We’ve done some big things this last month. But I don’t feel I can really share. I can’t share my process or victories without outing others dirty laundry. And that would negate the process.

But think of it along the lines of how I imagined Valjean to have felt when faced with the power shift with Javert. The tension between forgiveness being the ultimate truth and the reality that evil persists because good men allow it to happen. Good and evils are but two halves of the same coin, or two apposing truths. Do I forgive or hold accountable? To some degree our current legal system makes that choice for us. But not justly. And that makes it worse.

Let me just share this. For those of you who are truly facing giants. The real dangerous kind. It’s okay to just hole up. To limit how many people get information and thus opinions. It’s okay to not have a game plan. But just a lose plan. To information gather and just take the next indicated step. In the end there’s a great probability that we will create the things we fear the most especially during times of great stress.

For me, I have just a small number of people who speak truth in hope but realistically. Ones who will give the real answer, not the safe one. Not the ones we are all taught to give so that we feel we have “done our jobs” by giving into ideals that don’t really exist. Which unfortunately is what most professionals are required to give.

Just the next indicated step. Just today. Just the next hour. Don’t think about walking through the door, just get to the parking lot.

When we choose to change things, the only guarantee is that it will change, not that it will change to our liking.

My trusted advisor shared this with me today and it is true. Gratitude is the anecdote to just about all that ails us.

I can’t eliminate duress by escaping into gratitude. But I can remember one little acknowledgment at a time that:

1. We can do hard things.

2. We can trust our ability to adapt (even to the unacceptable) to what we are powerless over.

3. We have self-control.

4. Life is a gift. All of it.

And I had about 100 little miracles today alone. All we really needed was a willingness to appreciate them. Sometimes just a moment of beauty is enough to give you the strength to keep going. Breathe it in.

All my love,

Corinne

I digress.

There’s an interesting documentary on Netflix about the history of spy tactics and implementation. It’s both fascinating and terrifying.

There’s an episode on a sabotage tactic that seems to have infiltrated the life of most Americans I know. The end goal: death by minor inconvenience and associated fees.

Highly recommend unless you're prone to suspicion. Which maybe I’m guilty of, but maybe not. The amount of technical difficulties one has faced in the last six months defies statistics.

If history has taught us anything, it’s that the most effective sabotage rarely arrives wearing a black ski mask. More often, it shows up as notice that you are being required to enroll in paperless billing. Oh and by the way your new insurance policy is increasing by 300% but you can save 5% of that if you give them direct access to repeatedly withdraw funds from your bank account. With a clause stating they are not responsible for withdrawing the actual amount you owe, but it will be close. Probably.

One of the more remarkable examples of such warfare emerged in the late 2000s, when a highly sophisticated cyberweapon known as Stuxnet found its way into Iran’s nuclear enrichment program. Unlike the cinematic hackers of Hollywood, this operation didn’t seek to trigger dramatic explosions, flashing red warning lights, or countdown clocks. Instead, it embraced a strategy familiar to anyone who has dealt with modern technology. You will recognize another tactic: Critical Inefficiency. You may recognize this one manifesting as what is known as “The Automated Phone System”. Or it’s highly sophisticated “Chat with our new customer service bot”.

The malware quietly targeted industrial control systems connected to uranium enrichment centrifuges machines that spin at breathtaking speeds. Exceeding 60,000 revolutions per minute. Rather than shutting them down, Stuxnet occasionally nudged them outside their ideal operating range. A little too fast. A little too slow. Then back to normal. Meanwhile it fed reassuring information to monitoring systems. Creating the digital equivalent of a mechanic smiling confidently while your engine ejects parts onto the freeway.

The beauty of the scheme was its patience. It weaponized inconvenience. It transformed inefficiency into strategy. It treated precision engineering the way termites treat a Victorian mansion. Slowly, quietly, and from the inside out.

The operation marked a turning point in human conflict. The digital age discovered it could simply persuade machines to make bad decisions on their own. Somewhere the matrix, the ghosts of history’s great spies must have looked on with admiration. Imagine explaining to a Cold War operative that future intelligence agencies would spend years developing software whose primary mission was to give expensive equipment a mild but persistent case of self doubt. Or that the entire population of America could be pacified through entertainment and being made “too busy”.

