Before them, there was a brief period of leaden silence.

Before the silence, there was Aldo.

And before Aldo, there was Aldo and Alora.

Our Two Rescues

Aldo came home with us from the humane society in 2016, after M and I got engaged. He was six months old, made entirely of velvet, and we were immediately in his thrall. As with most pit bull puppies, he was 80% angel and 20% velociraptor on bath salts. We spent our first months with him mourning our shredded shoes, laughing until we cried at his endless range of facial expressions and attempts to befriend Chester, and losing ourselves in his golden eyes and sawdusty smell.

Alora came a year and a half later. We were newly married. M saw the post on Nextdoor and sent it to me immediately with no context or commentary of his own: a photo of a skinny, sad-looking puppy in a crate in a garage. The caption lamented that she’d been found with a pack of neighborhood kids chasing her and throwing things at her. The poster went on to say that they couldn’t keep this poor thing, and would someone please take her in because she deserved better?

A couple of days later, we had two dogs. I mean, how could we not? Aldo had been a rescue too. We were homeowners with a huge yard and bleeding hearts. And this little one needed us bad: her skin was crusty, she was emaciated, and she had been shown the cruelest side of humanity. We wanted to show her the other side before it was too late.

And she was adorable, in her own unique fashion. The Nextdoor post had described her as a puppy, and one could see why: she had a little pittie face, innocent puppy eyes, and a small stature. She had an endearing waddle and a spare-parts assemblage that made people squeal with delight.

But one look at her teeth and her bone structure told a different story: she was an established adult, and she had seen some shit. She was missing a couple of teeth, and the ones she still had were tartar-stained. The vet estimated her age between 4 and 7.

We named her Alora—in Italian, allora is a common filler word, like “well” or “erm”. It seemed strangely fitting for her: filling in a little space in our home, previously passed-over or taken for granted, but adding color nonetheless.

Peace, interrupted

For six months, she flourished—they flourished. They napped together, ran around together, came into themselves together. Where Aldo grew into a quiet dignity, a massive loyalty to friends and a disdain for strangers, Alora revealed herself to relish human attention and do whatever she had to do to get it. She developed an extensive vocabulary, she howled along with recorded acoustic guitar (had to be acoustic, had to be recorded), she snuffed and snorted and waddled and clowned. We loved her, not only as a friend for Aldo, but as her own absolutely one-of-a-kind being.

Then, Aldo began to limp. Imaging showed that, as many big-bodied bullies do, he’d torn his ACL and would need TPLO surgery. He went under the knife, then came home sedated, with a cone and stitches and doctor’s orders to stay “quiet” for 4-6 weeks.

“Quiet” meant he had to be crated for a while, and in an attempt at fairness, we got Lolo her own crate and placed them side by side in M’s office. Aldo tolerated his crate; Lolo LOVED hers. “My OWN ROOM???” she seemed to say. We loved this for her, until the fights began.

After Aldo’s recovery period, Lolo began to take issue with Aldo being near her crate. Soon, they began to fight outside of that area, with increasing intensity and multiplying triggers. Eventually, they became each other’s triggers and couldn’t be trusted in the same room together at all. What had begun as small, interruptible scuffles escalated into all-out brawls that would only stop with physical intervention.

They had to be separated.

We put up a system of baby gates and commenced the shell game of rotating dogs in and out of the main area of the house. It was awful: the dog isolated in the back of the house was always whimpering to be let out. We ran ourselves ragged to make sure each of them had enough attention and exercise. We worried constantly that we’d forgotten to close a door or that the baby gate had fallen.

We brought in a behaviorist. She asked to see what happened when the dogs saw each other through the baby gate. After observing Alora’s frantic, screaming rage, her assessment was that our situation was unsustainable and that there was no bringing them back from this.

Briefly, they could still be in the yard together. That all came to a screaming halt one evening when, on my way home from work, I received a panicked call from M asking when I’d be home. He needed to be taken to the hospital; the dogs had gotten into it in the yard, and his attempt to separate them from each other had gotten him an awful bite wound on his upper arm.

The ER was understaffed and the attending doctor asked if I had a strong enough stomach to hold the gaping wound closed as he stitched. M lay there, I pinched as best I could, and we both wept as the doctor worked. We didn’t need to talk about it: we both knew we couldn’t keep this up. It was beyond unfair. It was dangerous.

Boomerang Dog

After Lolo’s injuries healed from that final blowout, we heartbrokenly posted her on an adoption site after every humane society in the area told us to just keep her.* In April 2019, after a month or two during which our nerves continued to fray and the dogs continued to deepen their contempt for each other, we found an adopter. We took her to her new home, told the new adopters to call us if they needed anything or changed their minds, and wept bitterly in the car. When we got home, we took down the baby gates and Aldo roamed the house, to be a solo dog for the rest of his life.

Or so we thought.

In October that same year, Morgan got a call from a number he didn’t recognize. It was a vet: Alora had been found downtown, and her microchip had led to us. She was emaciated again, missing patches of hair and covered in scabs. She’d been wandering for quite some time, and it appeared no one had been looking for her.

We were sick with rage and sadness. We had told those adopters to call and get her microchip re-registered with their information, and to call us if anything was wrong. They had done neither. Considering that Alora had been found downtown, a good twenty miles from where her adopters had lived, it wasn’t a simple escape: she’d been dumped, and those fuckers wanted no accountability.

So we took her back in. We felt responsible for her at this point—I mean, hadn’t the universe delivered her directly back to us? Distance, however, had not made either dog’s heart grow fond, and we resumed with the separation and rotation. Both dogs were anxious and unhappy. So were we.

During her second stint with us, a family member of mine also tried and failed to adopt Alora; the stress of sharing a home with Aldo had compounded with her murky past by that point, and she was more eccentric and high-strung than my relation could handle. So, my parents stepped in.

By this point, it was 2022, and my parents, who had lost their sweet mutt Bernie the year before, had sworn up and down they were done having dogs. They knew Alora, though, and knew her story. They fostered her, then adopted her. I am so grateful to Mom and Dad: Alora stayed in our lives, and because of my parents’ generosity, both she and Aldo were allowed their own homes and families. Both dogs had another chance at a stress-free existence. And so did M and I.

Then to Now

I have written before of the immense pain of losing Aldo, which happened in 2024. He was our first dog, raised from puppyhood. Aldo was a complicated guy; he was sweet and wonderful, and he was intense and unpredictable in his later years, due in large part to the tumult with Alora. We still wonder what happened, and despite our best efforts to rationalize it, we’re still left mystified both by what happened between the two of them and by the mystery surrounding his sudden passing. Part of the grief—the lasting part—has been the guilt, wondering if we’d handled things better, that maybe he wouldn’t have been so stressed, and that maybe his heart could have beat a little longer.

Lolo is still with us. She’s probably fourteen or fifteen by this point, but we joke that she’s 38 and will likely live another hundred years.

We get lots of text updates about her, and we get to see her whenever we visit my parents. Usually the updates are that she’s learned a new song (Dad loves to play music loud, so there’s a lot of recorded guitar to accompany her), or that she woke Mom up in the middle of the night because her blankets slipped from atop her and she needed someone with opposable thumbs to make it right.

Yesterday’s text update, though, was that she’s lost a little too much weight a little too quickly. Her hind end is shaky. This makes me nervous. She’s supposed to outlast us all.

To consider that her time here will end is sad, of course, and complicated. Frankly, she is not an easy dog to live with. My parents deserve the peace they had briefly settled into before welcoming her into their home; as hilarious and babyfaced as she is, she’s also what one might call a “handful.” She’s wound tight as a drum and doesn’t know how to regulate her own emotions. She doesn’t tolerate other dogs. She doesn’t listen, screams at skinks and kills rabbits, and rakes your leg with her talons if you even think about taking a break from petting her.

And yet when she goes, she’ll leave a giant, uniquely-shaped hole in all of our lives. And and, she’s our last thread to Aldo, as knotted and frayed as that thread may be. To lose her will be to mourn him too again, in a way.

Cuckoo? Absolutely.

M describes me as “not just a dog person. A cuckoo-for-cocoa-puffs dog person.” He’s right. I’m a fool for them. All of them, even though given the above I’d have plenty of reason not to be.

Henry and Emmie, though, are more significant to me than even I thought they’d be because of what came before. I love them both as individuals: Henry, the gentle and squishy teddy bear with an insane vertical jump; Emmie, the lithe ballet dancer with a penchant for pranks. But most of all, I treasure their relationship.

These two are, at this point, a package deal. As I write this, they’re tousling behind my office chair, Emmie with Henry’s back leg in her mouth. It’s not lost on me how hard we had to work to get here: we set up our environment and our routines to position Hen and Em as allies, not as enemies. We also had to do the internal work. It took a lot of hypervigilance, too many overreactions, slow re-training (of myself), and plenty of self-compassion to get to a place where I could watch Hen and Em wrestle without flying into a panic or flashing back to violence and blood.

We also got very, very lucky with them.

Their loving, clownish dynamic represents so much against the backdrop of Aldo and Alora: forgiveness, bravery, healing, the application of past lessons and the importance of trying again, optimism, patience, love. It represents a massive emotional fortitude in both M and me, and in us as a unit.

It represents that we might be fully crazy, and fingers crossed, crazy can work out.

I am forever grateful for everything we learned the first time around. I am grateful to Aldo, obviously, for being my protector and soul dog for eight good years, and for leaving us with the instinct to try again. I am grateful to Alora for staying with us this long, and for being such a paragon of resilience despite a rough patchwork of a life. And I am SO grateful to be absolutely cuckoo.

