…

and I wanted to know each person beyond what they shared.

Because when someone shows you their vulnerability, you skip right past small talk – and that’s my favorite place to meet people :)

By the time I got home that night – curled up in my little reading (writing) nook – I was absolutely beaming.

I felt alive…

Rejuvenated.

Inspired.

And only then did I realize: my cup had been missing something.

Looking back at the chain of events (the missing staff page on the venue’s website, the Google search, the wrong person with the same name, the nonprofit, the event…) it all feels too aligned to be random.

It felt like little breadcrumbs… like small clues that were guiding my curiosity ever so gently… and I’m so grateful I followed them — not because I read somewhere or heard a random podcast about how “connection with others is important or healthy for us”…

But because I actually felt it – in real time (IRL!), in my body, in my energy, in a room full of strangers who didn’t feel like strangers at all.

Maybe that’s what I’ve been missing lately –

not just socializing for the sake of it, not just going through the motions, but real connection… and storytelling in a room full of strangers.

*A home full of strangers – and I can’t wait to go back.

Happy Beautiful Fears Friday 🤍

The Girl Who Wanted to Make People Cry

Beautiful Fears — Fri, 06 Mar 2026 22:55:24 GMT

I kid you not — over the past few weeks I found myself having the same conversation three different times with three different people.

On the surface, everything about their situations was different — different goals, different timelines, different crossroads or circumstances in life.

But somehow, each conversation ended almost exactly the same way:

A realization that they had been chasing goals that were never really theirs.

Somewhere along the way, each of them recognized a pattern they had experienced before — the same push forward, the same barriers, the same wall appearing just as the goal felt within reach…

They had been moving with intention, adjusting their path when needed, continuing to push forward to where they wanted to go.

But sometimes life moves so quickly that we forget to pause long enough to ask whether the direction we’re heading still belongs to us.

From these recent conversations, it sounded like instead of slowing down to reassess the path, they kept moving (maybe subconsciously, maybe consciously) out of fear that if they stopped, the opportunity might disappear.

And over time, their movement started to look a lot like meaning… because surely if we’re moving, that must be a good thing… right?

But when we stop checking the map, we can slowly start convincing ourselves that the story (or path) unfolding in front of us is the one that makes the “most sense” — even if it’s not the one we would have chosen intentionally.

In life, the story is always still being written, different paths being presented in front of us the further along we go.

But here’s the thing — if we don’t slow down to take a look at the options we have in front of us or reconsider our next move every now and then, that means there’s likely just someone else quietly directing the show:

Fear.

Fear has a funny way of disguising itself as something productive — like “movement”.

sometimes it looks like overpacked to-do lists filled with things that feel important but aren’t actually essential — avoiding the one thing that actually needs your attention the most
sometimes it sounds like long explanations about why something isn’t working yet — blaming timing, circumstances, or other people
sometimes it shows up as comparison, quietly convincing us that everyone else seems to have something figured out that we somehow missed

All the while avoiding the possibility that the real resistance might actually be happening somewhere inside.

And in each of these conversations — without me pushing, questioning, or assuming what they wanted to hear — the same conclusion surfaced again and again:

They all said they needed to come back to their “why”.

Now before you go and roll your eyes — I know. That phrase gets thrown around a lot.

You’ve probably heard it in self-help books, motivational speeches, podcast episodes, career advice… the list goes on.

But the more we talked about it, the clearer it became that coming back to your why is rarely as simple as it sounds — and it’s definitely not a one-time exercise where you figure it out once and never question it again.

If anything, it’s something we have to revisit again and again as life changes, experiences accumulate, and new layers of expectations quietly build on top of it…

Because what I started noticing in those conversations was that none of them had actually “lost” their why.

It had simply been coated, covered, and buried under layers of external pressure, assumptions, and expectations from other people that attached themselves along the way.

And once enough of those layers build up, the path forward can start to feel unbearably heavy or extremely murky and confusing and foreign…

Sometimes the hardest part isn’t remembering your “why” —

sometimes the hardest part is realizing the “why” you’ve been chasing might not actually be yours.

And if I’m being honest, that realization hit a little closer to home than I expected.

Because somewhere along the way, I drifted away from my own why too.

Like a lot of people, I got caught up in trying to figure out what path made the most sense on paper — choosing majors, chasing impressive-sounding goals, trying to prove something to people who probably weren’t paying nearly as much attention as I imagined.

Without realizing it, the focus slowly shifted from connection to “outcome” — I worried more about how others would view the result vs. if I even connected with where I was going anymore.

And for a while, I stopped asking the question altogether… the layers of expectations had thickly coated my “why” for quite some time.

Which is why something that happened earlier this week caught me completely off guard —

A close friend of mine texted me about one of my recent Beautiful Fears posts.

She said she felt the need to send a quick message to let me know how much she loved a few of the recent pieces, and that they had actually made her tear up.

Then she said “no need to respond, just wanted to share that.”

As I sat there reading the message… before I knew it, I was crying.

The kind of ugly happy tears that show up when something hits you deeper than you expected (and no one else around to judge your ugly cry face lol).

And suddenly I had the most vivid memory of something I used to say all the time when I was about ten years old.

Whenever I talked about writing, I would jokingly tell my parents (who were essentially my first draft editing team):

“I just want to make people cry.”

Out of context that sounds a little ridiculous (and maybe a little mean lol), but what I really meant was something much deeper.

When I was younger, I remember how much I loved reading a book or a story that moved me so much it brought tears to my eyes.

Just words on a page.

How fucking powerful.

And somewhere in my ten-year-old brain, I decided that if my writing could ever make someone feel something that deeply, it would mean I had done something right.

Of course, at that age I imagined the process would be much simpler.

I remember writing essays and stories for English class and secretly hoping that when my dad read the first draft or my teacher read the second, their reaction would be something dramatic like:

“This is amazing… I couldn’t stop crying.”

Instead, most of the time I got:

endless edits… feedback… suggestions on how to improve…

all of it well-intentioned and genuinely helpful…

But I remember feeling frustrated that I couldn’t get where I wanted to go right away.

Little did that ten-year-old know it would take many years before I returned to writing like this again…

But this week, sitting there reading my friend’s text message through tears, I realized something that made me laugh.

My ten-year-old self would probably be pretty proud to know that we finally made someone cry.

It was also in that very moment I realized something else too:

Somewhere along the way, I had accidentally shifted my focus away from the reason I started writing in the first place.

Instead of focusing on connection, I started focusing on the outcome…

How the writing would be received.

Whether people would understand it.

Whether it would be good enough.

But the real reason I started writing was never about controlling the reader’s reaction.

It was about connection.

About the idea that a handful of words on a page could somehow reach out and grab someone — and pull them into a story.

Maybe make them feel like the experience being described might somehow belong to them too…

Maybe make them feel less alone…

And maybe, in some strange way, make me feel a little less alone too.

Which brings me back to those three conversations these past few weeks.

Because sometimes the advice we give to others has a funny way of circling back to us…

Coming back to your “why” isn’t about getting the answer perfect.

Honestly, I think life would probably be pretty boring if the path in front of us was just a straight line to the end.

Sometimes it’s about slowing down long enough to stop, look up, look around, and notice the paths that are open around you…

Then having the courage to ask the question again — and being willing to take a different route than the one you originally expected.

If we’re paying attention, life tends to give us little reminders when we’ve drifted off course.

And beautiful moments when it quietly says:

“Good job… you found your way back.”

And sometimes, if you’re lucky, the answer shows up in the most unexpected places —

even in a simple text message from a friend.

A full-circle moment — crying in my living room twenty years later, the 30-year-old version of me finding her way back to the girl who just wanted to make someone cry.

Happy Beautiful Fears Friday, friends 🤍

She Doesn’t Live Here Anymore

Beautiful Fears — Fri, 27 Feb 2026 18:10:43 GMT

🎧 Prefer to listen instead? I’ve got you.

This week, I’ve been thinking about those strange moments in life when you realize the version of you who once struggled here… doesn’t really exist anymore.

This past weekend, I went to a friend’s wedding – and it was one of those weddings that felt like a full reunion of our ridiculously large (and slightly obnoxious) friend group, in the best way possible.

I’m not sure if it’s getting older or just weddings in general, but being back in a room with people who have known so many different versions of me stirred something I wasn’t fully expecting.

Looking back on my life, I can pretty clearly categorize the different phases of who I’ve been – almost like chapters that neatly lined up with common life transitions: new schools, new cities, new environments, new expectations, etc.

When you’re younger, those shifts are almost handed to you (or forced upon you).

When you say “no!” – life says “ha! good try.”