For those of us surrounded by modern electronics, the lesson is both fascinating and unsettling. We tend to imagine failure as dramatic and obvious. In reality, systems often collapse the same way organizations, projects, and occasionally governments do. Not through catastrophe, but through countless tiny deviations from optimal performance. A fraction of a percent here. A small delay there. A measurement slightly off. Nothing worth mentioning in today’s report. Everything worth mentioning five years later.

In other words, the future of sabotage may not be a smoking crater. It may be a machine that is 2% less efficient, a network that runs 3% slower, or a process that gradually drifts just far enough from perfection to become its own worst enemy.

The devil as always, remains in the details. Modern technology has merely taught him how to code.

I am neck deep in overcoming a deluge of such failures. over 90% of what I have been working on since February has been smashed. Not by the work itself not getting done, but by the documentation just not working.

Tip #3 to modern living: Roll with it. Keep going anyway. Progress is progress.

If you give in to the frustration you will be effectively neutralized.

Focus on the real life connection and blessings. This week I get to see a sonogram of my granddaughter!!!! That’s my blessing. My miracle. My little boy still thinks I’m his best friend. My Grandma turned 94. 94! I got to watch the sunset over the lake twice this week with my Mom. My older kids are honest and full of integrity and are both contributing members of society. My Dad is out there living like nothing is a big deal and it’s all art. My friends are healthy. And on and on.

Peace and Blessings,

Corinne

Reminder to the newbies. There will be spelling and grammatical errors. If you have a hard time with those who can’t or won’t follow the rules of the English language (even though they may want to), enter at your own risk.

It appears to be a universal law that I must walk my talk. Practice what I preach. At least if I am living with any kind of integrity. Or do they say that those who can’t do, teach?

I had plans. Stories and correspondence written by loved ones about people in their lives that had made a difference. Both in their own personal space and for humanity at large. We are talking 4 digits. I had connected with each one. Found in them the most beautiful and consistent vein of commitment and passion, they gave me hope in humanity.

And I still have plans to share them with you. Something of substance to counteract the divisive and dehumanizing content we are bombarded with all day-er-Day.

But… we ran into a technical issue (the website that stored all the pictures decided the pictures weren’t important anymore and released them into the electronic graveyard somewhere). Which is the process of being rectified. But will take some time.

So, as those are being resurrected I will be switching back into creative mode. Which is super fun. Raymond Kinman’s Woodcarving Retreat is still being edited. And what a learning curve that is. AND!!!!!! I am taking on a new responsibility at the office. One that I am super excited about. SUPER.

I am a self taught artist. Technically, I’m a graduate of Bob Ross University. And the daughter of a master craftsman. Who believes that creativity is innate, and rules don’t really exist. Therefor with just a touch of guidance you should be off and running on your own. Which is entirely true, but also a bit like reinventing the wheel. After my last little bit of woodcarving I realized I’ve been suffocating. My hand must make things. They must.

So this month I start making things. Nothing formal. Just some baby shower center pieces. Pure joy, no pressure. But the universal algorithm has responded in kind. In the last week I have ben given 5 new carvings to work on and one cake order. And… an invitation to go back to school. I will be filming them all. I’m still coaching and managing retreats.

And documenting what that all looks like in the rubber hits the road sort of way. Consider my soon to be 5 year old is starting a homeschool/charter school/ co-op journey. My first grand baby is about due, and I am jumping full force into my coaching and creative practices. Plus there’s them hormones honey.

Please join me as I put on my hard hat. Please join me. We are changing our paradigm. Seriously. Like the Earth is shifting. I am hell bent on it being a pleasurable experience.

The entire landscape of humanity, politics, economics, spirituality, family life, food, healthcare, our place in the universe etc etc etc is rapidly evolving.

Things are about to get bumpy, get messy, get busy. But most of all they will be funny. A little light to brighten your days. Someplace you can learn from my mistakes. After all… your world is about to change too.

Because the answer to all of that chaos is to dig deep into what’s in front of you. There is enough in every breath to give you a tangible sense of awe and gratitude. If you let it.