*This is a real problem. Most rescues, animal control centers, and humane societies in our area are overfull, and if you try to surrender an animal to them, they’ll put you on a months-long wait list or tell you to just try and make it work. The logic behind this is that a home is better than a facility (and I don’t disagree). It also creates a lot of unsustainable and dangerous situations in households that are ill-equipped to handle them.

They orbit me, following their whims, changing direction, smelling everything, generally having a blast while I constantly give and take slack, uncross leads, rein one in while the other stops for a good sniff.

They both have wildly different styles on walks: Henry is an RC car piloted by a 3-year-old, and Emmie is a sun-drunk butterfly stopping at every plant. During the exuberance of the first five minutes of each walk, I’m forced to question every choice I’ve made up to this point.

But then our walks are joyous: Henry has his daily roll in the dew. Emmie sticks her head in every tree hole. Henry pees prodigiously and kicks up dirt. Emmie chews grass like cud, which works because she already has cow spots. They clown on each other. They’re both tired, satisfied, and smiling by the time we get home. And I’ve been deeply entertained (as has everyone who’s seen our traveling circus).

I started doing this for their fulfillment, exercise, stimulation, trust, and effectiveness at being the dogs I need them to be in my home. Perhaps counterintuitively, giving them all this slack has worked wonders for their behavior. Mental stimulation is just as important as physical exercise, and letting them be curious and adventurous satisfies both needs. They’re pretty much model citizens at home, because they’re allowed to “dog” sufficiently throughout the day.*

With more freedom, they take my commands and corrections more seriously when I do give them. This is because have more context to the rules that matter: no roughhousing, no chasing wildlife, no barking at other dogs or people. These are the non-negotiables, and these rules get reinforced every time.

They get slack, but I don’t slack.

More freedom for them also means a different skillset for me. Instead of giving a “pop” on a prong collar when one of them steps out of line, I’ve had to get used to being more verbal with my corrections and more generous with my rewards. I’ve had to be more patient, as change takes longer when you rely on a dog’s decision-making as opposed to your own brute force. And I’ve had to learn a dancer’s grace in navigating swirling leashes and paws underfoot.

It also means I have to be more mindful and accountable. I can’t be on my phone or too absorbed in my audiobook; my responsibility is to keep the three of us safe, and everyone else around us unbothered. I have to reel in the slack and communicate proactively with other passing dog owners while managing Emmie’s (improving, but still present) leash reactivity. And if something bad does happen, I have to own the consequences: it was I, after all, who chose this for them.

You probably knew this was coming…

As I re-enter the corporate leadership development space, this is one of the many parallels I’ve found between raising rescue dogs and leading humans at work.

As a leader, you get to decide how much slack you give your folks: how much freedom they have to explore and make their own decisions. You get to decide how you’ll correct and reinforce behavior, and where on the spectrum you’ll fall between fear/force and positive guidance. And as a leader, you have to accept the real trade-offs that come with the approach you choose. The more decisions you make for them, the quicker the results will be, but the less they’ll lead themselves and own their own outcomes. But more freedom for them means more patience, mindfulness, and reinforcement from you; in return, you get sustainable decision-making, emotional investment, and the joy of seeing people come into their own.

It’s up to you. I’ll leave you with this, though: the joy I feel when I see Henry and Emmie calm, well-adjusted, and making good choices despite both of their rough beginnings is the same joy I feel when a human whose development I’m responsible for for sees success from their own idea. “Look at you, out there in the world,” I think in both cases. “That was all you. You figured it out…you just needed the space to.”

*Another tip no one asked for: chewing and ripping are natural ways for dogs to self-regulate and combat boredom—instead of forbidding them to do it, give them old cardboard boxes, paper towel/wrapping paper tubes, or untreated paper to destroy. Your shoes will thank you.

By this I mean I haven’t been as active here on Substack lately due to the fact that I’ve been B U S Y…working, living, soaking up the UV rays (“EXTREME!” my phone cautions me what feels like daily). June saw me delivering sessions, coaching, bopping to Kauai for a vacation as therapeutic as it was quick, then turning around and heading to Maine for more work.

It hasn’t all been sunshine and good vibes. I developed a nasty ear infection sometime on the plane ride from Hawaii back home; it lasted a week, then what I thought was it resolving itself was really it just moving to my other ear (it’s finally cleared up as of a couple days ago). This amidst the up-and-down “new normal” of chronic pain in my back and a lingering tear in my patellar tendon. Weeeeew! Aging!

Anyhoo.

We’re still in the early stages, but there is an update I’d like to share.

I am, indeed, “p-word”ing.

That is, I’m modifying the direction of my business.

Marble (or Choose the Marble, or CTM) has been exactly what I needed it to be every step of the way. In late 2024, it was a container for my grief, my ideas, and my own personal journey. In 2025, it was an expansion of that journey into something that could be a “just in time” moment of self-discovery, processing, and good selfishness for others.

And in 2026, I’ve felt the classic tension of an entrepreneur. I got humbled by the fact that I, as mission-driven as I aim to be, still need money to survive…and the way I was serving my mission was not paying the bills. Exasperated, I threatened to give up on the whole thing and posted on LinkedIn that I was #opentowork.

Weird that when you put something out into the universe like that, it gives you what you need—even if it’s not what you ask for. I got rejections for what felt like hundreds of jobs for which I was a point-to-point match. But amidst those rejections, I began hearing from companies…small to medium-sized orgs who either knew me previously or had seen or heard of my background in leadership and culture. I also began hearing from more individuals interested in working with me. I even signed on with a really bomb leadership and culture firm as a 1099, after they courted me within 24 hours of seeing my LinkedIn post (that one felt really, really good).

In what felt like no time at all, between my anchor of a job at Orangily (still going strong! Still loving it!) and the engagements I was beginning to book, I no longer needed or had time for a full-time job. I pulled the hashtag off my LinkedIn profile and got busy DOING THE WORK.

So…what’s CTM up to these days?

In a word…leadership. But my way: my values haven’t changed, and my commitment to increased honesty and self-actualization for folks who work is stronger than ever.

I’m working in three areas:

• Self-leadership, which at work is the “unwritten” part of every job description. It’s managing your capacity, asking for help when you need it, putting yourself and your best ideas out there in an effective way, and developing the relational acumen required to get things done well and with goodwill. Outside of work, it’s applying all of the above into practice in your life. And core values work. Lots of core values work.

• Other-leadership, which is sharpening and amplifying everything above with clarity about goals, a variety of approaches to communication, and let’s not forget the critical tactics: leading meetings that optimize time (not waste it), delegation, feedback and coaching, and smart problem-solving.

• Culture, which as of now is more of a consulting area. Org culture is a big, sticky, complicated thing…and you’re creating one whether you realize it or not. I am always thrilled to “nerd out” over culture, dig into what’s working and what’s not, and partner on new approaches with clients who are dedicated to increasing psychological safety toward the end of helping their folks do and be their best.

The fun thing is that, although I now work primarily within small to midsize businesses and nonprofits, none of what I do is exclusive to those spaces. My individual coaching clients range from 20-somethings just figuring it out to folks coming home to themselves after a long time away.

Still, Work…In Progress!

As my relationship to corporate America continues to evolve (from “all in” to “contentious” to “curious observer” to “informed participant”), so does this work. And I’ve found a groove I will stay in a while!

Which brings me to the invite: I’m still doing Work…In Progress, which feels like it’s been the natural hinge upon which this pivot (fine, I’ll use the word) has turned.

This month’s is Wednesday, July 22nd. It’s at Orangily, as always. And, as always, it is a free space for people who work to come and talk about it.

I’m more excited than ever. Register here!

It was about the idea of radical acceptance, and it featured behavioral scientist Dave Evans, who is a specialist in the subject (and an expert in design thinking).

I’m not new to radical acceptance as a concept, but a phrase Evans uses totally revolutionized the way I will think and talk about it forever: “acceptance does not equal endorsement.”

It sucks. And it’s happening.

Put simply, radical acceptance is seeing reality and not fighting it with judgment. It’s the foundational step to solving any problem, finding any new solution, or building any new design. It doesn’t mean you’re in love with what’s happening, or that you’ll support or enable it. It just means you see it clearly.

Not accepting your circumstances shorts out your ability to do something meaningful with them. It means you’ll be angry, resentful, depressed, and caught in a “should” spiral: “this shouldn’t be happening” or “this other thing should be happening instead.”

But guess what? Reality isn’t moral. We all know—too well—that just because we believe something SHOULD happen doesn’t mean it DOES happen. “Should” is a useless word that causes a needless fight with reality (thank you again, Byron Katie), and fighting reality takes up good energy that you could be using to change your circumstances within it.

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If you’re in a bad spot and you can’t fully accept it, you’ll lock yourself in emotion and fail to take meaningful action to improve your circumstances. Your circumstances will then stay the same while you feel increasingly bad about them.

It could be denial (“The AI initiative is going to fail”), retreat (“I might as well just quit now”), depression (“I’m going to stay where I am, losing myself and my sense of purpose because my job is doomed but I need it for as long as I have it”). And in all of those cases, the probability of AI taking over your job and leaving you in a lurch stays the same, meaning you’ve effectively endorsed it.

Now, radical acceptance sounds like this: “My company is going to replace me with AI. Given this reality, what options do I have?”

You Go, Nate

I have a friend (we’ll call him Nate) who faced this exact circumstance, and boy did he accept it radically. In one genius move, Nate turned AI from competitor to ally, and used it as a bargaining chip to negotiate a very comfortable exit and a pivot into a more aligned future: he went to his leaders and offered to train the AI model himself for a generous severance. He’ll be taking a sabbatical soon and re-entering the workforce on his own terms, doing something he wants to be doing.