What’s harder to recognize is the moment when the change comes quietly — internally.

Without a new classroom or zip code to mark the shift definitively…

A few weeks before the wedding, someone who hasn’t been part of my life for quite some time, reached out to me with an “apology”… via email, no less.

One that was “years overdue” (their words, not mine).

What struck me most wasn’t even the message itself — it was how differently I experienced it this time.

My initial reaction surprised me: not anxiety, not curiosity, not even much emotion…

Mostly just… indifference. Maybe mild annoyance, if I’m being completely honest.

Because the truth is, my life has felt a lot more peaceful without them in it.

But being back at the wedding that weekend stirred something I hadn’t expected.

This was the same group of friends who knew me during my early Portland years — a chapter that was equal parts joyful and heavy.

I found myself thinking about her.

And by her, I mean the old version of me.

The one who was younger, newly in the city, still figuring herself out in real time.

The one who, years ago, would have absolutely responded to an unexpected apology email… mostly to be nice, to be seen, to be liked.

She had such good intentions — she really did.

She just didn’t know herself yet.

And sitting there that weekend, surrounded by people who knew that version of me so well, I caught myself mentally replaying the moment —

visualizing the old me and wondering what she would have done, what she would have felt, how quickly she would have reached for connection even when it cost her peace.

And in that moment, the strongest emotion that came up wasn’t sadness or pity…

To my pleasant surprise, I just felt really… proud.

Because for the first time, the difference between who I was and who I am now felt unmistakably clear –

not in a dramatic, overnight-transformation kind of way, but in the subtle, steady way real growth tends to happen.

…so slowly you almost don’t notice it while you’re living through it…

Somewhere along the way, it stopped feeling like I was in the “fake it until you make it” phase anymore.

I had actually made it somewhere new: somewhere better than before – a place (a “phase”) I didn’t even know existed back then.

I think in some capacity, most adults experience a season like this (maybe in love, friendship, career, or something else entirely) where you genuinely cannot see a way out of the version of yourself that you’re in…

Where everything feels foggy and heavy and permanent.

I remember what that felt like.

At one point, it felt dark, confusing, and strangely stagnant all at the same time...

I didn’t yet have the awareness or life experience to understand that one day I would feel differently – that the fog would lift, that I would feel unstuck, that the lessons would eventually all make sense.

But you know what I did have? What I knew to be true?

My people.

The ones under the very same roof as me this past weekend.

The ones who stayed.

The ones who showed up when I wasn’t at my best.

The ones who listened without needing words.

The ones who held steady when I couldn’t even find the ground.

The ones who must’ve seen the real me – maybe even before I truly did.

Being back with all of them this weekend made something else click into place for me:

Some lessons don’t arrive all at once.

Sometimes they unfold slowly (almost quietly…) in the background until you’re finally ready to see them.

And somewhere along the way, I realized I was finally ready:

Not everyone deserves your energy.
Being liked by everyone was never actually the goal.
Real healing rarely runs on your preferred timeline.
And growth (the kind that actually sticks) almost never feels dramatic in the moment.

Sometimes it just looks like sitting at a wedding, realizing the old version of you would have handled something very differently… and feeling unexpectedly proud that you didn’t.

And as I keep calling in the energy of slowing down this season, moments like this feel especially necessary — gentle reminders that real change takes time.

Healing takes time:
–time to reveal what isn’t yet visible...
–time to soften what might’ve hardened along the way...
–time to gently show you who you’re becoming…

And maybe the clearest realization of all was this —
the version of me who once struggled here… doesn’t live here anymore.

And if you find yourself in one of those quiet in-between seasons right now — where the growth doesn’t feel obvious yet, or you’re afraid to look back at who you used to be…

Just know this:

One day, you might look back at a moment that once completely unraveled you… and realize, almost with surprise, that it doesn’t have the same grip it once did.

And when that day comes (because it will) I hope you let yourself feel proud.

Because sometimes the quietest growth is the strongest — the kind that makes the difference between who you were and who you are now unmistakably clear.

Happy Beautiful Fears Friday 🤍

Summer Evening Well Spent

Beautiful Fears — Fri, 20 Feb 2026 15:19:22 GMT

If you know my mom, you might know her love of writing letters – I mean handwritten, barely-can-read old-school cursive letters, delivered to my mailbox (yes – actual snail mail) almost every week.

It’s the sweetest gesture that I sometimes take for granted, but I’m always reminded (when I share this niche fact about her) of how special it is… and how the craft of letter writing has really taken a backseat in today’s society.

Anyways, lately my mom has been including old photos in some of these letters – extras from our picture books (back when people still used film and made giant yearly photo albums, which I still love flipping through every time I’m home).

🎧 Also — I’m trying something new this week — if you’d rather listen to this reflection, you can press play below.

In the most recent batch, there was one from our old lake house. I’m standing near the water with a bucket in one hand, leaning back like I’m searching for shells in the sand or likely some hidden treasure on the beach. And I say “beach” lightly here – it was the beach to us Midwest folk, OK.

You can see ripples in the water next to me, which tells me my brother or sister were probably right there too, splashing about.

A summer evening well spent, I’m sure of it.

As I stared at the photo, I smiled – it brought me right back to that era of my life.

A “lake house” might sound luxurious to some, but ours in Okoboji, Iowa was definitely a fixer-upper – in the best way possible. We had bunk beds and cots in the basement, enough to sleep a small army, where all the kids gathered, no cable TV, and probably fewer than ten DVDs we owned.

So slowness and boredom were part of the curriculum at the lake house.

And what do kids do with slowness and boredom?

They go outside and get creative.

Of course, things like boating, jet skiing, and tubing were all the rage with us kids. But I remember just as many moments of the simplest activities that brought us so much joy…

laying on the hammock and looking up at the clouds, making up characters from the shapes we saw
doing 1,000 cartwheels in the backyard with my sister until we got so dizzy we had to collapse into the grass
pitching tents in the backyard while the parents slept inside (only to wake up to a thunderstorm and rain puddled in our tents in the middle of the night)
bonfires with scary stories from my dad, flashlight under his chin creating the most dramatic shadows
searching for shells or hidden treasure in the sand…

Such simple, sweet moments. No phones. No Game Boys. No TV.

A concept that almost feels impossibly foreign now.

Heck, I even get anxious about leaving my phone in the other room, worried that my family or a close friend will call in an emergency and I won’t be there…

I find myself fearing boredom (or maybe lack of stimulation from all the media we consume day-to-day) almost constantly. Opening Instagram almost habitually whenever I unlock my phone, even when my intent was just to check my email or respond to a text.

And I know there are things I could do better when it comes to staying off my phone. But it almost feels like there’s this quiet expectation now, too. Whether it’s real or not, it feels like people expect responses or attention almost immediately, just because we can.

We can know the minute (I mean, really the second) someone is trying to reach us. Down to the typing bubble that tells us someone is actively responding…

At this point in my life, most people closest to me know how bad I am at responding quickly or “on time” (I know I’ve said this before, but please know… I still love you all lol).

But the truth is: I’m a thoughtful communicator. I take my time digesting, thinking things through, responding thoroughly. And honestly? That can be draining for me. Not to sound dramatic — it’s just how I’m wired.

Not everyone is like that (jealous), but I’ve come to terms with it… and even learned to love that part of myself for how it shows up in other areas of my life.

Birthday cards, thoughtful notes, letter writing…
(shoutout mom 🤍)

For work, one beautiful development of all this evolving technology has been remote work.

But with that comes a necessary evil: boundaries.

This is a lesson I’ve been slowly learning, and it’s definitely not one that I mastered from the start. When work doesn’t have a clear punch card, it’s easy to get swept into doing more, taking on more, making sure the clients are happy… and forgetting to ask for help when you actually need it.

And luckily, I don’t have kids yet, so my wake-up call wasn’t as jarring as it might be for some. But I will say – it still came with a *~slight menty b~*.

Burnout is very real. Even when you don’t see it coming from a mile away.

It’s only now (at the ripe age of 30) that I feel like I’m starting to understand the nuances of adulthood… just scratching the surface.

No one is going to tell you to stop working.
No one is going to tell you to do less.

And no one hands you a manual for how to “find balance,” either.

So lately, I’ve been intentional about a few things:

– setting better boundaries and expectations with work
– being honest about my capacity
– being a little less social (for now…) as I learn my social battery better
– and maybe most importantly… embracing the boredom

Instead of immediately reaching for my phone or turning on the TV, I’ve gotten more comfortable sitting in silence with a pen and paper. Or listening to a podcast while handwriting notes on ideas that surface.