All I can think is, “What a fascinating time to be alive!" In the known history of the world, how many people have witnessed this kind of innovation?

Heather touched my heart. There is so much that goes unseen in raising our kids. Complicated by different needs it can be a very isolating experience.

When we contacted Heather to tell her that she won… she forgot she had even entered. Some of us get “thanks yous” and some do not. With or without them every ounce of effort counts. Ladies, I see you. Happy Mother’s Day!

Imagine how her Mama felt reading this. Enjoy:

I'm 23,autistic, and so many people doubted I'd graduate and drive. Not my momma. My mom believes in me so much that even when I don't do well, she helps me find the way to see what the good will be. She saved us from a life of abuse. She saved me from being killed, even when the person killing me was myself. She lived me through the darkest times of my life. My dad, he's just not a nice person. I ended up believing a few of his favorite lies. So much so I thought ending everything would be best.

But, my mom...
My mom just Knew in her heart and mind something wasn't right with me. She risked going to jail from a ridiculous court system, and she saved me. She wouldn't take no for the answer. She risked her own life to save me.

She's pretty awesome helping others. She's like if Disney Spirit was inside someone's heart. She endeavors to try to spread good and happiness wherever she goes. She's willing to sacrifice herself for the sake of others. She's made sure I got help to talk to others about what I've gone through. Honestly, they haven't really told me anything she hasn't. But, she made sure my voice was heard.

A long time ago, when I was little, my dad promised me a Disney trip. It was a lie. My mom spent extra hours working to save up to take me. We finally went to all the parks as we couldn't afford to go altogether.

This kinda gift would be great for her. I may not have a lot to offer her, but this would help her see I know what she did to make a horrible person's empty broken promise a dream come true. I love my momma. Mainly, because even though I have challenges in life, she never let's me give up on myself. Thank you for considering her.

This was a difficult story to tell, because I also have dyslexia, dyscalcula, dysgraphia, and I had to find a way to ask her how to spell things without her knowing. Autocorrect couldn't even get it. But, her? She gets me- and I'd love to have her receive this.

I picked this picture to show you something else. She didn't buy anything for herself when we go. We have to stay off of Disney, and we went tosee the cool decorations. She bought me ears when I didn't have enough to get them myself. I would be happy to pay you if she's not picked. I work as a hostess, so I can try to ask for more hours if I don't have enough money.

Thank you,

Sincerely,

Heather

And, here’s the best part. We are going to start our interviews. Let me know which of the authors you’d like to meet.

Everyone meet those who dare to make the world better without demanding reward or acknowledgment.

From the Hearts of the Judges

Hi everyone,

Next giveaway we can’t do anything so deeply touching or emotional. Corinne’s eyes are just about swollen shut at this point. All of the tears…

First, let us just say, “wow”! Your entries for the ‘All We Need Is Love Giveaway’ have completely moved us to our cores. As Raymond and Marisa’s daughter and son-in-law, and the judges for this contest, we have the honor of seeing the stories and photos you’ve shared, and let me tell you, it’s an impossible task to choose a “best.” It’s impossible to even compare them. 

Every single photo, every story, is a testament to the deep beauty of love in its many forms. Behind every family photo is a lifetime of sleepless nights and sacrifices made with one goal: creating a better world for our children. In each image, we see heroics as powerful as military members and firefighters giving their lives, or families welcoming children into their hearts to raise as their own.

We see the unwavering love of those caring for loved ones in their final days, holding hands, offering comfort, and showing what it means to truly be there for someone when it matters most.

Your stories remind us of the love shown by our furry friends, who teach us the true meaning of unconditional devotion, and of the ride-or-die commitments in lifelong partnerships, those that reveal what real love asks of us, day after day.

There’s bravery, beauty, and heroism in every single one of your posts, and we can’t thank you enough for sharing such a personal part of your lives with us.

This is more than a contest it’s a celebration of what makes us human. And while choosing a winner feels nearly impossible, we have done our best to honor the spirit of this incredible community and the love you’ve shared.

From the bottom of our hearts, thank you for being part of this journey with us. What started as a way to contribute to uplifting our community has truly become a personal gift. You have changed us. If we had any doubt left that humanity is tragically beautiful by nature, it’s now just vapor.  Thank you for showing us the unfathomable ways you have expressed your love to one another. You are proof that the world should go on. 