It might seem like this acceptance led to full endorsement—and if you said that, you’d be right, in a sense. I mean, hell, he is TRAINING the AI. BUT: the big differentiator is agency.

AI isn’t happening to Nate. Nate is happening to AI.

So, what do YOU need to happen to?

So, what’s happening to you that you can’t accept? That you believe, to your core, SHOULDN’T be happening?

Now, a la Byron Katie, what would it look like to drop the “should”? To say, “it’s happening. It isn’t ideal for me, and it is happening.” And then, to take a deep breath and say, “Given that it’s happening, what can I do with it?” And then, from that deeply supportive, solution-oriented foundation, to design a way for YOU to happen to IT?

Let’s work through your “should” (or “shouldn’t”) together. First one’s free:

Book 30 minutes

If your “should” or “shouldn’t” is happening at work and you’re in the Indianapolis area, come to Work…In Progress at Orangily (Broad Ripple) on Wednesday, May 20th from 6-7. It’s also free, and you’ll have lots of supportive, solution-oriented energy around you.

Register Here

Clarity is not one-and-done.

The yearliness of my vision checks is important. This year, like many before it, there’s been no noticeable change in my vision. Other years, though, my prescription has changed—and once again, I’m left bowled over by the subtle textures I’d been missing without noticing.

Metaphorical vision is the same way. When we were kids, we swore up and down we’d grow up to be doctors, actresses, scientists, emergency responders, horse whisperers. At some point, those aspirations fell by the wayside for many of us, replaced by more practical things sanctioned by our parents and guidance counselors. Then, many of us found jobs, and if we were lucky, lives and careers began to blossom…and before too long, it felt like a clear path was laid out before us.

Then, at some point, we notice ourselves squinting, struggling to make out the image of happy success at the end of that path that once felt so clear. Our heads hurt with the effort, and we become dizzy and tired. We keep working, building, following the path, losing sight every day of where we’re headed and why.

Something You Can Use

If you’re squinting, here are 5 questions to help you check your vision. What you do with the answers is up to you (though, of course, I’m here to help if you need). But the important part is to grab your journal and riff along with me.

1. How do I want to feel? This question is ten times more useful than “what do I want to do?” It gets behind the achievement to how you believe that achievement will make you feel. Once you explore that desired feeling state, you may find that there are LOTS of things that help you feel that way, giving you breadth of choice and an open field in which to run.

2. What feels heavy that used to feel easy? Ease has a little to do with skill, and a lot to do with engagement and desire. If you struggle to complete tasks or projects that used to feel frictionless, it may be time to reassess the role of those things in your life.

3. What do I enjoy that I’ve been ignoring? Often, we prioritize based on “have to” instead of “want to.” But if you could replace the sorest "have to” with your most burning “want to,” how would that change the way you feel? What would it look like to try that, if even for one day?

4. What am I pretending still fits? This is a hard one, and can sometimes yield painful truths. And, just like outgrown shoes, it’s important to shed these things before they cause injury.

5. Which of my values needs my attention? I’m a stuttering, broken record on this, but core values are essential to understand and articulate what matters most to you. If you’ve done the work to find what your values are, check on them: which one(s) is/are flapping in the wind unattended? What impact is that having on you? what would it look like to adhere to them even just one degree more?

These questions are likely to lead some interesting places, but more to the point, they’re likely to give you some clarity you didn’t know you needed. And isn’t that the point of a vision check?

If you find something you’re not sure what to do with and want to talk it out, you can book 30 free minutes with me here.

If you’re in the Indianapolis area and want to apply some of this work to YOUR work, come to Work…In Progress on May 20th. Read more and register here!

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This mop talks.

When you fire her up, she greets you in a friendly, businesslike feminine voice. “Normal mode,” she chirps when you turn her on and she begins her self-powered scoot across the floor. “Max mode,” she says much more authoritatively when you press the button indicating you’re working on a tough spot.

She does a great job. Go girl, you think.

The trouble starts when you perch her on her charging bay.

“Charging has commenced,” she informs you, as if to signal you to leave her alone. So you turn and begin to walk away.

“Please run self-cleaning cycle,” she throws at your back. If you dare to take more than ten seconds to initiate her self-cleaning cycle, she’ll repeat herself: “PLEASE run self-cleaning cycle.”

So you press the little button to kick off her self-cleaning cycle, congratulate yourself for being a good mop parent, and head away toward the fridge for a lil’ treat.

“Clean water tank empty. Please fill clean water tank,” she shouts. Apparently she’s run through her reservoir whilst cleaning herself. And if you take too long to sprint back to her charging bay, she’ll yell again: “Clean water tank empty. PLEASE FILL CLEAN WATER TANK.”

So, you stand at the sink, mixing her very specific cleaning solution with the appropriate amount of water, nerves slowly fraying. You reinstall the tank, and she whirrs back to life: “Commencing self-cleaning.”

You un-clench. Your work here must be done. You return to the other room where you’ve abandoned your lil’ treat, and just as your butt is about to hit the chair, you hear:

“Dirty water tank full. Please clean dirty water tank.”

You’re in the middle of a round of square breathing to try to return your blood pressure to normal when, thinking you must not have heard her the first time, Mop crows:

“DIRTY WATER TANK FULL. PLEASE. CLEAN. DIRTY. WATER. TANK.”

In a moment of impressive restraint and maturity, you reply: “What else do you need, you heinous mop c***?!”

As you stand over the toilet emptying foul, grayish-brown water peppered with clumps of hair into the bowl, you contemplate life. How did I get here? How am I now doing the bidding of a mop?

And, as you flush the horrible mop water down the toilet, you realize you’re being ridiculous.

See, Mop is just self-advocating. She’s just stating what she needs in order to continue doing her job well.

If you don’t charge her, she won’t fire up.

If you don’t refill her empty water reservoir, she won’t scrub away your spilled coffee spot or the muddy dog prints by the door.

If you don’t empty her dirty water tank, she’ll overflow and smell terrible doing it.

If you don’t run her self-cleaning cycle, she’ll leave a trail of horror instead of a trail of cleanliness.

When I realized this, I spiraled a little bit. First, I was anthropomorphizing a mop (though I’ll admit this is normal for me). Then, I was calling the personified mop a C-word, when she really wasn’t being one. She was direct, sure, but she always said “please.” My social conditioning was so deep that I, a self-avowed self-advocacy strategist, was hating on this poor mop for simply saying what she needed.

First, it made me think of all the analog mops I’d used for their purpose, then left to putrefy in the basement sink for far too long, never to clean the same way again.

Then it made me think of all of the times throughout my career when I’d been complimented for “not complaining” or being “easy to work with” when I was missing much-needed resources and support and didn’t know how to ask for them.

Then, shamefully, it made me think of all the people, the women and minorities in particular, I’ve witnessed who were cast aside and called needy, or demanding, or annoying, or helpless because they were brave enough to say what they needed. I was ashamed at what that mop revealed to me—that at my most uncritical, I’m part of the problem too.

The shame and judgment around self-advocacy runs deep. We’ve been taught that we ought to be totally self-sufficient, and that when we aren’t, it’s a flaw in our design. But, like Mop, we weren’t programmed to do everything ourselves. Unlike Mop, though, we haven’t quite learned that actively pursuing what we need is the only way to sustain the quality of our contribution to the world.

Aware, though, I—and you, and your colleagues and leaders—can be better. We can differentiate “bitching” from true need. We can ask what others need, not as a gesture, but out of true concern. We can seek to understand what inputs are required from us to get the outputs we’re asking for from others. Otherwise, our floors will be covered in smelly brown water and we won’t understand why.

Nowadays, things are simpatico between Mop and me.

I don’t even wait for her to ask me to begin her self-cleaning cycle. I just do it.

When she asks me to clean her dirty water tank, I do it smiling (and holding my breath).

When she pauses a job to request a refill of clean water, I reply:

“With pleasure, Mop Queen.”

The coyotes are out in the light of day.

The other day, the dogs and I roved a favorite path. Paved, woods-adjacent, neighborhood-abutting, road-hugging.

Emmie signaled first: whole body stiff, fur spiking the length of her spine, gazing intently toward the road.

Henry soon followed, taking his own blocky stance.

One lone coyote, looking as at-ease as a stray-by-choice dog, peered at us through slightly narrowed eyes from the road. He sat, then he stood, then he broke eye contact to slowly, casually cross the road and head into the neighborhood.

That’s unusual, came the text response when I told my husband what we’d seen.

It is, indeed, unusual to see a coyote out during the day, especially one so lackadaisically touring a well-populated area.

A couple of weeks later, a friend told me while we walked our dogs together that she’d seen a coyote out in their neighborhood. Middle of the day, she said. Moving slow and casual, she added with a hint of wonder. It felt weird.

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Blink, and the sun is out, and the weather is fighting violently to stay above freezing, and the buds are coming out, and the dogs are panting gleefully.

Blink, and you’re back on the job market.

She’s a free agent! Kind of!

It’s hard out here, folks! It’s a challenge to write about the experiences I’ve had pitching business without victimizing myself, so I’ll just say this: I chose a line of work that’s tough to pay for right now. We’re in a time when people are living paycheck to paycheck or, if they’re not, they’re hoarding money in anticipation of that very thing. We’re in a time when organizations are home-growing their development while walking back their supports for underrepresented folks (because they no longer “have to” support them). I’m in a flooded market, and marketing doesn’t come naturally to me at all.