But here’s the hardest question of all for me right now:

Let’s say all the worries in the world faded for a day.
Your work tasks were handled.
Your friends and family were safe.
Your fears about money, the future, the state of the world – gone for just one day.

Where would you go?

The first thing I thought was:

I’d go back to the lake house…

And I imagine walking alongside my younger self, searching for shells and hidden treasure in the sand… just knowing, in that moment, we would both agree:

It was a summer evening well spent.

I’m sure of it.

Thanks for reading (or listening!! <3)
Happy Beautiful Fears Friday, friends. 🤍

The Slow Space

Beautiful Fears — Fri, 13 Feb 2026 15:19:26 GMT

My mind was fried.

I felt exhausted, confused, restless… and stuck with the guilty “should” soundtrack playing on repeat – every. single. day.

Grind mode, day in and day out.

“I should be working on this…”
“I should be cleaning…”
“I should be reaching out to this person…”

I kept my head down, running constantly on adrenaline with stressful deadlines, checking things off my endless to-do list, sleepless nights, trying to maximize time out of fear of wasting it.

It wasn’t until my body forced rest upon me that something became glaringly obvious:

being productive or efficient doesn’t mean the same thing as achieving clarity, direction, or true understanding.

There I was, sitting with all these “things” I’d completed, but feeling exhausted, scattered, and more confused than before about which direction I was even headed.

Taking advantage of this forced rest, I started reflecting on things I’d recently read, learned, heard, or watched over the past few weeks – noticing a core theme that kept making itself known:

the need to slow down.

When I actually made space to think, I realized I’d been stuck in a constant loop lately:

checking things off a to-do list that never really ends…
assuming the path forward is a straight line instead of something with twists and turns…
jumping to conclusions instead of trying things out and figuring them out along the way…

And somewhere in that reflection, a reminder surfaced, becoming clear in the slowness:

It’s okay to let confusion be part of our narrative.
We don’t need to rush to answers or to have it all figured out.
Life is messy and rarely comes with neatly trimmed endings…!!
Stories are more dynamic when they’re given space to breathe… to float… or even sink deeper than before.

When we don’t rush clarity, we often find ourselves led to entirely new questions or paths we wouldn’t have otherwise seen or explored.

Lately, I’ve been trying to practice this by playing a small game with myself: connecting themes across the things I read, watch, or listen to each week.

The more I practice this, the more I enjoy the process of slowing down enough to notice thoughts, details, and ideas as they float by.

And like clockwork, this past week, the same message kept finding me everywhere.

Like this random ‘Daily Vibe Reflection’ from my Pattern astrology app from earlier this week [if you’re into that sort of thing !!] —

The phrase: ‘constant pursuit of the next experience’ really stuck with me…

And suddenly I realized something I’d been experiencing without ever making space to name it. I couldn’t remember the last day I woke up without immediately running through my to-do list over and over in my mind…

And later that same day, someone in a YouTube video casually mentioned listening closely to the lyrics of Billy Joel’s Vienna – a song I’d heard countless times but never really read the lyrics as I listened.

So I looked them up, and honestly laughed at the timing:

It truly felt like the universe gently calling me out – winking from the shadows with a little smirk.

So that night, I decided to listen and actually let myself have a slow evening.

And sure enough, the slowness started working its magic.

Instead of mentally filing away a creative idea for “later,” I sat with it longer than I normally would, letting questions naturally arise for me to explore. Then I asked myself more questions… questioning the questions.

I grabbed a pen and paper, letting notes slowly turn into messy sketches and doodles across the page — especially when I found myself not knowing the answer to something I’d just asked… letting my mind wander wherever it wanted to go.

Unexpectedly, I found myself thinking about relationships and friendships in my life — including ones that have ended or shifted over time. Normally, my instinct would be to avoid those memories altogether, but welcoming the slowness gave me space to actually look back and see people and moments for what they were: characters who played important roles in my story, even if they weren’t meant to stay forever.

And in that reflection, something clicked. I noticed something I might’ve missed if I’d kept rushing forward:

Some of the things I once longed for are already present in my life NOW.

The things I am now living were once on my endless to-do list…

– like finally bringing writing back into my life :)

– moving to LA (yay sun!!!)

– prioritizing friendships & relationships that fill my cup (you betchya!)

– finding better balance with life & work (yep!)

– soaking up “now moments” like my morning walks, warm espresso, and touching grass

[**still patting myself on the back for these**]

This of course made me wonder how often I’ve done this throughout my life – so easily overlooked what I’d already built because I was so focused on what was supposed to come next.

So maybe the shift is in understanding the intention behind slowing down:

Not getting ahead.
Not optimizing every moment.
Not chasing the next achievement, milestone, or goal.

But instead: making space to actually understand what we’re living right now, what we’re feeling, what direction we’ve been moving, and whether we still want to go that way…

Because clarity rarely comes from moving faster through life.

It comes from staying long enough to notice where you are… what you’ve built… and what might already be quietly growing around you.

So if life feels rushed or overwhelming lately, maybe this is your reminder (like it was for me) that it’s okay to slow down.

— to have a “rest” day without a plan…
— to let thoughts wander, or let your pen find its way around a page…
— to sit with confusion instead of racing past it…

Sometimes growth isn’t found in checking boxes or planning for “the next big thing.”

Sometimes it’s waiting for us in the quiet moments we almost rushed past.

Happy Beautiful Fears Friday, friends 🤍

Just Turn Around

Beautiful Fears — Sat, 07 Feb 2026 03:19:13 GMT

You know when you’re watching a movie and the audience sees the danger before the main character does?

And you know the people who can’t help but yell at the screen during the most intense scenes?

“Don’t trust him!!!”
“Don’t go in there!!!”
“Just turn around!!!”

[side note: so no one feels called out – that is 100% me. I am that person.]

But the character has no idea what’s coming. They don’t see what we see, and we’re left yelling into the void while watching the whole mess unfold…

I heard this incredible question on a podcast recently (Diary of a CEO):

What would the audience be screaming at you if your life were a movie?

Yeah.

Like damn, what a ruthless question.

So if you’re not ready to be honest with yourself, maybe skip this as your next journal prompt…

But if you’re ready to go a little deeper, it becomes oddly fun to picture your life as a movie. Put yourself in the recliner theater chair, bag of buttered popcorn in hand, and watch your life play out as a two-hour film.

[& don’t worry – you get to cast the celebrity playing you. Thanks in advance, Natalie Portman (!!!)]

Strangely enough, this connects to something else I’ve been thinking about lately:

how easy it is to see the “warning signs” now in situations we’ve already lived through.

But in the moment it was happening, we didn’t notice a thing… or maybe we did, somewhere deep down.

But it’s not until later (sometimes much later) that we can look back and see all the things we missed.

The red flags.
The moments our gut tried to warn us.
The situations we stayed in longer than we should have.

The audience version of us knew.
But the character version had to live it.

And I think for a lot of us, looking back on certain people or phases of life can feel painful, uncomfortable, and sometimes even unwelcome.

Sometimes a song comes on, or I see a number or place that reminds me of someone I once thought I couldn’t live without. Or it pulls me back to a time I thought I’d never escape.

And for a second, I’m right back there.

Old feelings try to resurface, and sometimes it’s almost an unexplainable visceral reaction – like an invisible punch to the gut or an automatic tightening of your fists.

Up until recently, I’d let those feelings overwhelm me. I didn’t have the awareness to interrupt what was happening, so the old story would take over again.

But lately ~maybe this reflective 30s era creeping in~ I’ve found myself interrupting the plot.

Almost like breaking character and yelling back at the screen:

“Okay, yes, that happened… but girl, look at what you learned from it!!”

Instead of letting those memories disrupt my present peace, I’ve been trying to replace the reaction with a question:

What did this teach me?

And honestly, that shift has been monumental.

Because instead of thinking about the person, the pain, or the bad experience —

I start thinking about who I became after.

[What I learned]
[What I won’t tolerate anymore]
[How much more I understand myself now]

It feels like, for a moment, the barrier between the theater seats and the screen disappears, and the character can finally hear the audience:

“You’re going to grow so much from this. Just wait.”

The memory doesn’t disappear.

It just changes shape.

And maybe that’s what healing actually looks like: not forgetting what happened, but becoming aware enough to change the story you tell yourself about it.

You’re not rewriting the past, you’re not pretending it didn’t hurt, you’re just using a new tool in your toolbox to look at what happened and say:

“I survived that. And I’m wiser because of it.”

Maybe growth is when reminders don’t pull you backward anymore.

They simply remind you how far you’ve come.

And maybe healing is finally turning around before the audience has to yell.