We hope you enjoy these entries and are as inspired and uplifted as we have been. They are in no particular order, just laying them down as they have been picked up. We included those that did not qualify for entry, as we are equally grateful for your efforts. Some of the entries didn’t have privacy settings set so that we could access them. If you don’t see your entry here please email me at whenyouwishgiveaway@gmail.com and we will get your entry added to this give of love.  

With love,

Jason & Corinne 

There is a lot going on in the world under the surface. Some people see it, some people feel it, some people dream it, some people write it, some people speak it. Some people deny or ignore it. From this vantage point, I'd say it's maybe built into the fabric of this experience. If our experience includes the metaphysical or the metaphysical is actually physical but a different dimension or vibe etc I can't speak to.

I guess there it is.

1. Be careful about turning an experience into a belief.

2. Be careful about filtering experiences through your own preconceptions.

For me, I have observed a lot (I mean A LOT) of people in some of the most intimate and raw experiences humans can possibly have. Burt death and reinvention of their own paradigms. It's in those extremely vulnerable moments where the extraordinary or miraculous, whichever you want to call it seems to show up. Like the filters naturally fall off and create a pause of humility where something unexpected can fit in.

The moment of experience of the extraordinary is always a moment of stunning. Everyone stops, because it doesn't make sense. But once the extraordinary event has passed, people instantly start adding their own meaning and explanations to the event. The science minded start trying to find a reasonable explanation. The religious start applying doctrine. Many start trying to reproduce it. I've done all of the above.

After decades I'm convinced that sitting in the "what the eph just happened" feeling is most appropriate. If instead of trying to control my experience of the extraordinary, I can just stay in "wow" and "thank you", it remains that. A pearl of wisdom and trust that reminds me that there is a power present in this world that is not me (even if I am a part of it). But that expresses itself to those that are willing to be intimate with it. And that it is good. Love. But really you can't define it. Try to define love…

3. Don't try to interpret or define the extraordinary.

4. Just observe.

5. Say thank you.

Let me end with this. Having had quite a few extraordinary experiences, I spent some time trying to pursue them. As though the extraordinary were evidence of intervention. Seeking God so to speak.

I'll leave you with a dream I had. One of the dreams that had the feeling attached to it. The one that I have come to know as something not from my own invention. Try to remember the bullet points as you read it.

I had a dream I was in the bank. And I heard the voice of God. It said, "Corinne, I'm outside. Come out here." Given that I had indeed been in search of the creator, the truth, some framework to navigate this world in, for my whole life, I didn't "come outside", I ran. But when I got out there it was just a day. The sky, the ground, and everything in between just as it always is. So I called out, "Where? I can't see you." Again, it spoke. It said, "You keep looking for me in the extraordinary. I am there. But importantly, I am in the ordinary. I'm in the mundane." That’s it. Just plain old that.

So this is my take away. It's all extraordinary. Don't try and develop intimacy with things we can't understand in order to find the miraculous. Instead get present. Look around. Feel awe about your own breath. How blindingly amazing this world is, and we are, if you approach it with gratitude and curiosity instead of judgement or condemnation.

If that’s a struggle. Go look at the ocean, or put your bare feet into the soft dirt, or just go look at some piece of creation that’s really big. It will remind you of its own magnificence. Or make something. The act of creation seems to bring us closer to the divine.

Tell me, where and when do you naturally feel in awe?

I take comfort in this: Everything in the observable universe has a purpose and function. Therefore, so must I. So must you.

I used to want to know what that purpose was. Like an assignment. So I could check the box. Mission accomplished. She did good. But I found that as soon as I tried to define it, the natural next step was to take ownership of it. And that messed the whole thing up. It became about me. Look what I can do. Here’s what I think. My suggestion is. And You know what? That doesn’t appear to be the plan.

When I know the destination, I disregard the journey. And fundamentally when I think I know best, I am disregarding the sovereignty of the people I am working with. And yet I do get little downloads. Divine inspirations. Vital understandings.