And yet the need is still very much there. My free events continue to gain traction. I continue to have lots of folks interested in working with me, only to wave the white “budget” flag when the prospect of our work becomes real. Every person I describe my work to says, “wow, that’s so needed” or “I need you yesterday.” And yet the emerging truth is that, right now, it’s not where the living is coming from—and I’m out of runway to figure it out.

The thing is that the mission of Choose the Marble is to help people self-advocate. I’ve been doing a LOT of helping lately, and not a lot of making a living. My choice to re-enter the job market is not an abandonment of that mission; if anything, it’s a pivot for its sustainability. The hope is that more financial wiggle room will free me up to do this work in the spaces I want to do it in, for the people I want to do it for, for a range of compensation that is both fair to me and accessible to them.

Herein, I promise the following (to myself)…

I’m very much looking forward to engaging in this job search on my terms. I will not ignore, and will certainly not undo, the year and a half of healing, growth, and regulation I’ve had. I will not unlearn the hard lessons provided by my last exit. I will go into applications, interviews, and an eventual accepted offer with eyes wide open, heart visible but protected, and negotiation boots ON. I will treat myself as a client in this process, constantly pushing myself to say what I want, stand firm in what I need, ask the questions that I have, read the terms and conditions, and say “no” when things don’t feel right.

The search might (LOL! Will!) be slower because of this approach. I’m good with that, because my goal isn’t speed—it’s sustainability. It’s long-term balance. It’s work with people I vibe with on a professional level (notice I didn’t say “like”) under a mission that compliments my own, with values that don’t ask me to compromise mine. And that is certainly not every job out there.

Here’s what I’m looking for!

Tangibly, I’m looking for positions in learning and development, instructional design, training and facilitation, employee engagement and experience, organizational culture, and people/talent. It’s got to be at least hybrid if not fully remote (though I will travel to train). I’m a certified EQ coach and would love to bring that critical skillset with me wherever I go. I’m open to contract and part-time roles, too—and even if there’s not a posting up, if you or someone you know has a business that needs this kind of help, I am always open for a conversation.

Life continues.

So, that’s the big stuff from my little corner of the world. I’m still making Lucky Lil Hands, I’m still soaking up all the time I can at Orangily and hosting a monthly Work…In Progress (this month’s is on April 22! Register here…it’s free!). The dogs are good, Chester is good, Sketti is good, and M just got back from a beautiful trip to the Grand Canyon, which I had to miss due to an injury and subsequent foray into physical therapy (that’s for another post). My birthday is soon. I’m currently drinking a coffee tonic. Life presses on.

So, how are you? Real answers only—I’m still here to listen.

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I started playing the flute in 6^th grade, and began private lessons around 8^th. I had some natural talent (not to brag, but multiple band directors told me I had the best tone quality they’d ever heard from a kid), but when it came to fast fingering patterns, I struggled. After a string of particularly frustrating lessons on a Bach sonata in 9^th grade, my teacher asked me the million-dollar question: “did you practice this at all?”

Never much of a liar, I copped to it: “No, not really.” The thing was, up to this point in my little music career, I hadn’t HAD to practice in order to sound good. I just kind of showed up and did it. But I’d reached my limit.

Then, my teacher said the most perfect thing: “I can give you all the instruction and coaching in the world, but I can’t practice for you. And if you don’t practice, you’re wasting my time, your own time, and your parents’ money.”

And that was it: no matter how much my parents paid my teacher, if I didn’t hold up my end of the deal, I would not get any better at those 32^nd-note runs and I would have no hope of being first chair in concert band or winning gold at state competition. With that succinct dressing-down, my flute teacher provided her highest value: holding me accountable to my own end of the bargain.

Luckily, my flute teacher only had to lecture me once for me to understand that I actually had to do my own work if I wanted to keep improving. If I hadn’t turned it around, though, I have to imagine that, at some point, she would have dropped me as a student to make room for another kid who actually wanted to work. Sure, she cared about me and my success, but she made it very clear in that moment that she didn’t—couldn’t—care about my success more than I did.

We can do it with them, but we can’t do it for them.

As consultants, coaches, experts, and service providers, we owe it to our clients to do the same exact thing. We bring our expertise, our proven methodologies, our tools and resources—and when clients (often unintentionally) squander those things, we have to find a way to say, gently but firmly, “you’re wasting my time, your own time, and your money.” We have to find ways to remind them (and perhaps more importantly ourselves) that we don’t, and can’t, care about their outcomes more than they do.

We often fall into the trap of confusing our clients’ outcomes for our own. It’s natural to do this: we want those wins so we can post them on social media, get the testimonials and Google reviews, and turn them into referrals for more business. We want to see that our approaches work and validate that we’re doing what we should be doing. So we push, we drag, we compromise, and we do everything we can to just make it work like Tim Gunn is right over our shoulders.

But, just like my flute teacher couldn’t jump into my body and make my fingers move faster, we can’t force our clients to do the things they need to be doing for our work to work. We can, however, hold up a mirror.

But how do I do it?

Remember that just like little 14-year-old Nora the budding flutist, your client might just not be fully aware of how much their own actions matter to their outcomes. Clients aren’t evil or lazy—they hired you because they need help. Thus, here’s a start at better client accountability:

First, clarify expectations early, and in writing wherever possible. Your proposals should not just include the amazing things you can do for your potential client, but should also outline the active role they’ll play. Your statements of work should clearly describe roles and responsibilities: yours and theirs. Go to great lengths at the beginning of your partnership to say (and then say again) exactly what you need in order for the project to go smoothly. It’s not being demanding; it’s expertise, and it’s valuable.

Second, give holistic feedback and coaching throughout your work together. Positive feedback goes a long way, and be sure to include the impact: “Thanks for sending me that report so quickly! That gives me plenty of time to incorporate your most up-to-date data into my presentation.” Neutral feedback helps your client understand you see and acknowledge when they’re doing things: “Thanks for checking in” or “Email received” are actually meaningful. Constructive feedback, including impact and suggestions for more effective behaviors next time, provides important learning moments for your client: “I asked for your edits by 5pm yesterday and haven’t received them yet. Without those, I’m unable to finalize this communication and our work can’t continue until that’s done. Will you let me know when you can send me those edits? In the future, please let me know if you need to change a timeline so we can keep the work going smoothly and avoid interruptions.”

Third, commit to an accountability system and keep a record of scary client moments. It’s easy to let them fall by the wayside if you’re not keeping track—but if you do, you can more easily tap into a system of accountability as opposed to just kind of intuiting when you need to lay down the law. Here’s the system I follow:

• First time: gentle, friendly reminder (with specific feedback and impact)

• Second time: direct, dedicated conversation (as in, I reach out to schedule a check-in on Zoom, the entire goal of which is to give direct feedback and reiterate impact)

• Third time: clear consequence (I repeat feedback and impact, and outline very clearly and directly what will happen if this happens again. Remember, this is a promise)

• Fourth time: enforced consequence (I make good on my promise…which is good business!)

While firing a client is sometimes the best-fit solution, it’s the nuclear option. Consequences can also be reduced access to you, delayed deliverables, or a reduction in scope proportional to what the client can contribute. Consequences aren’t an opportunity to be petty; they’re a way to protect you, your time, your resources, and your business’ reputation.

Just remember: when you bend over backwards to do your best work for a client that’s breaking your agreement, you’re in breach of contract too, and everyone loses. You overextend yourself, lose opportunities for better business, and don’t get paid proportionally to the effort you put in…and your client walks away without the changed behavior, mindsets, or self-sustaining outcomes that they paid you for. A strong accountability structure is part of your offering, and if you want the results of your partnership to last, it’s the most critical part.

It all started when, perusing the internet, I ran across a series of pendants and charms depicting hands, called “Mano Figa,” making an unfamiliar gesture of a fist but with the thumb sticking up between the index and middle finger.

My first thought was, “I could totally make that.”

My second thought was, “I should learn what that means.”

In my research, I found that the Mano Figa (meaning “fig hand”) is recognized across parts of Asia, Europe, the Mediterranean and Central/South America as a slightly obscene gesture symbolizing physical womanhood, but when worn as an amulet, it supposedly brings the wearer good luck and wards off the evil eye. Slight obscenity? Feminine power? Good luck? Warding off evil? Count me IN.

One trip to Michael’s later, I sat at a TV table with a smorgasbord of brightly colored clay and some simple clay shaping tools in front of me. I turned on some trash TV and flubbed my way through a Figa, then for the next one, I tried a “rock ‘n’ roll” sign. Then came a peace sign; fingers crossed; then 3 more of each, then more symbols, then entire runs of those symbols.

I posted on Instagram about my new handicraft (pun intended) fixation, and positive reinforcement trickled in. I sent a few early ones to friends as good luck gifts.

I posted a video on TikTok, where kind strangers told me they were adorable and they’d pay for them. A few made requests—the “pinky promise” sign was born from one such ask.

I began wearing one or more of them every day, and in-person compliments made me wonder if I had something going…then, when Kris, the owner at Orangily, offered to let me bring a few into the store to sell them, I felt a swell of genuine pride. Now the little charms can be found on the cashwrap. And people are buying them!

That’s the story. Now, the story behind the story.

I, like many people I know, am on my phone too damn much. And lately, all the old escapes—TikTok, Instagram, Reddit—have become a source of news-related anxiety, as opposed to an escape. What used to be a habit I’d lightly flirt with one day breaking quickly became tangibly detrimental to the point where I needed to find something to stand in for it, and fast.

My instinct when I saw the Figas was part creative impulse and part cellular-level need: “get those hands busy not scrolling, girl,” the little thumbnail photos seemed to implore. So I let the impulse sweep me up.