Happy Beautiful Fears Friday, friends. 🤍

Honesty > Armor

Beautiful Fears — Sat, 31 Jan 2026 07:55:24 GMT

I was watching Beast Games this week (Season 2), and before you judge me, please don’t knock it until you try it.

I’m not really a reality TV person at all, but Season 1 pulled me in – and somehow Season 2 is just as good so far.

This season brings together 100 of the “strongest” and 100 of the “smartest” contestants to compete. Only a few episodes in, what caught my attention wasn’t the challenges – it was the people.

Alliances forming…
Side conversations…
Secrets…
Trust breaking…
Even a love interest forming (yes, really lol)

Small social moves mattering more than brains or physical strength.

At one point, Jimmy (MrBeast) explained that what looked like a strength competition was actually a social one – because even if you lost, you weren’t eliminated… you just lost the power to decide who goes home and who stays for the next round.

If you understood that, your strategy changed – or at least it should have.

Suddenly, relationships mattered more than performance… but still, many contestants were so locked in on the task itself that they missed the social layer entirely.

It made me think about the cost of choosing who loses.

At first, when a contestant says something like, “this is the hardest decision of my life,” it sounds super dramatic, almost funny.

My first reaction was basically: okay, you’re on a game show, relax…

But then I sat with it a little longer and realized being faced with deciding who loses a life-changing opportunity – the chance at $10 million…

That actually is a bit morally heavy.

These games simulate moral weight without physical danger, but the psychological burden is real. The “what ifs” probably feel very real too.

It’s easy to laugh at game show drama – until you actually imagine being the one holding the lever (or in this case, the sledgehammer).

Contestants were given giant glass heart props (kinda like totems) and were begging their fellow contestants with the sledgehammer authority:

“please don’t break my heart…”

Kind of absurd — but honestly pretty genius symbolism.

Another challenge involved team leaders being offered enormous bribes (up to $1 million) to walk away, knowing their entire team would be eliminated if they accepted.

Watching people turn down life-changing money for groups they had just met was wild…

And watching someone choose themselves was also wild – just in a different way.

It makes you realize that “sticking with the pack” isn’t the right answer for everyone… especially if you’re willing to accept the social cost that comes with it.

Either way, it exposed something real about values under pressure.

As the episodes go on, you start to see alliances shift how people behave — promises made and quietly broken, trust traded for advantage.

Some contestants lose out on huge amounts of money simply because they believed someone they shouldn’t have trusted.

This season also brought back a few contestants from Season 1 (both heroes and villains) including one player known for taking a much larger share for himself instead of splitting it evenly with his group.

To me, this felt like a perfect opportunity for a second chance for him — and all I will say is there were many moments that he had the opportunity to “right his wrongs”… and watching how that played out added another layer to the social experiment !!

The more the social games unfolded, the more uncomfortable I felt – mostly because it made me wonder what I would actually do in those situations.

And honestly, I don’t know.

I’d like to think I’d act differently. But it’s easier to say that from the couch – not while I’m isolated for weeks, under pressure, exhausted, and being offered hundreds of thousands (or millions) of dollars…

while being told to “be a team player.”

That theme isn’t just game-show specific — it’s real life too.

Pressure changes people… or maybe it reveals parts of us we don’t like to admit are there.

I mean, I’ve noticed some interesting sides of myself come out when I’m really stressed — about work, money, or falling behind my own expectations.

I’m not my best self in those moments.

I get more defensive, more guarded. I act from protection instead of connection.

I tell myself I’m just being efficient or setting boundaries, but sometimes, if I’m honest, I’m just overwhelmed and pushing people away.

Not because I don’t care… but because stress narrows the lens. It pulls everything back into “survival mode”.

In high-pressure environments, whether it’s a game show or a busy season of life, it’s easy to get laser-focused on the end goal:
-winning
-getting the project done
-closing the deal
-just surviving

And it’s just as easy to forget the bigger picture: how your decisions affect the people around you, what the long-term impact might be, or even how to stay present enough to experience the process instead of only chasing the outcome.

But maybe there’s another version.

Maybe another way to “win” or “get to the top” is noticing when pressure is rewriting your personality…

Catching the moment when survival mode starts making your decisions for you…

And then choosing (even imperfectly) not to abandon the version of yourself you actually want to be just to get ahead.

Choosing honesty over armor.

I don’t know how that strategy plays out in the long run — in Beast Games or in life.

But I know which version of winning lets me sleep at night.

So for now, I’m going with my gut and playing the game the best way I know how — as myself.

And maybe that’s what I’m learning to respect most — not perfect players, but honest ones. The people who try to stay grounded, stay human, and course-correct when they realize they’ve drifted.

And maybe the biggest win of all is getting through it without shattering anyone’s heart — including your own.

Beautiful Fears Friday — imperfect, late-night edition.

Thanks for reading! This post is public so feel free to share it.

Bringing Back the 1-2-3

Beautiful Fears — Fri, 23 Jan 2026 21:55:05 GMT

Remember when you were a kid and someone was teaching you something new — like jumping off a diving board, riding a bike without training wheels, leaping off the playground into waiting arms — and it always started the same way:

“Okay… here we go. 1… 2… 3… GO!”

And in those three seconds, your brain would absolutely spiral…

Every ounce of bravery, practice, and confidence boiling down to one decision:
Do I do it… or do I back out?

**for the record, I backed out of the diving board many times… but for the moments I said yes — I’m really proud of my younger self for those :)

Now in my 30s, I’ve noticed how rare “1-2-3” moments have become. We see the risks, and we like the comfort of the known. While I don’t plan on bungee jumping anytime soon, I realized recently there are areas of my life that have quietly lost this newness.

Friendship is one of them.

In college, making new friends felt necessary — mostly because isolation was the alternative. Now in adulthood, with a partner, a solid friend group, long-distance closeness, and a genuine love for alone time, the urgency to make new friends has faded.

So when I found myself at a party recently where I didn’t know many people there, I felt oddly… out of practice. Honestly, kind of nervous in a way that surprised me.

My brain did what it does best in moments like this, trying to talk me out of it:
“That person you met only one other time probably doesn’t remember you…”
“You won’t know what to say… the conversation will probably be awkward…”
“You’re tired… maybe you should just go home…”

Before I let it keep going, I gave myself the same talk we all learned early on:

1… 2… 3… go.

And it worked.

That night, I ended up having one of the best nights I’ve had in a while — reminding myself that newness doesn’t always mean something you’ve never done before. Sometimes it’s just something you haven’t practiced in a long time.

So it felt right to offer the same challenge today on 1/23 :)

Give yourself the “1-2-3, go” and try something new, or maybe even just something familiar that feels a little scary again.

Happy Beautiful Fears Friday 🤍

Our Shared Delusion

Beautiful Fears — Fri, 16 Jan 2026 15:19:34 GMT

The past few months, my mind has felt foggy —

like I was moving through the same gray day on repeat.

For a while, I assumed that was just burnout, or routine, or being “in a season.” But I’m starting to think it was something much simpler than that:

my brain hadn’t seen anything new in a while.

Same patterns, same routines, same inputs… same outputs. Not bad ones — just familiar. And familiarity, it turns out, can quietly narrow perception.

Over the holidays, during a 15-hour car ride from LA to the PNW, we decided to put on The Secret of Secrets by Dan Brown. It’s a mystery/thriller, but underneath the plot it explores big questions about human consciousness — offering a theory that challenges centuries of how we’ve been taught to understand it.

A few hours in, there was a line that made us pause.

Then rewind…

Then listen again…

Then pause once more…

“Our conscious minds delude us and trick us into seeing disconnectedness where there is only unity… Future generations will see that our perception of being alone in the world was once humankind’s greatest shared delusion.”

OUR SHARED DELUSION.

I just know when he wrote that line he nodded to himself like, “Yeah… this will get the people going.”

And unfortunately for me — it did.

It hit in a way that felt uncomfortably true… and had me spiraling and questioning:

Why would we convince ourselves that we’re not connected?

Maybe humans learned separation because we needed it. You know, for things like… survival. Then, as societies grew, populations expanded, and cities formed, connection wasn’t really the focal point anymore. Efficiency started to matter more — systems, processes, businesses, moneyyyyy.

All of these became more important than true connection or intimacy. Not necessarily wrong — just a learning experience. And now (for many of us) survival isn’t a constant emergency, which means we finally have the luxury of asking why instead of just reacting.

About a week after our long drive, something else made everything click into place.