Enter the paradox. Douglas Adams had the right idea with his Total Perspective Vortex. My own significance in combination with my own insignificance will explode my brain if I am exposed to the magnitude of both truths. My consciousness is inside the outside world. Yet the outside world is inside my own consciousness. We could spend hours here.

But we won’t. Because…!!!!!!

This one is too exciting. It is a revelation that is going to be all about the experience.

I’ll let you read the texts. Forgive the terrible structure of the words. I use voice to text and can’t quite remember to proof read before I press send. Go ahead, I’ll wait. Notice the dates on them. Then come back to read the rest.

I’ve always had dreams that come true. Not many of them, which is unnerving. It took two decades for me to be able to recognize which ones were significant and which were just meanderings of my subconscious. Imagine what nightmares did during the figuring it out stage. But particularly ones about pregnancy and births. Which made sense in my early profession.

But this one… oh man. This one has broken me open in ways I can’t even begin to understand. My take away, although it doesn’t really significantly change much in my thinking has made some of my thinking concrete. In an unshakable way. I’ve know this logically for years. But now I know it emotionally. In my core.

You are not an accident. The you parts of you are not by chance. Not just a random expression of DNA impacted by epi-gentics. Or a product of Natural Selection. There’s incredible evidence for you existing in an electromagnetic blue print before conception, but that’s a story for another time.

If this little one is a gift, on purpose, given to this family, for just such a time as this. Then so am I, and so are you. Walk through today with a little knowing on your shoulder. That you are vital. You are on purpose. You are a gift.

And me? I get to be a Grandma!!! That’s the most important part, in case you were wondering.

“To Trin Tragula’s horror, the sock completely annihilated her brain; but to his satisfaction he realized that he had proved conclusively that if life is going to exist in a Universe of this size, then the one thing it cannot afford to have is a sense of proportion.” - Douglas Adams

Spoiler alert… If you are a Stephen King fan, have not read Insomnia, and plan on reading it… skip the next couple of paragraphs. Otherwise, keep going. I loved that book as a teenager. It was one of those ones that I sat down to read and didn’t come back to reality until it was done. Food, drink, bathroom, sleep, and read that’s it. Immersed and lost in someone else’s world.

I can count on one hand how many times a writer has been able to suprize me. The two areas I tested most gifted in were language and pattern recognition. But this one did. It wasn’t because the plot twisted in an unimaginable way. It was because in the end the main characters were not the main point. This is America after all. The main character are the super heroes, the game changers, the pivots, and the tipping points. But this time the main character was the guy who helped the guy who helped the guy that made the difference.

That has stuck with me. I’ve felt that way. I’ve never been the main character in my own story. I’m the supporting roles. I’m the lighting lady who showcases the main character. Or the makeup artist who trains the make up artist who befriends and guides the sound guy who marries the woman who gives birth to the main character’s grandmother.

Someone lovingly pointed out to me recently that my writing doesn’t sound like me any more. There’s a reason. I’ve been writing and then using AI to correct my mistakes. I’ve mentioned that I am dyslexic among other things. Spelling and punctuation illude me. I am the own personal nightmare of the grammar police… and I can’t help it.

They also mentioned that I am never in my own pictures and videos. That they think I am pretty and valuable and that instead of just showcasing others it would behoove me to actually share me with you all. That I have gifts and am worthy of being seen. Believe it or not, it’s taken me week to digest that.

I am super grateful. Thank you to that person for reminding me that I have something to offer. Even if I’m shy. But there’s problem. I don’t have pictures of me or videos of me. I’m always the one taking them. Trying to capture the magnificence of life and those I love. I am most often nothing more than the disembodied voice in the videos or the thumb on the side of the picture.

From here on out you all get the raw version. The misspellings, the terrible grammar, the wrong capitals, the unpolished me. I will henceforth be speaking in poetry, thinking in music, and conveying in allegory. Without apology.

We shall title this photo: I Woke Up Like This

Much love to you all. Please be kind. This is vulnerable endeavor.

Corinne

It was like everything I had ever loved and everything that had ever been important to me was gone in an instant. And I was powerless.

And everyone and everything that had ever loved me also disappeared.