I’ve always been an ADHD-style crafter (all-in, full-boar, making Etsy storefronts and entire personalities around my latest thing until I’d wake up one morning and rather plunge a knitting needle into my eye than engage in that activity again), so when the hands scooped me up I was fully aware of what was going on.

Shame crept in immediately: why would I tell anyone about this since I know I’m just going to abandon it at some point? Why give the world any more evidence that I’m a flighty, flaky quitter?

Then, I decided 2 things:

1. Hyperfixating on something when it’s a productive, creative venture is not bad…and eventually leaving it behind is a natural part of the process. That doesn’t make it unworthy. If anything, that makes it rare and special.

2. As long as I’m in this phase, I might as well fully send it and see where it goes.

And where has it gone?

There are friends and strangers alike all around Indianapolis wearing my artwork.

There are people I love all over the country (hopefully) being brought good fortune by these unique little charms.

I’ve greatly decreased the doom-scrolling, and have brought better focus to my phone time through managing Etsy postings and photographing tiny hands.

I’ve found my own way to make an artistic statement against the horrific acts of our administration (the fist…the middle finger…the figa…the bright rainbow colors…a bit of irreverence, pluck, and black, feminine, queer, immigrant-loving attitude in the face of whitewashed, blubber-faced fear, greed and hatred).

I’m learning new things every day. I’m learning American Sign Language: I already have a run of “I Love You” hands, and I’m working on a charm necklace with the letters F, U, C, K, I, another C, and E.

I’ve honed a skill. They’re pretty good, if I do say so myself.

Over the past little-over-a-month, I’ve crafted over 100 of these little trinkets. Most of them are charms, but some are necklaces and earrings. You can find some of them listed here on Etsy, and I’ve been taking requests: send me 2 colors and your preferred hand sign, and you’ll get your own lucky little doodad(s).

So, who knows how long this will last, or what the final hand count will be. For now, it’s still steadily rising and I’m having a blast during a time when fun feels as elusive as it is necessary for survival. Fingers crossed this fixation lasts a while.

And, if you ALSO love bacon bits, you’ve probably been just as irritated as I perpetually am by the shaker lid. Like, the holes are just not big enough. I’m trying to coat my salad or baked potato in little brick-red salt bombs, not shake them out three at a time.

For DECADES of my life, I’ve accepted that if I want bacon bits, I’m going to have to fatigue my arm muscles to get them. Most people lift weights to get defined arms or improve their strength for sports…I do it to get the appropriate amount of Bac’N Buds upon my entrée.

Now, you might be thinking, “Nora! There’s a whole other side of the lid! It doesn’t have holes…it’s just a beautiful open semicircle through which a beautiful deluge of fake bacon can pour!” Or, even better, “Nora! That lid comes off! You can just unscrew and dump!!”

Well. Friends and readers, this thought did occur to me…three nights ago. After over thirty years of bacon bit consumption.

Okay. As stupid as I felt in this moment, it led me to an important question: how many other things in my life have I just…accepted? How many slight inconveniences could I have been avoiding? How many giant headaches could I have pre-empted just by taking a more critical look at my circumstances and finding a different way through them?

Here on forward, when I’m shaking out 2 bacon bits at a time literally OR figuratively, I’m going to ask a question I think a lot of us could stand to ask way more: “Does it HAVE to be this way?”

We do not have to just roll over and accept that things are the way we’ve convinced ourselves they have to be. It’s amazing how many things we don’t question, just because we’ve never bothered to.

So, what’s YOUR “bacon bits?”

Since I started Marble, I have had four core values of my own: fun, connectedness, honesty, and creativity. These are all absolutely vital to me, and living through them over the past year has led me to beautiful new relationships, tough decisions (if not made easier, then at least made clearer), and a sense of calm and direction I haven’t felt since I was a kid and didn’t know how tenuous life could feel.

I often talk about my four core values in workshops and 1:1 settings—and when I do, I usually joke that, if it were allowed, I’d have a 5th…and it would be dogs.

I don’t know where I got the idea that one couldn’t have “dogs” as a core value. I think at some point along my professional journey I became convinced that a core value had to be a concept, something squishy and ethereal that you couldn’t necessarily see but that would shape your world in every perceptible way. So, as much as I loved dogs, I relegated them to a little joke in my work, a running bit that perhaps belied the real meaning they have to me and to my business.

Then I thought about it. Do dogs help me make decisions? Absolutely, yes. Aldo posthumously got me to leave a job and start Marble. Henry and Emmie shape my life daily in ways they’ll never fathom. Every dog I’ve ever had the honor to know has taught me a valuable lesson that informs the way I live.

Do dogs help me build community? 1000000%. Henry especially lights up a room (or a park, or a store, or whatever) when he waddles in and demands love from everyone there. He’s gotten me to talk to neighbors I’d only ever waved at in passing, and his sweetness invites people to stay a while, simultaneously calming my own social anxiety and giving us something to gab about. Emmie, while still cautious with strangers, is still such a striking presence that she attracts people, and I love to tell those people her story and get them to share their own accounts of the dogs they love.

Are dogs critical to my quality of life? Yyyyyyyes. To me, dogs are a living example of curiosity, adventurousness, forgiveness, love, and joy. When I find myself closing off to the world around me, they gently remind me there’s still lots of good in it, should I just sniff around. When I find myself lost in the sauce, they demand a walk—and half the time, I really think it’s because they know I need to get out. And when everything feels too complicated and scary, they do this:

So, with that, it’s cemented.

My core values are now:

FUN - Light and laughter take down guards and unlock potential.

CONNECTEDNESS - Always seek a firm rooting in yourself, your surroundings, and your community.

HONESTY - Alignment between words and actions, always.

CREATIVITY - Convention doesn’t actually fit most people or situations. Every day is an invitation to find YOUR way.

DOGS - Love more, rest when you need it, and follow your nose.

In this new year, here’s a reminder that if something matters to you so mightily that your life would be demonstrably worse without it, it should probably enter the running as a core value. It doesn’t have to be a fancy concept—it could be toy boats, if that’s what floats yours. Claim it, name it, and let it guide you.

Navigating endings and exits (whether from relationships, jobs, towns of residence, or other arrangements) is a tough, nuanced thing. I definitely don’t claim to be an expert. And yet, I’ve had a life full of experience with quitting things—and as I thought about it, I realized I do have a little system to help me determine whether it’s time to double down or bail.

Most recently, I did this exercise on my museum job and found that it was time to go. So, let’s walk through it—and if you’re considering whether you should remove something from your life to clear some space for something else, maybe this little ditty will help you too!

Disclaimer: I recognize the amount of privilege it takes to be able to leave a job anytime, but especially in this current economic climate. I have an incredible support system and I do not take that lightly. The aim of this post is not to encourage anyone to take on undue risk, but rather to encourage critical thought about the ways we spend our valuable lives—and if it becomes apparent that it would be better to leave an arrangement that would endanger you financially, I strongly encourage you to make a plan and take it slow.

Get DERTY.

DERTY stands for Desire, Energy, Resources, Time, and Yield. (I wrote an earlier post about DERT—it’s still relevant, but consider this an updated version.) My most recent decision to leave my job at the museum gift shop is presented in italics, meant to help those of us who operate better with examples.*

• Do I have the DESIRE to do it? – Desire is fuel. Wanting to do something makes it easier to do, full stop.

  This was where I first started considering whether the museum job was a long-term fit for me…once I was fully trained and knew what to expect on-shift, I was not excited to go. I found myself wishing I had that time back, and I grew resentful I had to spend my daylight hours there as opposed to doing something else. It wasn’t a bad job, and overall it was a pretty solid place to work. But for me, the spark was not there.

• Do I gain ENERGY when I do it? – Listen to your body and heart here. The most worthwhile activities are the ones that generate energy to the same or greater degree that they deplete it.

  After a day at the gift shop, I always felt drained and draggy. It didn’t matter how many customers came in or how much inventory I’d had to stock that day. I felt the familiar ankle weights of fatigue on my walk to my car at the end of each shift.

• Do I have the RESOURCES to do it? – Do you have the necessary skills? Do you have the tools, the information, the transportation, the leadership, the partnership, and the help you need? If not, is there an accessible way to get what you’re missing? If you’re saying “no” more than “yes” here, it’s likely you’re feeling frustrated, hamstrung, and unable to do the thing despite your best efforts, and it might be time to reconsider your involvement.

  Museum-wise, I’d say I had all the physical tools to do the job, but when it came to my FAVORITE resource, information, I was often at a disadvantage. I felt under-informed about the artists who made the things we sold, exhibits in the museum, and even time and dress requirements for special events I’d have to work. This added a level of stress that I wasn’t willing to shoulder for the yield (see the last point).

• Do I have the TIME to do it? – Time is finite. Do you feel like the time you spend on the thing could be better allocated elsewhere? Are you constantly saying “no” to things that sound more fun, fulfilling, or restorative to do this thing instead? If so, maybe it’s time to reallocate your time.

  Here was another ouchie when it came to the museum store—and I know, it was only 15 hours a week. But shifts were full days, and in thinking about my own needs, I realized that between the energy drain of the actual day and the hours, I didn’t have time OR daylight to walk the dogs, get my workout in, or do much in terms of Marble on days I worked. I also found that my household chores really lagged on days I had shifts, and because I only had 30 minutes for lunch, I didn’t have time to go let the dogs out, or even get much of a recharge myself. My personal health, the health of my business, the state of my home, and the health and wellbeing of Henry and Emmie are top priorities, and this job was reliably edging those things out 2-3 days a week.

  This is the thing about time: it’s not just about the number of hours in a week, or even in a day. It’s also about how the time is arranged, and how you’re expected to use it when you’re “on the clock.” ALL of those things must be taken into consideration.