I was listening to “On Purpose with Jay Shetty” featuring neuroscientist Emily McDonald, where she described a fascinating experiment:

Researchers raised kittens in complete darkness except for brief daily exposure — one group saw only vertical lines, the other only horizontal ones. When the kittens were eventually placed into a normal environment with tables, chairs, and ledges, each group struggled to navigate it… but in different ways.

The kittens exposed only to vertical lines couldn’t perceive horizontal surfaces — they bumped into tables and missed ledges. The others couldn’t perceive vertical objects — colliding with chair legs and table posts.

Navigating their new environment was challenging for both groups — not because those things didn’t exist, but because their brains had never been wired to see them.

Emily shared that the study made her wonder what she herself might be missing — simply because of how her brain was wired by her environment.

And immediately, my mind went back to Dan Brown’s “shared delusion” idea.

Are there beliefs we all hold (collectively) not because they’re true, but because they’re familiar?
Are we perceiving a reality shaped more by conditioning than by what actually exists?

~At this point, my brain was fully melting~

Around the same time, over the holidays, I binged Severance.

If you haven’t seen it, it’s a show where office workers undergo a procedure that surgically separates their work memories from their personal ones. The “innie” versions of themselves exist inside a sterile, controlled corporate world, with no access to their full reality — only what they’re allowed to see.

As I mentioned at the beginning, recently I found myself stuck in this sort of fog/mental funk for the past few months. I realized during that time, I hadn’t really read much, listened to many podcasts, or binged a show in months. It was a nice reset — but more than that, after ingesting all of these different forms of media (a book, a podcast, a show), I realized there was a common thread running through everything:

Brain filters.

In Dan Brown’s book, one character says:

“Imagine a future in which humans start to lower their brain filters and begin to exist with greater understanding of reality… we might truly start to believe that we’re a unified species.”

The neuroscientist on the podcast described how environment wires perception (vertical/horizontal lines with the kittens) shaping, or “filtering”, what the brain is even capable of seeing.

And in the show Severance, the “innies” operate inside an extremely filtered version of reality, believing they are entirely separate beings from the people they are outside of work.

Turns out, our brains have to filter reality. Without filters, the world would be insanely overwhelming.

Like when a car is speeding toward the crosswalk you’re about to step into — your brain doesn’t automatically contemplate things like the physics of tire traction, the temperature of the asphalt, or the fabric of the driver’s shirt…

It narrows focus, simplifies the situation, and prioritizes survival.

Which, you know — can be good !!

Filters keep us alive.

They compress our reality into something actionable, but sometimes, what protects us can also limit us.

Over time, the same filters that help us survive can quietly convince us that separation is the truth — that we’re “alone,” disconnected, isolated in our own experiences.

And the craziest part is that we don’t experience this as missing something. We experience it as normal… as real as real gets.

So I found myself wondering: if we need these filters to survive, what would happen if we loosened them just a little?

(you know, just temporarily, nothing dramatic..)

Maybe connection never disappeared for humans, maybe it was never something we lost at all. What if it’s something our brains simply learned to deprioritize in the name of survival — programmed over centuries to show us the world in a certain way?

And maybe part of moving forward —

~into a new year, a new season, a new way of being~

is learning to notice what we’ve been filtering out all along. To slow down, to become more aware, and to keep questioning what we’ve always been told.

For me, this has been a reminder to keep learning, growing, and expanding my perspective. Because if this shift in awareness helped lead me out of the fog, I can’t help but wonder what other filters might still be waiting to soften next.

Happy Beautiful Fears Friday friends! :)

Ditch the Autopilot

Beautiful Fears — Wed, 03 Dec 2025 16:05:19 GMT

Earlier this week, flying back to LA after Thanksgiving with my family in Des Moines, I was multitasking in the way I always do: attempting to journal while also listening to a podcast.

While my mind kept bouncing somewhere between the two, I had a thought:

“The amount of TIME we spend doing something doesn’t mean much without INTENTION…”

A few examples of what I’m talking about:

just going through the motions of a workout
being friends with someone for 10+ years but barely having a real conversation anymore
spending “quality time” together while both scrolling on your phones
a 300-day Duolingo streak but never actually speaking the language out loud

Longevity DOES NOT EQUAL meaning.

Sometimes the most meaningful things are brief…

but full of energy & presence:

calling your mom for five minutes before work on a random Tuesday
freefalling for 45 seconds over the breathtaking mountains in Switzerland
saying one sentence to a group of third graders that they remember for years

It’s easy to slip into autopilot, to move through moments without noticing them…

But what if we didn’t?

What if we met each moment with as much intention as possible?

What would that look like for you?

maybe putting your phone in another room for an hour or two during the day
maybe naming a verbal intention before a work task or your workout for the day
maybe asking “why” before you do something (even if the why is simply: “I’m decompressing now…”

On the plane, I caught myself splitting my attention (unsuccessfully) — so I took a moment to pause and ask:

Which thing — journaling or the podcast — would actually mean something to me right now?

In that particular moment, the answer was journaling.

So I chose that. I finished my entry, wrote what I needed to write, and let myself watch a movie for the rest of the flight.

It felt good — not because of productivity…

not for logging time trying to write or learn or read or all the things on my to-do list…

but because for a little while, I was fully with myself and one thing at a time.

It reminded me that meaning doesn’t come from the number of hours or the length of years we spend on something —

it comes from the smallest intentional moments…

the ones that make life feel the fullest.

Maybe this week, try and notice one moment where you slow down long enough to choose intention over autopilot — even if it lasts only a few seconds :)

Thanks for reading! This post is public so feel free to share it.

The Unwitnessed Truths

Beautiful Fears — Thu, 27 Nov 2025 04:29:05 GMT

Earlier this week I stumbled upon a video of Annika Bennett (singer/artist) talking about how she ended up getting John Mayer to produce her recent song “A Tree Falls.”

Apparently he had initially heard one of her other songs (“Madwoman”) and posted it on his story — from there, they connected and she eventually sought out his advice on the production of A Tree Falls.

So naturally, I was immediately intrigued by what it was about this song that inspired Mr. Mayer to take a chance.

And less than 30 seconds into listening… I am sobbing.

I understood.

Just a few of those lines really got me …

“If a tree falls in the forest, won’t it always make a sound?
Why the hell would it care if there’s anyone around?”

“I’ll still feel I’m getting old even without a mirror…
the world will keep on turning even when the people go…”

“There’s places in the ocean where nobody’s ever been… species in the jungle hiding from the scientists.
If they die undiscovered it don’t mean they don’t exist… maybe all the purest things prefer no witnesses.”

“I sit and think about you as the trees fly past the train….
You never saw me hit the ground but I fell all the same.”

I truly feel like I could dissect and unpack these lyrics for hours… there’s so many layered meanings here, and I love it.

One of the things I loved almost immediately was how I could ask 10 different people what message they got from the song, and I think every single answer would be different.

Honestly, you should just go listen so you can hear it sung beautifully in your head too :)

After my little crying sesh, I laughed at myself — mostly because the lyrics are so seemingly simple, yet they hit with this steady, quiet weight I’m still thinking about days later.

A few humbling reminders that I took away from what she wrote:

your experiences are real and meaningful, even if you’re the only one who witnessed them.
your thoughts and emotions are true even if you keep them hidden away.
love still exists even if no one sees it — and hurt does too.
growth still happens without applause or a first-place medal.
you still change even when no one is watching closely enough to notice.

We put so much pressure on ourselves to be:

-seen
-noticed
-validated
-understood
-applauded…

So maybe it is true… maybe the most pure thing we can do is be so true to ourselves that no witnesses are needed.

No matter who’s listening, watching, observing… even without any witnesses,

we are still existing (!!!!)

If we’re being honest with ourselves, the truest moments aren’t performative — they happen when you feel safely tucked away, hidden, in the background, in the quiet.

The song closes with:

For me, I think this song was the perfect reminder of:

the beauty in invisible transformations.

Your thoughts, feelings, experiences, challenges, lessons, wins, losses — they don’t have to be loud, perfect, or even visible to matter.

They don’t need an audience to be real.

If you’ve found yourself moving quietly through life before — or even if you are right now… all that matters is that you’re showing up for yourself.

Don’t forget:

silent successes still exist
internal challenges still grow into something
and you’re still here — still existing, still changing, still becoming…

Even if no one else sees it — remember, you saw it.

That’s what matters most.

Sip on the Cocktail of Aliveness

Beautiful Fears — Wed, 19 Nov 2025 15:19:37 GMT

Something about being “the new girl” is addictive.

This hit me the other night while I was watching a show in the background — something nostalgic, comforting, familiar.