The best way I could describe it was like being in a car that was at full throttle. And all of a sudden everything on the side of the road disappeared. Then the road disappeared and then even the sky disappeared. And everything that gave me any understanding of direction or rightness was gone. But I was still going full force tumbling through empty space with nothing but the pain.

I didn’t even feel like I existed. Just suffering no identity.

There are somethings you can’t get around. The only way is through.

The hope I have is that there is an end to the pain. And eventually we get to choose to give purpose to our suffering. So that there is meaning to it. And that makes it possible to survive. And even eventually to be thankful for it.

And that there are gifts we can’t even imagine waiting for us inside the pain. And if we can sit with it. And not just look for the end of it, it  becomes our deep roots. First we grown down then we grow up.

I don’t like to talk about me. I’m bored with that. But… sometimes a big change does require a little understanding.

Credentials are an easy way around having to be qualified. Stay with me a minute.

They imply qualification and validity. But don’t guaranty it.

I did a long term apprenticeship before actually pursuing education. I think experience should also be recognized as expertise. More often though, I saw people looking to see which letters I had after my name.

So I went and got letters to put after my name to validate my expertise.

Here’s the problem: I actually found that education was more about liability than ability. Over and over.

I am an educated professional. And I’ve chosen to ditch the letters after my name so I can actually help people. Effectively.

I’ve adopted a new title. Coach. I’d prefer liberator. But no one knew what that meant.

Wait. Before you cringe (at least that was my first response to the word) consider it. Not guide, not mentor, not counselor or therapist, not guru, or consultant. Why? Because those imply authority.

And if I’ve learned one thing it’s that we’re made sovereign. You hare not only able to make your own choices. You are responsible for them. And you will be the one who experiences the effects of them. And most of the time you are already able. I’d go so far as to say designed to walk your own particular path.

My personal joy has come from watching the light come on in someone’s eyes as they discover their own power, their own genius, their own passion. My most effective role has simply been to help clear the clutter out of their way and reinforce their own ability to see an achievable path. To believe for them.

More like a spiritual coach. Or midwife.

But when I heard the term coach, or someone said they were a coach, my internal reaction was immediate: Oh no.

Who are you to guide anyone?

Where’s your expertise?

Who validated you?

Over time I’ve noticed something interesting about myself: when I instinctively dismiss something, there’s a decent chance I’ll eventually have to admit its brilliance.

Reality has a way of forcing that humility.

For nearly a decade I worked in the traditional mental health and recovery system. It’s a system I respect deeply. It saves lives. It stabilizes chaos. It offers real care when people are in the darkest moments of their lives.

But when you work inside something long enough, you start to notice its patterns.

Most of the language revolves around what’s wrong with people.

Disorders.

Deficiencies.

Diagnoses.

Those frameworks absolutely have their place. They can be lifesaving.

But they rarely capture the most interesting thing about a person.

The essence of who they are.

I also began noticing something else that felt… quietly rebellious.

The people who seemed to understand human beings the best weren’t always the ones who had spent the most years in classrooms.

Education can teach theory. It can teach terminology. It can teach you how to protect yourself from liability.

But it doesn’t always teach you how to see someone.

Years of real experience do something different. They build pattern recognition. Instinct. A feel for the landscape of a person’s life.

Over and over I saw situations where theory sounded impressive but didn’t translate well in the real world. Meanwhile someone with good instincts and deep presence could shift a room in minutes.

At some point it dawned on me:

People are not profiles.

They’re much closer to pieces of art.

You can analyze brushstrokes forever, but at some point you have to step back and see the painting.

Around the same time I also had to admit something uncomfortable about myself.

A lot of what I was good at… I didn’t learn in school.

Of course training matters. My work in recovery and behavioral health shaped me profoundly, and I’m grateful for it. But some of the most valuable things I brought to the table weren’t written in textbooks.

They came from experience. From watching people. From sitting with thousands of stories and slowly learning how humans actually change.

Eventually I stopped resisting the obvious.

Maybe the thing I had been quietly judging, coaching, wasn’t the empty role I thought it was.

Maybe it was simply another way of doing the work I already loved doing.

Not diagnosing people.

Not reducing them to a list of symptoms.