• Does it YIELD the results I need it to? – The hope is that you’re benefiting from everything you dedicate yourself to. Benefit takes lots of different forms: monetary, yes, but also in education, experience, relationship-building, mental health, physical health, spiritual fulfillment, fun…you name it.

  In the end and in all honesty, I was in the gift shop for the $$$. And what I made wasn’t enough to balance the scales against everything I outlined above. Non-monetarily, I didn’t find myself deeply connecting with most of my coworkers, and while I did learn a lot of valuable information about the experience of Native Americans past and present, none of it made me feel particularly better about working in that context.

  Here’s where you really need to be honest with yourself: is your involvement in the thing yielding what you feel it should? If you don’t know where to starts, you can consult the Wellness Wheel to help you.

The Wellness Wheel

There are 8 categories in the Wellness Wheel to do a gut check for what your commitment yields you. I’ve added the questions I ask when I consider whether or not it’s time to leave something:

1. Social – Do you get a strong feeling of connection to the people you’re around? Does honoring your commitment help you strengthen mutually-beneficial relationships that give you energy and fulfillment?

2. Emotional – Does your commitment make you feel good? Does it help you fortify your response to the world around you and to life’s challenges?

3. Intellectual – Does it tap into and challenge your intelligence, curiosity, and “nerdiness?”

4. Spiritual – Does it give you a sense of connection to something greater than yourself, which often brings inner peace and fulfillment?

5. Financial – Does it help put you in a satisfying financial situation? Does it support you having a healthy relationship with money? (If the thing costs you money, is it an expenditure you feel good about that aligns with your values and life goals?)

6. Environmental – Does it give you a sense of connection to and appreciation of your surroundings?

7. Physical – Does it support your bodily health, and your ability to dedicate the appropriate time and resources to making healthy choices for yourself?

8. Occupational – Think about how you’re expected to use your “on the clock” time. Does this use of time feel fulfilling, purposeful, and aligned to you?

Only you will know how much you should be benefiting, and how many categories a commitment should touch. But you should be alarmed if you’re not benefiting anywhere, or if your benefit in one category is overshadowed by a loss in another (example: financial benefit being outweighed by occupational loss, or in other words, making good money at a job you loathe).

Notes on Leaving

In Western society, we place a lot of value on “sticking it out.” The idea of commitment as a virtue has its place, but it also tends to keep people in situations they shouldn’t be in for far too long out of a sense of obligation.

If you decide it’s time to go but struggle with the obligation factor, remember:

• It’s not abandoning…it’s getting out of the way. We’re afraid of leaving people in a lurch, often not realizing how much of a bottleneck we’ve already become occupying positions that we’re unable to give our full effort to. Leaving creates room for those who remain to find a person who has the capacity you don’t have.

• You have more support than you think you do. Many of us hesitate to end things because we’re afraid we’ll disappoint or upset others. Here’s the thing: many of the people in your world want the best for you and will be understanding (if not celebratory) of your decision. And if they’re not...

• Disappointment isn’t the end of the world. Some folks might be disappointed or upset…but they’ll move on. Your greatest champions will understand your need to go. The people who take it personally or respond with anger and guilt-tripping are upset to lose access to your resources—and they’ll eventually find somewhere else to get what they need.

• Your main job is to keep yourself well. You can’t pour from an empty jug. It’s your responsibility to make sure yours is full. What’s more, it’s also your responsibility to keep an eye on how many glasses you’re trying to fill from your jug.

  Think of it this way: You can probably fill 2 to 3 good glasses of water from a full jug, with enough left over to keep yourself hydrated. But when you commit to filling 20, you empty your own jug just to give 20 people a couple of drops. They’re still thirsty and you’re parched…and no one is happy.

As I wave a vigorous goodbye to 2025, I find myself filled with cautious optimism, and a commitment to double down on the DERTY work. Will you join me?

If this post made you think about your job specifically, and you live in the Indy area, consider joining me for Work…In Progress on January 21 at Orangily!

* This post is NOT meant to disparage my former place of employment—this is a deeply personal, subjective process. I simply mean to show that this job was not the right fit for me right now.

On our busier days, I love hearing folks’ stories, helping them prepare to host events, making suggestions, and making a mental log of their taste profiles. I’ve learned so many names and faces and dogs (!!) and stories, and the fact that the majority of those stories revolve around people’s evolving relationships with alcohol, wellness, and balance makes the time here even more meaningful.

On our quieter days (like today, upon which it is weirdly warm for December and absolutely drenching outside), I tidy and tag inventory, and when that’s done I sit and write, read, or knock out work between customers.

I get to pick the music.

Before I started writing this post, a coaching client of mine dropped by to deliver a hug, a card, and a loaf of chocolate bread.

Then, while writing those first two paragraphs, two customers—both of whom I’ve met before and whose names and tastes I know—came in one after the other. We shot the shit: I learned how the former’s baby announcement to her family went (joyously…and they all, even the drinkers, loved the non-alcoholic wine she brought!). The latter shared his excitement to get home and have a kava drink after being called into work on his day off.

This place is also home to numerous community events, conversations, and spontaneous gatherings of friends. I love inviting people here, because the space itself invites you to sit down, get cozy, and open up. For a place with a core value of “Privacy” it really draws you out…but we’ll never pry, never poke. We’re just here to listen, to suggest, to help you entertain, and to support you and cheer you on.

I’m not an owner, but I feel a definite ownership over this place. I care how it looks, how it feels when you walk in, whether you have a good visit, whether we have what you’re looking for. This sense comes from the fact that working here feels SO aligned with my self-advocacy work, as well as the fact that the owners Kris and Andee have given me so much freedom and support via use of the space to do my work.

Ope! I buried the lede!

So, this was basically me taking a long time to announce Work…In Progress, a monthly evening conversation about work, and to tell you why I’m so excited to host it here at Orangily.

Work…In Progress is meant to provide a space for people who work to come talk about that work. Yes, I want people to bring their questions, their challenging situations, and their frustrations. I also want people to bring their celebrations, their wins and their successes. Many of us spend the majority of our waking hours getting ready for, on our way to, at, on our way from, decompressing from, or thinking about work. So it only makes sense to gather folks who want to talk about their experiences with work to step through challenges, coach each other, support each other, and build some skills along the way.

Each session, attendees will have the opportunity to write down a question, challenge, or topic and drop it into a hat (or bucket, or whatever…I haven’t found the receptacle yet). We’ll then spend an hour workshopping as many of these as we can. I’m sure our agenda will grow and change as the event continues. I’m excited for that.

Quick highlights:

• WHO: Anyone who wants to talk about work. Full-timers, part-timers, and those who are job-searching are all welcome.

• WHEN: The third Wednesday of each month, from 7-8pm, beginning January 21^st

• WHERE: SoBro Orangily, at 1051 E 54^th St. in Indy

• WHY: Because venting to our coworkers only goes so far. Because everyone needs support and an outside perspective. Because work is hard. Because work can be very good, and it can also be very, very challenging—and we need a space for it all.

• HOW MUCH?: Free.

I am so, so jazzed to merge my two jobs in this way (yes, two. I did drop the museum gig, if you’ve been following along. More on that later.). If you’re in the area and work looms large in your life and your mind, join me in my favorite little third place and let’s talk it out.

And yes, there will be drinks.*

*NA, of course.

These words have created a year-round blight on my attempts to find things to do with people, but since the holiday season is RIFE with opportunities to get this right (and wrong), I’m starting NOW and hopefully making the change forever.

Look, we’ve all said it: “Where do you want to go eat?” “I don’t care, you pick.” “What movie do you want to watch?” “IDCYP.” “What should we do this weekend?” “IDCYP.” And the more times I say it—and have it said to me—the more I realize it’s gotta go.

IDCYP, on its face, is an attempted shorthand for, “I’m super chill! I’m flexible! I’m easy to make plans with!” We all have our reasons for saying it—and in doing so, we tend to cut ourselves the break we don’t cut others. I, for instance, typically use it when I’m feeling tired, depressed, or conflict-averse. What’s the harm in letting another person get what they want? Them being happy will make me happy, I think. And if you’re anything like me, you’ve fully meant that at the time you deployed your IDCYP…but then, you’ve found yourself going along with the other person’s idea, hating it, and harumphing your way through.

The thing is, we’re not nearly as good at toughing it out to keep the peace as we think we are. Our behavior tends to project when we’re not having a good time…and the other people in our company tend not to like it.

Therefore, it’s becoming increasingly important to me to focus on the IMPACT of my words and actions more than the intentions behind them. That’s the only way to actually make sure they match a majority of the time. And I have to acknowledge that I HATE it when people say IDCYP to me—so no matter my intention, I have to recognize that the impact probably doesn’t match when I toss that phrase around.

So, how does IDCYP come off?

Well, depending on context, it could feel like:

Indifference – Saying you don’t care means…you don’t care. Instead of coming off as easygoing, you risk coming off as an apathetic bump on an uncaring log. It’s kind of like saying, “I’ll come along with you on your whatever, but I’m not going to have fun.” Say it enough times, and a person might believe you don’t care about them.

Passive Aggression – IDCYP can leave a person guessing about what’s behind the stated indecision, and if there’s a history of passive aggression in your relationship (Ope! Bless all of our hearts!), often the phrase can feel more like a test or a trap than a true invitation to collaborate: “Let’s see if you care about me enough to choose the right thing.”

Avoiding Responsibility – Punting the full decision to another person also makes them responsible for the outcome. “If it’s no fun, then it’s on YOU, not me.” It creates a lot of pressure, and also gives the IDCYP-er tacit permission to disengage and blame the decider for their bad time.