Here’s a hint:

“You know you love me. XOXO…”

Photo: Timothy White/The CW, via Entertainment Weekly (2017)

Naturally, I restarted Gossip Girl — and early-season Jenny Humphrey (aka the new girl) is just trying to fit in, land invites to the coolest parties, and somehow get into clubs at the ripe age of 14 (!!).

~insane~

And yet, I felt this weird wave of excitement watching her… feeling that old thrill of newness… living vicariously through this other Jenny on the screen.

New school, new city, new her.

Funny enough, the actress (Taylor Momsen) was just interviewed on one of my favorite podcasts, Call Her Daddy.

And she talked about her own new beginning — leaving acting to start a music career, even when everyone around her told her it was a bad idea:

“How dare you turn your back on something that’s been so successful for you?”

Her response?

How dare you judge this? F*** you.”

Iconic.

I admired her character’s rebel era in Gossip Girl, and I loved hearing she carried that energy into real life — walking away from a prosperous TV career to follow her calling.

She formed the band, The Pretty Reckless, signed with Interscope Records, and went on to make a name for herself in the industry:

– the most #1 singles by a female-fronted band on the Billboard Rock Airplay chart
– the first female-fronted act with four consecutive #1 singles
– over 1 million albums sold in the U.S. (Billboard Media, 2025)

& also -

[Fun fact: Taylor Momsen was also Cindy Lou Who from The Grinch. She does it all.]

Photo credit: Universal Pictures / Sergione Infuso / Corbis via Getty Images.‎

Okay, I’m done talking about Taylor (for now) — she’s just so cool !!

But back to the thought that started all this:

There’s a certain high that comes with being new.

New job, new school, new city, new room full of strangers.

Your heart beats too fast, your senses sharpen, and you’re suddenly hyper-aware of every possible first impression.

Terrifying… and intoxicating.

It made me ask:

why does starting over feel so good — even when it scares us?

Turns out, there’s psychology behind it :) sooo let’s get into it !!

1. The “Fresh Start Effect”

Researchers call it the Fresh Start Effect (Dai, Milkman & Riis, 2014): how new chapters make us feel separated from our past selves.

Beginnings wipe the slate clean.

A new environment can whisper:

“You can be someone else if you want to.”

Or even:

“You can finally be who you’ve always been.”

Either way, it unlocks something in our brains — almost addictive.

2. Novelty lights up the brain

Our brains love novelty (new faces, new routines, new ideas) because it activates the dopamine-rich mesolimbic reward system (Bunzeck & Düzel, 2006).

It’s not just excitement — it’s biology people !!

No wonder the first week of a job feels more cinematic than the last month of the old one.

3. The self-expansion theory: new spaces expand who we are

Psychologists Arthur & Elaine Aron’s Self-Expansion Theory says people are happiest when they feel like they’re growing – stretching into new skills, identities, or social circles.

Starting something new gives us that almost instantly:

You explore new parts of yourself
You’re more brave and observant
You experiment with how you show up
You feel like you’re actively becoming

It’s not about impressing others – it’s about meeting the next version of yourself (!!)

4. Reward Prediction Error: the thrill of the unknown

When something feels unpredictable, your brain releases even more dopamine. This is called Reward Prediction Error (Schultz, 1997): the rush when you don’t know what’s going to happen next.

New situations hold questions like:

Who will like you?
What role will you play here?
What opportunities might appear?
How will people see you?
Who will you connect with?

The fear of the unknown blends with the thrill of possibility…

& your nervous system calls that cute little cocktail “aliveness”.

5. Liminality: the magic of the in-between

Anthropologists use liminality to describe the in-between phase — the threshold between who you were and who you’re becoming.

Being new is exactly that: a moment when the world hasn’t decided who you are yet —
and you get to choose.

6. The desire to be seen… differently

New beginnings wake up our longing to:

– be noticed
– be understood
– be admired
– belong

Research shows first impressions form fast (Asch, 1946) and shape how people perceive us moving forward (Fiske & Taylor, 1991; Fiske & Neuberg, 1990).

A new beginning gives us a chance to be seen the way we hope we are —
not the way we fear we’ve been.

7. Maybe the real thrill is this: we surprise ourselves

The most beautiful part of beginnings isn’t the novelty, but it’s the way we rise to the moment.

New environments make us:

– more present
– more intentional
– more alive

They remind us there are versions of ourselves we haven’t met yet.

Maybe that’s the heart of it:

A beautiful fear —

not the kind that traps us,
but the kind that propels us,
reignites our sense of reality,
and invites us to meet the unknown with curiosity.

So - your small dare for the week:

go be the “new girl.”

Try something you haven’t tried before — it doesn’t have to be big. It could be a pottery class, a hip-hop class, a walk through a new neighborhood… even something tiny like a new cheese on your pasta.

Who knows… you might just unlock a version of yourself who’s been waiting to be seen.

for my paid subscribers

First of all, hi cutie pah-tooties :) I’ve missed chatting it up with you.

I recorded an audio reflection about the new beginning I’m stepping into this week — creatively, physically, and personally.

& it includes a small announcement: what I’ve been avoiding and why I’m finally choosing to start now.

Listen below <3

Ambiguous Peanut Butter

Beautiful Fears — Fri, 07 Nov 2025 15:19:46 GMT

A few things I heard this week that stuck with me:

From a new show on Netflix:

“Just like with dogs, sometimes you have to hide the medicine in peanut butter… so what’s our peanut butter?”

And from a neuroscientist in an interview:

“Sometimes we need to treat ourselves to do the thing we don’t want to — the dog doesn’t learn the trick without a treat.”

It got me thinking about the relationship between the two (these separate dog metaphors) and how both strike a chord with the theme of Beautiful Fears.

The idea of hiding our fears behind beauty, coating them in something that makes them feel more approachable… more attainable… less scary…

Even the simplest ritual (like making myself a delicious coffee just to get my day started) becomes its own kind of peanut butter — a small reward, a way to make it through a tough workday.

And then there was one more thing that kept showing up this week — five times, in fact — the word:

“ambiguous.”

I first encountered it while analyzing client demographics, where missing household size and income data made it unclear whether several families met low-income eligibility. I felt stuck in a state of unfinished calculation, forced to accept that I wouldn’t get the clear answers I wanted.

Then another client brought up the same word in reference to a grant question that was worded in a confusing way and could’ve been interpreted in many ways. And finally, in the movie Before Sunrise (great film, by the way), one of the main characters says,

“It just kinda let me know how ambiguous everything was. You know, even death.”

It got me thinking about the word itself — ambiguous: unclear, open to multiple meanings, uncertain.

Really, if you ask me, an uncomfortable state to be in.

But now hear me out — what if we viewed ambiguity as the medicine?
The thing we like to pretend isn’t there.
The thing we’ll gladly coat in peanut butter just to swallow it whole.

I recently read an article in Psychology Today about the power of ambiguity, and how our ability to sit with uncertainty actually strengthens creativity and resilience. Ambiguity forces the brain to process information in a non-linear way, encouraging divergent thinking — the kind that helps us generate creative ideas by exploring multiple possibilities.

When we can tolerate ambiguity,

we think more flexibly,
make better decisions,
& even build empathy.

In other words, the discomfort of not knowing is the very thing that stretches us, softens us, and makes us more human.

Then another client mentioned the same word while describing a grant question that was confusingly worded and open to multiple interpretations. Maybe the uncertainty itself is what we’re meant to swallow, the part that teaches us patience and presence when we’re desperate for clarity.

I keep wanting to coat everything in something that makes it easier to understand: data, logic, meaning, closure… whether it’s real or not, adding the peanut butter that helps it go down.

But maybe that’s not always the point. Maybe sometimes the healing happens in the not-knowing, in the willingness to stay with something before it makes sense.

The truth is, most of life is ambiguous — we just spend so much energy pretending it’s not. But there’s something strangely freeing about realizing that – like once you stop demanding certainty, you start to feel alive again.

Maybe grounded again — maybe even relieved that you’ve accepted the truth: that it’s all a mystery, after all…

Maybe the trick isn’t hiding the medicine –

it’s learning to just notice the taste of it.

Into the Ether

Beautiful Fears — Fri, 31 Oct 2025 16:01:40 GMT

Since moving into our new place this month, I’ve been on a mission to build an art wall — spending way too much time scrolling through Etsy for digital prints and ideas.

We’ve been lucky to get some beautiful decor from my fiancé’s Macanese (Chinese-Portuguese) side of the family, so we’ve been leaning into an Asian-inspired vibe at home.

Earlier this week, I bought a yin-yang print — you know, something simple, balanced, and grounding for the space (I’m really leaning into my domesticated era).