But helping them reconnect with the parts of themselves that had been buried under noise, expectations, and survival.

That realization eventually became something I now call Siren of Serenity.

It’s less of a program and more of an exploration. A place where the focus shifts away from what’s broken and toward what’s possible.

The question I’m most interested in isn’t:

What’s wrong with you?

It’s:

Who were you before the world told you who you were supposed to be?

These days I spend my time having conversations with people who are curious about that question.

Entrepreneurs. Creatives. Parents. Quiet thinkers. People standing at strange crossroads in life.

We talk about clarity. Direction. Adaptability. The strange art of becoming more fully yourself in a world that changes faster every year.

There’s a principle in biology that I think about often:

An organism’s survivability is directly proportional to its adaptability.

The same seems to be true for humans.

The people who thrive aren’t always the strongest or the smartest.

They’re the ones who stay curious enough to evolve.

This space is where I write about those ideas: about people, creativity, recovery, growth, and the strange process of rediscovering yourself along the way.

If any of that resonates with you, you’re welcome to explore the work I’m doing through Siren of Serenity.

Or you can simply stay here and think with me for a while.

Turns out that wasn’t the story at all.

I taught myself to read before kindergarten.

I’m a voracious speed reader, and if I have one real obsession in life it’s learning. I’m happiest in a state of discovery.

So it might surprise you to know that from 6th grade through 11th grade I failed most of my classes… or thanks to No Child Left Behind, barely squeaked by with a D.

By 11th grade I had basically backed everyone into a corner. I found a school where I could earn a real high school diploma but do the work at my own pace.

Up until then I had kind of accepted the idea that maybe I just wasn’t that bright. I had spirit… but maybe I was just a little dumb. Or was I just lazy?

Then something strange happened.

Once I was in that environment, something clicked. I completed all four years of high school in just under a year and a half. I graduated early, with 12 extra credits, scoring in the top 90th percentile. I even ended up being featured in Who’s Who among various academic honors.

During that time one of my teachers suggested I be tested. It turned out I had a genius-level IQ. On higher side of that category no less.

And yet… there were still things I simply could not do.

Punctuation, for example. I took a special class for it three different times and failed every single time. Algebra was the same story. If I was sitting right next to the teacher I could sometimes follow along, but the moment I left the desk it was like the understanding evaporated.

Providence has a way of keeping us humble.

It wasn’t until my late 30s while working in an office that facilitated rekationships with energy efficiency engineering programs with contractors through the state, that I finally realized I’m dyslexic, primarily with numbers and symbols, which makes sense because they’re abstractions.

And it wasn’t until my 40s that I was diagnosed with ADHD… which suddenly made my entire life make sense.

Gen X didn’t grow up swimming in diagnoses the way younger generations have. We mostly just assumed we were the problem.

I’ve always loved the idea often attributed to Einstein: that everyone is a genius. But if you judge a fish by its ability to climb a tree, it will spend its whole life believing it’s stupid.

Suprisingly. I had another such discovery drop in my lap up at the retreat I just did with my dad. I am still organizing all the videos and content from the weekend, but I’m so excited to be able to share it with you in the coming weeks. 

Drop a 🐟 if you’ve ever felt like that fish trying to climb a tree.

Yep, an entire 24 hours. Not my finest moment.

I’m usually great at spotting when nerves are sneaking up, because I start making ridiculous mistakes. ADHD? Hormones? Straight-up avoidance? Probably all three.

These retreats? I’ve been part of them since junior high. I’ve even hosted them lately, welcoming incredible people, feeding them, making sure everyone’s comfy. It’s basically a creative party. Easy, right?

But this time it’s different. This retreat is MINE.

Stepping out of Dad’s shadow, out of my quiet support role, and actually using my voice.

I’ve felt the call for a while now. This retreat is symbolic in many ways. It’s been confirmed dramatically. My spirit calls it outrageously “woo woo” and my logic calls “statistically significant.” Either way, I know beyond the shadow of a doubt that it’s time to come into my own. It’s really scary and oddly comfortable. Like stepping into a current that’s already running and letting it take you.

I missed the flight change email (understandable), but it stung like a personal failure. An expensive one.