Self-Abandonment - If you say this phrase enough, folks might start to wonder if you’ll ever have an opinion. And you might start wondering, too. Constantly putting your own opinions and desires below others’ chips away at your own sense of who you are and what you like, and even your access to your own feelings and desires. Ignore them enough, and you’ll eventually lose your ability to find them.

No matter what, IDCYP takes you out of the decision-making entirely, putting on the other person’s shoulders not just the responsibility for the decision, but also how you feel about it. Say it with me: YOU are ultimately responsible for how you feel. No one else. So don’t abandon. Engage.

So, what do we do instead?

If someone asks what you want to do, what you want to eat, or any other permutation of that question, first assume they’re asking because they care. It’s easy to view this question as a proto-IDCYP: “Don’t ask me because I’m asking you!” From experience, this starts you off on a really bad foot. Try offering the benefit of the doubt.

Then:

• If you truly don’t have an opinion, yes you do.

• Start with what you don’t want: “Hmm, I’m not sure what sounds good, but I know pizza sounds a little too heavy and I’m not in the mood for bar food. What about something lighter, like salads or ramen?”

• Think about a standout experience you had recently with that person and suggest it. “Hmm! We had so much fun eating all of Red Lobster’s Cheddar Bay Biscuits that one time…want to go again?”

• If you really, truly don’t want to or can’t make a suggestion, then back up a step. Is the question itself a nonstarter? If you’re hamstrung by “where do you want to go to dinner tonight?” consider whether you want to go to dinner at all. Would you be more excited to go to a movie or hit the bowling alley? Or is a quiet evening at home more of what you need?

• Maybe it’s not the question, but rather who’s asking. Might there be something about the person or your relationship with them that requires further scrutiny? Really explore why you feel apathetic about how you spend your time together, or why you feel unsafe making suggestions.

• If you reach this 5th bullet point and still aren’t getting anywhere, consider your own feeling state. I know if I’m feeling really depressed, being around other people can bring me out of my funk…but I truly just do not have the energy to suggest an activity. In those moments, I’m brutally honest: “today is a rough one and I don’t have the juice to decide, beyond the fact that I want to spend time with you. Do you mind being the driver today?”

What if someone IDCYPs me?

First, try to cut them the same break you cut yourself: they’re probably not trying to test you, they probably do care, and they’re probably not actively trying to avoid responsibility. Acknowledge whatever reaction comes up within you, breathe and let it pass. If it helps, try hearing it as, “I’m having trouble making a suggestion.”

Then, get curious: “Any idea what you DON’T want?” “Does XYZ sound good or bad?” “How are you feeling today? Maybe we can find something that matches!”

If you’re not getting anywhere, try: “Hey, if you’re not feeling it at all today, let’s try for another time!” With this one, you might shake loose an opinion. You might also give the person the permission they were looking for to take the out. No matter what, don’t risk dragging along an unwilling participant.

Okay, but it keeps happening!

If it’s a chronic problem in one of your close relationships, try these options:

1. Have a code word and an emergency plan. My husband and I will tell each other we’re feeling “undecidey” when we’re too tired or bogged down to choose what to make for dinner or watch on TV. The usual response to that is to break out the air fryer and whatever’s in the freezer, or throw some garbage on TV until one of us gets a better idea. That word, to us, means “hey. I love you, and I just don’t have the energy to steer the ship for both of us right now. No subtext, no expectation.”

2. Keep a running list of choices. I call it the karaoke effect: I can always think of songs to sing in the car, in the shower, walking down the street, as I’m cleaning the house. Put me in front of a karaoke machine? BLANK. It’s like I’ve never heard a song in my life. The same thing sometimes happens when I’m put on the spot with a “what do you want to eat?” or “what do you feel like doing?” So I’ve started notes on my phone: a list of restaurants I haven’t been to yet, a list of activities I’ve been interested in trying, a list of movies I’ve wanted to see. My husband and I also have a shared “save” board on Instagram full of recipes and restaurants in the Indy area. If we draw a blank, we’ve got something external to draw from. And yes, I do now also have a running list of songs to bust out at karaoke.

3. Make it okay to do things apart, or do different activities in the same vicinity. Sometimes, behind the struggle to find something you want to do is the struggle to find something you want to do together. Some of my favorite times with my partner, my friends, and my family have involved reading or crafting nearby as they engage in an activity they want to do. Experiencing parallel enjoyment builds bonds, too.

4. Don’t make IDCYP an option. Challenge yourself not to ask, “What do you feel like doing?” Rather, ask it to yourself first, come up with a few options, and open the conversation that way instead. “I was thinking about teaching myself how to hand-roll some sushi tonight. Want to join me?” Or, “I’m thinking Italian or Thai for dinner. Which sounds better?”

So, this holiday season (and beyond), let’s give each other the gift of giving a shit. Let’s extend to each other the kindness of shared responsibility for decision-making. Let’s replace abandonment and passive aggression with honesty and true engagement. And, above all, let’s have some fun together. We all need it after the year we’ve had.

My next workshop, Getting Selfish: Building a Healthy Self-Advocacy Practice, starts December 6th. Read more and register here:

Let's Get Selfish

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The three words, and the meaning therein, are extremely on purpose. Let’s talk about them.

Self

The foundation of my work is one’s relationship with the self. What matters most to you? Do you even know? How do you feel about yourself…or DO you feel about yourself at all? In connecting with yourself on a deep, fundamental level, you begin to treat yourself like you treat your innermost circle: with care, with love, with respect, with admiration, and with protection.

We tend to advocate most for the people we believe need and deserve our advocacy. Why can’t that be ourselves?

Advocacy

Advocacy is the practice of sticking up for something or someone. It requires fundamental belief and skill—you’re not going to be a good advocate for anything unless you believe that thing needs you, and you know the best ways to go about securing the resources, space, and safety it needs.

Knowing yourself well is a critical piece of self-advocacy, but it isn’t everything: you also need the skills to back it up. The skills I focus on include:

• Putting yourself out there

• Saying “no” and standing firm

• Saying “yes” with clarity and direction

• Values-based decision-making

• Building boundaries

• Expressing your wants and needs

• Feedback

• Tough conversations

• Negotiating

• Endings and Exits

Like houseplants or goldfish, we grow to fit the space we’re given. Unlike houseplants and goldfish, we control the amount of space we have. Through the continued intentional use of these skills, you carve out your space in this world.

Strategy

Time. Place. Relationship. Circumstance. Self-advocacy takes bravery and fortitude…and it also takes savvy. The “strategy” here is having the presence of mind, knowledge of context, and clarity of goal to choose the approach that is most likely to work.

Self-advocacy is going to look different at home than it is at book club. It’s going to feel different with your family than it is with your boss. And it’s going to be safer with your closest friends than it is with your loud, rude neighbors. Being able to assess the situation you’re in and confidently choose an approach that keeps you safe, whole, and thriving is MAJOR…and you don’t have to do it alone.

SO…that’s the tea behind the title…and the core of the work I do. If you’re feeling a little lost in one, two, or all three of these areas, I’m here for you.

My next workshop, Getting Selfish: Building a Healthy Self-Advocacy Practice, starts December 6th. Read more and register here:

Let's Get Selfish

Harold’s been…creepy.

Harold’s position requires him to come into the store and do a round for security, making sure no one’s stealing or damaging property. According to my coworkers, he does this when they’re working. When I’m working, he doesn’t—he haunts the cash wrap, lingering near me and speaking to me in an increasingly familiar way. His approach gives me the impulse to bring up “my HUSBAND” every time he comes around.* In fact, after one of these invocations, he felt the need to approach me later and “make sure [I] knew [he] was joking” because “[he] didn’t want to get beat up.” OK, bro, maybe don’t say things that would get you beat up, in jest or not.

(Side note…I never believe men when they say they were “just joking.” First of all, jokes are supposed to be funny. Second of all, methinks thou dost protest too much.)

Yesterday, it escalated, as I knew it would. As I walked past his post to get back to the store from the bathroom, he waved big and yelled, “Hey, babe!” from a distance great enough for coworkers and museum patrons alike to hear.

That’s a HEFTY nope for me, dawg.

“Hey, when you address me, please use my name. My name is Nora. I’d prefer you not call me ‘babe.’ Thanks.”

I kept walking toward the store as he sputtered something about being from a different generation, it’s just a habit, he didn’t mean any harm. All the usuals. And I responded, “I understand. And, I prefer that people I’m not close to address me by my name. Thanks!”

The boundary here is simple: when you do not know me like that, I will not allow you to act like you do. I don’t care what generation you’re from, or how innocent your intentions were. If you decide on my behalf that you have the right to refer to me like a close friend or lover, I will remind you that you are not entitled to closeness with me when I haven’t agreed to the terms.

It’s a low-stakes situation, and one where I could just as easily have said nothing and let it slide, or involved HR. I chose the direct route because we were in a public space with others present, which is important for two reasons:

• I had witnesses, which helped me feel safe.

• I had witnesses, and what I’m NOT going to do is passively validate this stranger’s familiarity with me by not saying anything, allowing others to assume I’m cool with it.

I imagine Harold thinks I’m a bit of a bitch. Which, good, if that’s what it takes for him to honor my boundaries. If being liked means offering up my dignity one bite at a time, I don’t want to be liked.

By taking the small opportunities to self-advocate, you give yourself the practice you need for the big, critical moments. You help define, to yourself, the nuances of your boundaries. One moment at a time, you teach the world around you what to expect from you, and what you will and will not welcome from it.

I think back to an earlier version of myself who would have broken out in hives at the thought of speaking to another person this way, and I offer her nothing but empathy and a warm hug. She taught me I hate to be objectified, and I love her for that. And you know what I tell her?