But when I downloaded the file, a completely different image appeared.

It wasn’t the one I ordered.

It was this:

And about less than a minute later, the link refreshed and the correct yin-yang print showed up — but by then, I’d already downloaded the Ether one too.

At first, I just thought:

“Free gift for me — yay!”

Then I realized (after taking a moment to read the definition on the print) that I don’t even really know what ether means.

I mean, loosely I do… I’ve heard the phrase “into the ether” before, but it’s not exactly part of my everyday vocabulary.

THE FIFTH ELEMENT

In ancient philosophy, Aristotle described aether (modern spelling: ether) as the FIFTH ELEMENT:

the divine substance that filled the heavens,
surrounding Earth,
& binding the universe together.

While the four earthly elements (yep, you know ‘em: earth, air, fire, water) made up everything tangible —

Ether was believed to be something higher:

pure, unchanging, and eternal (aka - kind of a big deal).

LUMINIFEROUS ETHER

Then (centuries later) scientists borrowed the term in the 1800s — physicists believed light waves must travel through some invisible medium, so they decided to call it:

The luminiferous ether: a hypothetical, unseen substance filling all space.

But that idea didn’t last long.

In 1887, the Michelson–Morley experiment failed to detect any trace of ether.

Then, in 1905, Einstein’s Theory of Special Relativity showed that light needs no medium at all — cancelling the concept of the luminiferous ether altogether.

So physics moved on.

The ether was declared unnecessary — a beautiful theory, disproven by data.

A little reminder of how quickly humans can be to abandon what can’t be physically proven.

Of course, scientists of that era were living in a different world — one obsessed with facts, formulas, measurable proof (for good reason).

But now, it feels like we’re entering a different kind of era —

one of self-discovery, where people are searching less for equations and more for meaning, purpose, and human truths.

Maybe ether didn’t exist as a measurable substance…

but maybe it still exists as a metaphor (or something more) —

for everything we FEEL but CAN’T EXPLAIN…

everything we SENSE but CAN’T SEE.

“The carrier of energy, thoughts, and unseen forces beyond our perception.”

It’s something I’ve never really thought about (or even had a word for) until now.

And I can almost picture Aristotle, face in palms, like:

“um, hello — I’ve been saying this for like centuries my guy…”

*[insert eye roll]*

So maybe that accidental download wasn’t a glitch after all…

Maybe it was a little nudge — a “sign from the universe” if you will…

A reminder that not everything meaningful has to make sense right away.

Maybe sometimes the universe (or the algorithm) hands us something we didn’t ask for…

just to make us pause —

to look up a new word,
revisit an old idea,
or even remember that curiosity is its own kind of connection…
one that might lead us somewhere we didn’t plan to go.

A simple mis-click turned moment of wonder.

A reminder that not everything that disappears into the ether is lost —

some things are just there,

already existing,

waiting to be noticed.

Also — if anyone was curious about the photo wall, here’s a lil glimpse of its current state :)

Happy Halloween, friends!!!

& happy Beautiful Fears Friday <3

Ring of Fire: love, lava, labor.

Beautiful Fears — Wed, 15 Oct 2025 15:35:47 GMT

For the first time in weeks,

I woke up before my alarm and actually felt ready to start the day.

(if you know me, you know I’m not a morning person — so this felt foreign)

And for some reason, one song kept looping in my head, even when I tried to fall back asleep:

“I fell into a burning ring of fire… I went down, down, down and the flames went higher…”
[Johnny Cash - Ring of Fire]

So, naturally, I went down a rabbit hole.

The song was written by June Carter (who later became Johnny’s wife) and co-writer Merle Kilgore. It was about her inevitable love for Johnny, even though she knew it would bring pain and upheaval to her life.

Loving him, she said, “felt like falling into fire.”

But my “Ring of Fire” google search didn’t stop there.

It’s also the name of the volcanic fault line circling the Pacific Ocean, where most of Earth’s eruptions and earthquakes take place (cute!).

And (as I also learned today) it’s a term used in childbirth — describing the intense burning that happens just before new life emerges (shoutout to the moms!).

So, being me, I took a moment to dive deeper (in my mind this time) and reflect on the potential lesson behind these “Rings of Fire”…

Three wildly different meanings, all pointing to the same truth:

creation often comes with a little heat

& pressure,

expansion,

pain...

For Johnny and June,

that fire led to a lifelong partnership — a beautiful love story that endured addiction, chaos, and 35 years of marriage, with both passing just four months apart in 2003.

For the Earth,

volcanic destruction creates the fertile soils that support diverse ecosystems and allows life to thrive again.

And for childbirth,

the body stretches to its absolute limit — right before new life enters the world.

Whether it’s love, lava, or labor…

something has to give before something new can grow.

Maybe that’s what this season feels like —

and why this song wouldn’t leave my head this morning, eventually nudging me out of bed.

The burning edge right before the breakthrough…

Maybe the fire isn’t punishment…maybe it’s transformation.

Maybe it’s the uncomfortable thing we have to face before something new can emerge.

Some run from it.

Some fall in and burn alive.

And then there are those who move through it —

& wait for the beautiful thing to reveal itself.

Which do you choose?

Dear Fog Dwellers

Beautiful Fears — Fri, 26 Sep 2025 14:19:40 GMT

If there’s one thing most of us can agree on about the human experience, it’s this:

uncertainty is inevitable.

And oftentimes, it can feel deeply uncomfortable…

But can we learn to welcome it? Or at least feel more at ease when it comes knocking?

Can shifting our perspective make the unknown feel less like something we fear and more like something we trust?

Have you ever caught yourself saying, “I just hate not knowing…” or are you more of a “go with the flow” type? We all seem to meet uncertainty in different ways — some with grace, some with resistance.

But I wonder: does fear always arrive hand in hand with the unknown, or can we learn to untangle the two with a little practice?

For a long time, I was someone who hated not knowing. But for some reason after college, I magically adopted this mindset of “it’s all going to work out.” And for a while, it did. Plans came together at the last minute, opportunities popped up out of nowhere, and luck seemed to strike just when I needed it most…

It felt magical and I truly believe it was my mindset that held all the power.

But a few years ago, I hit a different kind of uncertainty – a heavy fog that stuck around longer than I wanted. This wasn’t the usual kind of waiting where I trusted that something good was just around the corner…

This time, I felt like there wasn’t a corner at all. No matter what I tried, I couldn’t see the way forward – it was dark, a bit scary, and a bit all consuming.

Maybe my mindset didn’t hold any magical powers after all…

But alas.

Eventually, I did make it through – and yes, I was better for it.

But I carried the scar with me... I became afraid of that fog showing up again, worried it would undo all the clarity I’d fought for.

Since then, uncertainty has re-entered my life a handful of times (as it does and will continue to do), but never quite as thick or suffocating as that difficult time before.

And with each round, I’ve gotten better at handling it. What made the difference?

Instead of desiring to leave the fog as soon as possible, I learned to find joy in the fog.

When life felt confusing and I’d wake up thinking, “what the hell am I doing?” – I started reframing. Instead of spiraling into frustration or rushing in the wrong direction, I’d remind myself:

“Yes, this week has been hard. But that just means something really special is right around the corner. I can’t see it yet, but I know it’s there…
For now, I’m here and that’s just where I need to be.”

At first, I only said it to myself. Then I started saying it out loud to the people closest to me – instead of annoyingly venting about my situation, I’d try:

“It’s tough right now, but I know something good is coming – I can feel it.”

Slowly, I began to believe it, and sure enough, the good things started showing up.

Sometimes they were small: stumbling across my favorite Celsius flavor on sale for 10 for $5 (grape is superior, and I will die on this hill).

Other times, they were life-changing: finding our dream place to live after months of searching, simply because we showed up at the right time and connected with the owner.

You could call it manifesting if you want. But for me, it’s less about magic and more about choosing to enjoy the fog – to treat it as proof that something is waiting on the other side.

To relish the in-between, because it can be exciting not to know what beautiful surprise is waiting when you least expect it.

Looking back at that heavier fog a few years ago, I see now that part of what made it so brutal was that I only hoped for things to work out. I didn’t believe they would.

And rather than staying still, waiting, and believing – I ran in every wrong direction, rushing for a way out, forcing a solution when in reality all I needed to do was wait.

Because funny enough —

The very things I was hoping for then:

living in California,
having a partner who challenges me,
friends who grow alongside me,
the urge to create again…
they’re all here now.

So the challenge I’m giving myself is this:

When the fog inevitably rolls in again, I want to welcome it.

I want to embrace it as part of the cycle, enjoy its presence, and remember that every time I’ve been here before, the clearing has been worth the wait.