For the past year, my mantra has been: “Do it anyway.”

I’ve done scary, generational-shift-level things that leave me feeling like I’m on Mars. Alone. Even with all the love around me. I have to forge my own path, even when it clashes with the people I love most. And my people have always been my purpose. They still are. I don’t like the tension between both truths.

How do I do it?

Feel the feels deeply. Thank them for sharing. Whisper a prayer. Deep breath.

Then… DO IT ANYWAY.

I’m only responsible for showing up. Not the outcome.

Who else is doing scary things right now? Drop a 🔥 if you’re in the free-fall zone with me, or share your own “do it anyway” moment below. I’d love to cheer you on.

#DoItAnyway #SteppingUp #personalgrowth https://sirenofserenity.com/

Desperation is the gift.

I was over 40 (the years had blurred), and although I had found my niche. My identity was wrapped up in my accomplishments. Having a little one later in life changed my priorities. And I was having a hard time adapting to the requirements of life, the rapid rate at which the entire landscape of the world was changing, and the reality that I just wasn’t going to go back to the grind. How I earned a living and how I viewed myself was going to have to adjust.

This wasn’t a phase anymore; it was architecture. I’d built my whole life around avoiding the tension between what was and some impossible ideal I’ve been striving for my whole adult life. I was confusing my purpose with my identity.

I didn’t pray well that night. It wasn’t articulate. I didn’t make vows. I just whispered to the empty room, “I’m out of ideas.” And for once, the silence didn’t mock me. It waited. A small idea wandered into my mind. “How about trying this…”. I’ll tell you more about what “this” was another time. I didn’t want to spin my wheels. Time is precious these days. So I went out on a limb and asked for some confirmation that I had heard right. That night around 3 in the morning, I woke up randomly. I had fallen asleep with YouTube on and it had landed on some random podcast. And I kid you not. The first words out of the woman’s mouth were, “If you were feeling that you are being directed to do “this”, you heard right. Do it.”

I don’t get my questions answered so clearly very often. So I figure I’ll jump on the rarity. Besides, “this” brings me great joy.

That was the pivot, the critical moment (after a great deal of laying foundation) that cracked everything open. Recovery started there, raw and relentless, but what came after? A phone call, from a familiar voice with a simple suggestion that was not big deal. No big deviation. But it cracked open my rigidity. A phone call with my closest friend who saw a little hope from a slightly different vantage point. Amanda Dear, you make me brave.

I want to be that simple hope in a calm voice for others. It’s powerful. Maybe more so than speaking to a stadium.

The post critical healing. The part where you don’t just survive the wreckage; you sift through it, piece by piece, rediscovering who you are under the layers of habit. It’s not about erasing the scars; it’s about turning them into maps that lead you back to joy. Real joy, the kind that sneaks in quiet, like sunlight through a half open blind, even as life piles on more.
And oh, does it pile on.

I’m still Corinne, still walking this path, one foot in front of the other, sometimes crawling, rarely sprinting, but always toward more light. Siren of Serenity isn’t about having it all figured out. It’s the space where I share the real, unfiltered pieces: the tools that helped me move from critical survival to this post healing bloom. Creativity heals when life feels overwhelming, the spiritual discoveries feel less like lightning and more like dawn creeping in slow. Nurturing myself in ways I never would have chosen to, if people and life would just stay where I put them. Instead doing so while holding it all together (or letting it fall apart just enough).

If you’re here because you’ve had your own tile floor night, or a string of them, and now you’re in the thick of post critical healing… if patterns feel like old chains you’re finally shaking off… if you’re balancing family, health, relationships, and that inner voice calling you to more, all while wondering if it is even possible… or if life is just demanding that you adjust to new circumstances…

You’re seen. Exactly as you are. And this discovery? It’s yours for the taking. All those excuses… do it anyway. Just start. Start imperfectly.

This is just the beginning. Stick around. We’ll walk it together, no rush, no pressure, just company.

What’s one whisper you’ve heard lately, maybe from intuition, God, or just your own heart, that’s guiding you through the layers?

Tell me in the comments. I promise I’ll read it, and I’ll probably nod like I get it, because I do.

See you in the next one, friend.