“I got you, babe.”

*And THAT is for another post at another time—the fact that many women feel the need to conjure up the ghost of a man to protect them from a real one. I fully hate that this is an impulse I give in to in situations like this…and I recognize that it’s deeply and culturally ingrained, and will remain so as long as there’s a patriarchy.

It means freeing myself anew from the prisons I’ve built for myself—the first of those being this Substack!

No, I’m not going away! I’m simply re-approaching this space more freely, in multiple senses, because I know I have to to keep it going.

When I think of the word “newsletter,” I am forced to realize the first syllable is “news.” I haven’t published a newsletter for the last two Fridays, and that’s been on purpose: despite all of the Things I Have Going On, I have found myself with nothing of substance to say. Which isn’t bad, by the way. It happens!

So…a freer approach to this space means:

• I’m giving myself permission to post when I actually have something to say, and permission NOT to post when I don’t. That means, at least for the time being, no regular time-tables. No promises…just thoughts when they’re ready to come out and meet you.

• I’m removing all the paywalls. I’ve felt a cognitive dissonance for a while about having one set of public offerings—my workshops—be accessible for any amount of (or no) money, while locking away bits and pieces of this platform behind a paid subscription. I realized, when I looked at the list of paid subscribers I do have, that these are folks who are volunteering their money to support me and my work, not necessarily to access more of my content. If you are one of those people, thank you. Your support means my whole marble jar to me. And if you’re a free subscriber, thank YOU! Having you care enough about what I have to say to invite a notification every time I say something is a true honor.

Hopefully, in seizing my freedom here, you also seize yours: feel free to un-subscribe at any time, paid or free. In posting as I’m called (as opposed to posting when I told myself I “have to”), I’m betting things will get a little more wild, a little more organic, and a little more spaghetti-at-the-wall-ish here in this space. I’d love to win your eyes anew and keep a little piece of your heart…and I don’t want to waste away in your unread emails.

In true “me” fashion, I do have a larger point: in the world of self-advocacy, the work of freeing ourselves from prisons of our own design is a much larger piece of the total practice than we often care to admit. How many times do we grow to resent things we “have” to do, just to look back in time and find no one asking us to do them in the first place? If you’re with me here, I invite you to think about it: what’s one place you’ve locked yourself in, and how might you bust yourself out?

Getting Selfish: Building a Healthy Self-Advocacy Practice is an online, pick-your-price workshop built to get you closer to your values and more confident in your self-advocacy skills. The next cohorts take place the first two weeks of December…so think of it as your end-of-year reset.

Learn more and register here, while spots last.

These are people with hearts of gold (coated in iron), who want nothing more than to leave the world better than they found it.

These are people whose mission in life is to lift others up, and will do ANYTHING. THEY. CAN. to ensure that names are mentioned in the rooms they need to be mentioned in. That resources are shared. That opportunities are presented, funds are distributed, access is expanded, and connections are made.

And, without fail, these angels on Earth absolutely suck at advocating for themselves.

Rather watch this post? Here’s the version I posted earlier on TikTok.

On one hand, this makes sense. These tend to be people who are dedicated to using their privilege to extend lifelines to those who don’t enjoy the same access. It stands to reason that they’d think, “I can spread myself thin for the cause. I’ll be fine…I just want things better for them.”

Trust me: I don’t think there’s ANYTHING wrong with using your own resources to help others. But there is a LOT wrong with using UP your resources to help others.

If this post feels like a mirror to you so far, think of it this way.

Visualize a person or group you find yourself advocating for, caring for, or supporting. Imagine you’re sitting across a table from them, and you’ve sat them down to tell them how you’d like to see them treat themselves. What would you say to them?

If I were to guess, you’d say things like, “I want to see you take care of yourself. I want to see you rest and recharge so you can do your best. I want to see you grow and take the opportunities that will lift you up. I want to see you pursue joy and wholeness.”

I’m sure you know where this is going: if this, or something like this, is what you’d say to someone about whom you care, then why on Earth wouldn’t you say it to yourself? In your pursuit of that kind of life for others, are you abandoning it for yourself?

The thing is, when you pause to ensure that you have what you need to show up fully, everyone benefits. Here’s how.

When you feel better, you work better

You of course benefit—you get a recharged battery, a clear head full of ideas, a strong and passionate heart, and a body that can help you, not hinder you. And, of course, your specific brand of advocacy benefits from your energy and focus. You’re at less risk of burnout and can hold your torch for much, much longer.

You lead by example

The people for whom you are working so hard to create space will see you as a living example of self-advocacy. They will see what it looks like when a person prioritizes doing their best work, not just the most work. And they will see that it’s possible—and necessary—for a person to balance their needs and the work they’re put on Earth to do.

You challenge oppressive systems

Read Rest is Resistance by Tricia Hersey, then read it again. The same systems that create the need for us to advocate for each other are built to overextend us, or at least to make us believe we should be overextended to have earned even basic human rights. But when we’re overextended, we’re too tired to imagine a world where we’re not, and where everyone has the access they need to the support they deserve. And if that’s what we’re pursuing but we can’t even envision it, then…uh oh.

Your impact is broader than you think.

The value of modeling healthy whole-person behavior is incalculable. It applies beyond advocacy and activism, too: it applies to parenting, mentoring, corporate leadership, really any kind of role that involves stewardship, leadership, or support. It demonstrates, via positive example, that one doesn’t have to wait for someone else to see them and recognize that they deserve support and championship. That one is a critical member of one’s own support network. And that, through supporting oneself, one more effectively supports their whole world.

• Learn more and register for Getting Selfish: Building a Healthy Self-Advocacy Practice!

• In the Indy area and want to explore coaching with me? Let’s take a walk! First one’s free.

• Walking not your jam, but still interested in connecting? Book 30 minutes here.

Capability refers to your overall potential to do something. It encapsulates knowledge, skill, and ability, and can be built over time by learning, practicing, observing and consulting experts, and continually returning to your core reason for doing that thing (we often undervalue desire’s power to help us get things done. But, obviously, wanting to do something makes it easier to do). Think of capability as your answer to the question,

“On my best day, with all the time and energy and necessary resources available to me, can I do this thing up to my best standard?”

Capacity, on the other hand, is a little more fickle.

It’s an amalgamation of different internal and external factors, and therefore can change very quickly and without notice. Your capacity to do something depends on having the time, the energy, the emotional bandwidth, the resources, AND the capability to do that thing. Think of your capacity to do something as the answer to the question,

“At this moment, given my current circumstances, can I do this thing up to my best standard?”

Take, for instance, riding a bike.

I know how to ride a bike. I’ve been doing so since I was 5 or 6. Given the time, the energy, the bike, the helmet, the road, the clear day, and the cute-but-comfy outfit, I’m totally capable of riding a bike.

In my current moment, I’m sitting at my dining room table, with a long to-do list in front of me and limited time before I head to work. My bike hasn’t been ridden in at least two years, at at the very least needs a good dusting and a tire pump before it’d be road-safe. I have no idea where my helmet even is.

So if you were to ask me to go riding with you right now, my answer would have to be no. I don’t have the capacity.

Last week, I started my second part-time job, bringing my total job count to 3. It would stand to reason that I could expect a little dip in my capacity as I fold another 15-20-hour-a-week commitment into my life. And I’ve experienced it. I’m dropping balls: I still haven’t completed the Negotiation DIY Masterclass. I lapsed on last week’s newsletter. Anything that hasn’t been absolutely mission-critical over these last couple of weeks has rolled off the back burner and is now gathering dust behind the stove.

I don’t feel good about these lapses, and if you’ve been waiting for those things, I sincerely thank you for your patience.

I’m writing this because, if you’re in a moment where you’re struggling to get through things you could have done in your sleep six months (or even six days) ago, instead of beating yourself up try directing a little empathy at the sweet angel who lives in your mirror. Remember that capability is part of capacity, but it certainly isn’t all of it.

It’s possible to feel bad and want to do better AND give yourself grace and empathy AND recognize that capacity ebbs and flows in direct correlation to the happenings in your world.

It’s also advisable to be aware of these moments and use them to reassess, to essentialize (thanks, Greg McKeown), and to get your priorities straight.

That’s what I’m up to now. In Marble world, while I’m capable of all the writing, posting, and spaghetti-throwing I’ve been doing…I don’t have the capacity at the moment. I’m primarily focusing on coaching my clients, building more relationships with values-aligned organizations, delivering sessions, and deepening my roots in Indy’s vibrant community of good-hearted, humanitarian, and deeply intelligent women. I’m taking my foot off the gas when it comes to delivering content that I’m unsure is useful or resonating.

So! What that specifically means, I’m still not sure…it’s my main job this week to work that out. But in the meantime, if you’ve read this far, I have two asks of you:

1. Be honest (and kind) with yourself about your capacity. Instead of being hard on yourself for any dips in your quality or quantity of work or output on a specific thing, get curious: what’s missing? Is it time? Energy? Emotional bandwidth? Desire? Some combo? Understanding it is the first step to replenishing your stores.

2. Tell me what you’d like to see from me! You can comment on this post or send me a message. More personal posts? More businessy updates? More self-advocacy skills? Candidly, it’s tough to know what resonates on this forum, but I’m not ready to give it up just yet—with special respect to my paid subscribers, to whom I feel an extra responsibility to deliver something impactful. I’d love to make this Substack a place where people come to reflect, have fun, learn a little, and engage. I need your help to do that.

Okay! Whew! I’m off to wash my face, take the dogs on a lap, and head into work. I’ll catch you on the flip, but in the meantime, go do something for yourself.