Because it feels really, really good when the fog lifts and the world comes back into view.

& to my current and future fog-dwellers:

remember this next time you’re surrounded and can’t see the way out.

Trust that something sweet is waiting for you, just beyond the cloudy mess.

Close your eyes, picture it, and let that tiny smile tug at the corner of your mouth.

It’s closer than you think.

Savored, but Never Saved.

Beautiful Fears — Wed, 17 Sep 2025 14:19:23 GMT

It’s always been a bit confusing.

The concept of it, I mean.

Even now, I’m still not quite sure how it works.

Every day, there’s at least one moment where I feel fooled by its wizardry all over again…

It’s the worst when I don’t even notice it leaving – when I go to check on it later and realize it Irish goodbyed long ago.

Honestly, it wasn’t until adulthood that I realized how much I cared about it.

As a kid, I wanted it to leave – the sooner, the better.

I was always just looking ahead —

to Friday jeans day at my uniform-only Catholic middle school,
to summer break, barely a month into the school year,
and to the long-awaited Justin Bieber concert… when the days between getting the ticket and the show truly felt like forever.

It was an obstacle, a delay, a thing to endure before the good stuff arrived.

Now?

Now it’s something I savor.

Something I desperately try to save but can’t.

Something I occasionally weep over, just for slipping away right in front of my eyes...

It’s a strange feeling – getting exactly what I wished for as a kid, only to find I now want the opposite.

Maybe you’ve guessed it by now, but I’m talking about our precious baby: time.

Time.

A deeply layered, shape-shifting word – one that we could truly spend forever dissecting.

For today, I want to focus on something many of us can agree on:

Time is going by way too damn fast.

I hate when I catch myself saying those corny filler phrases like:

"Can you believe it’s already September???"

But every time I say it (and I always say it), I’m a little bit shocked again…

I will admit, I am a little scared of waking up at 80 and saying:

“Wait… I was just 30, I swear…”

(yes, I know everyone says that happens… but let me live in my denial a little longer… PLEASE & THANK YOU)

Research Confirms

We’re not crazy.

Turns out, we’re not just imagining it.

According to neuroscience and psychology, our perception of time does speed up as we age:

“Children’s working memory, attention, and executive function are all undergoing development at the neural circuit level... Their neural transmission is physically slower compared to adults. By the time we are adults, our time circuits are done wiring and we have learned from experience how to correctly encode the passage of time.”
— Patricia Costello, PhD, neuroscientist

But it’s not just about brain development… it’s also about the idea of novelty:

“Routine is the enemy of expanding your time... whether it’s walking a new route, dabbling in a hobby, or listening to different music, novelty could be the key to elongating each year, rather than looking back on an increasingly ill-defined blur.”
— The Independent, 2024

And here’s another added layer: retrospective time (how we remember it) —

“The more emotionally-laden or novel experiences we have, the longer that period feels in memory. A routine week disappears. A week exploring a new place with friends feels like it lasted forever.”
— Psychology Today, 2024

In short: if life gets boring… time can start to blur.

So what do we do with that?

Here are a few things I’m thinking about trying:

1. Break the Routine

In a few weeks, I’ll actually be moving into a new spot — which, luckily, comes with a built-in dose of novelty: new decor, new walking routes, new coffee shops. Even small changes can be enough to wake you up.

2. Redefine Meditation

For some reason, I’ve never been great at traditional meditation. Focusing on my breath… sitting still... letting thoughts come and go… not 100% my vibe. But (over time) I’ve learned that my version of meditating comes to life in other forms:

Through journaling…
Listening to music…
Walking or running in nature…
Or even laying on the grass and watching the clouds drift by like they're not in a hurry either…

3. Choose Attention

Instead of forcing ‘presence’ I’m learning to choose awareness.

What did I notice today? What surprised me? What moved me or made me emotional?

I just don’t want my life to fly by in a blur.

I want to pack my memory like a suitcase — overfilled with novelties, and the tiny moments that turn out to matter most.

I know time can’t be saved, captured, or stored away...

So for now, I’ll do my best to slow down and savor it.

No Treasure at the Surface

Beautiful Fears — Wed, 10 Sep 2025 14:19:06 GMT

One thing you should know about me:

I’m terrified of the ocean.

I love having my feet in the sand, hearing the waves crash, watching the sunrise over the horizon...

But put me in it?

Not a chance.

After being swept under a wave the very first time I went in the ocean, I’ve clung to dry land ever since… [with the occasional dabbling in lakes and calm rivers].

Even snorkeling feels risky – just floating at the surface with half my body clinging to the familiar air above…

Ironically, the very thing I avoid in the water is the thing I chase in conversation:

depth.

When it comes to conversations – the further from the surface the better.

Although small talk tends to leave me drained, going deeper has led me to discover the beauty of connection –

especially the kind you can’t see by staying at the surface.

Cannonball Moments

After a concert recently, I was avoiding big-group surface-level chitchats at all costs — so as one of my friends was drifting back into the crowd, I stopped him with:

“So, tell me about your relationship with your dad.”

Not exactly your typical Saturday night bar talk… but it honestly pulled us below the surface into a deeper layer of friendship – the kind you’d rarely find floating with the crowd… or ripping shots at the bar.

The same thing happened at a house party earlier this year.

The surface chatter felt overwhelming, like I was just treading water nonstop to stay afloat – introductions, quick exits, “I’m going to grab a refill” transitions.

I somehow found my way to a quiet corner, met by a couple of fellow deep divers, and off we went.

We unpacked childhoods, family drama, relationships...

it was raw, mutual, real…

and I left with a deeper appreciation of discovering depth with others, even with strangers.

And again at a recent family gathering:

My partner’s brother pulled out a deck of deep conversation cards (not their usual choice of game).

At first, we laughed nervously, unsure how personal to go… but soon, funny stories surfaced, new perspectives emerged, and never-shared-before thoughts came out.

The night was filled with lively conversation — and what felt like the first of many family deep dives.

I’ve even explored the depths with my hairdresser —

literally earlier today.

Balayage takes hours (iykyk), and I used to dread filling the time with endless small talk. But my current hairdresser? She’s comfortable with silence – my favorite kind of people.

For a while, we floated in the silence, but over time we were able to dip a bit deeper — talking about:

dating,
exes,
family dynamics,
travel dreams,
future goals.

And today, I left feeling refreshed on the outside and the inside – proof that even snorkelers can turn into scuba divers – it just might take a little time.

So Here’s the Thing

I might hate diving underwater, but I love diving deeper with people, whenever and wherever I can.

But why do we so often settle for staying at the surface?

What would happen if we dared to go even one layer deeper?

Although, as much as I resist it sometimes, I have to admit: small talk has its place.

Psychologist Matthias Mehl once said:

“If afterwards I know nothing more about you than I knew before, then that will be small talk.”

But he also argues that small talk is the “inactive ingredient” in the medicine — it holds everything together, and you can’t get to truly meaningful conversations without it (Mehl, 2010).

And he’s not wrong.

Research shows small talk actually reduces loneliness and strengthens connection (Sandstrom & Dunn, 2014).

Going deeper, Self-Disclosure Theory suggests that gradually revealing emotions and experiences — and listening to reciprocal sharing — builds trust and deeper understanding (Altman & Taylor, 1973).

And then there’s the norm of reciprocity — the unspoken rule that when someone opens up, we usually feel compelled to do the same. That back-and-forth exchange is one of the foundations of trust and cooperation in relationships (Gouldner, 1960).

I guess floating at the surface is still better than not getting in the ocean at all…

When Deep Becomes Too Deep

But not every dive is healthy. Sometimes it isn’t connecting – it’s just trauma dumping.

Depth works best when both people are truly listening, not just waiting for their turn to speak.

That back-and-forth is what makes a conversation nourishing, not draining.

And here’s the funny thing: most close friendships (and relationships) start with small talk. Maybe going deep isn’t about a dramatic plunge — maybe it’s about being willing to dip your toes in, test the waters, and ease your way below the surface.

The Hidden Treasure

Much like conversations, the ocean has its rules:

At the surface = safe & familiar
In the depths = darker, riskier, but full of discovery

At the surface, you can survive. But in the depths? That’s where the hidden treasure hides.

So maybe I’ll never scuba dive in real life. But in conversations? You’ll find me exploring, searching for that emotional treasure with anyone willing to go there with me.

So, here’s my challenge for the week:

Next time you’re with a friend, colleague, or even your local barista…

Tread beyond the safe and familiar…

Dare to dive just a little deeper…

You might be surprised by the treasure you discover.