A recruiter once told me that meeting me inspired her to start taking action on new projects. That she was so inspired by me. I almost emailed her to ask what exactly I had said so I could inspire myself back. My life seemed stale, on pause. Was it me moving around countries and continents in my twenties? The leap from senior designer to creative director? Could it be the companies I launched, then left behind, while the monthly statistics continued to glow with everything I’d built? Because all I see in these stories are my mistakes. To a stranger, it may sound glamorous in the way I package the story. In my head, it’s all chucked in the bin.

Is it human or just a depressed human quality to dwell in pity? As if this moment now, in its utter misery, is a box. We live in this box, and nothing else exists in any of its dimensions. The billion other little boxes of past, future, alternate realities, they don’t exist. The once-in-a-lifetime core memory I made one week ago, while walking through a frozen river gorge, magical icicles all around us, hiking in deep snow with my boyfriend at -9°C, with not a soul around, just the two of us and the soft gurgle of the river, with stops for frozen kisses, trekking for an hour in the dark, eating pasta salad and baby peppers in the car, while trying to get warm again, laughing at the joy of getting to do this. *takes a breath* It doesn’t exist.

That box is forgotten behind the walls of the little pity box you’re occupying at the moment. So are the rest of the boxes that inspired a random stranger during a random call. They are shadows in your memory, sparks of possibilities for another. Your storm in a teacup is sunlight trapped in a drop of morning dew for them.

And of course, we are all prone to focus on mistakes and what-ifs, to buy the story sold to us and hope to live in it indefinitely, but the grass is AI-enhanced greener on the other side. Yes, I would like to live like the highlights of my life. Hell, I would love to remind myself of them every now and then, not only when I need to make a showcase of “Why you should hire me - the amazing person I am”. But my brain has employed this little reminder of doom who is always on. Active, even when my soul is surfing on rays of sunshine… That little guy, he’s a workaholic and oh, does he love his job. Even in that perfect moment, he would note that where there’s sun, there’s always rain. And oh, do you remember why you’re afraid of rain now?! You keep postponing that apartment renovation. Yes, the apartment that you don’t know why you bought and that has been making your “sanctuary” a place you fear. And you’ll never learn why the walls keep drawing in moisture. And even if you do, then you need to renovate everything all over again. And the contractors. And the dust. And the lists. The lists. The lists of everything you failed to do. And do you remember how you ruined your life as well when you… He goes on and on. Pointing out every decision I’ve questioned. Every decision that has led me here, to this moment, in this pity box of mine.

I don’t trust him (sometimes). Sometimes I remind myself that it’s not a voice, it’s just an echo of old fears and doubts. The echo is in the past, fading, fading, fading… And sometimes, I remind myself that if I go out, if I move my body, get out of these four walls, if I breathe in the fresh air, that voice disperses like fog lifting from the pavement with every exhale. But the pity box is hard to break out of.

If you’ve dimmed your own light, I’ll ask you this - pitch yourself as well as you can, all details included, every crazy dream you’ve had and decision you’ve made, your path to where you are now. I always joke that I sell myself well. It’s time I buy myself back. Maybe it’s your time too. And maybe the lid of the box will lift. And maybe the box will break.

The buy myself back prompt list:

• What have I accomplished in the past year that I don’t give myself credit for? How did I do it? How did that feel?
  Go month by month. Look at your calendar, emails, photos. There’s a lot we forget to mention in our own life’s credits.

• I’m incredibly good at…
  For example, I’m incredibly good at pointing out when things are misaligned. Sorry, it’s a skill. I get paid for it. People notice misalignment subconsciously, and it’s irritating.

• It would blow my 15-year-old mind that I…
  For me, it’s almost anything. I drive myself around. I have four degrees. I live between two countries. I can cook.

• If I had to mentor my younger self, what would I share about my path? What would I want to tell myself about my life and its wonders?
  Sometimes this could be a paragraph, it could be an entire letter. Depends on how much you want to talk to your younger self. Mine always gets: “We did it!” What is “it”? Only she knows. But I never stop believing that I can do it. And then I do. Which is what I wish had driven me when I was younger.

• Something I did that my friends can’t believe, but that brought me so much joy, was…
  From taking a lunch break to a solo date/trip. A lot of things feel normal to us, but inspiring for others.

• Last core memory I made was…
  Mine was talking to my best friend while walking along the river.

• Break your life into five-year periods. Point out one accomplishment, or as many as you want. Look at it as your life’s resume in bullet points, not only what you’d put on LinkedIn. Everything you’re too self-aware to boast about. Seriously, boast.

Out of the pity box prompt:

• Think about a moment that felt like your ‘happy place’ for no specific reason. You were happy to be there. Describe it in detail - what do you see? Is there a specific smell that you can bring back from memory? How does the air around you feel? How did you feel? And why? Start with - My happy place is…

I go to my “happy place” often when I’m definitely not at my happy place. It was a mundane moment, but I felt at peace, present, happy to be on this rock floating through space. I can feel the crisp afternoon autumn breeze on my skin. Sense the last rays of sun on my face. Hear the leaves chasing each other in soft swooshes. Dogs happily barking as they chase a ball. Kids giggling, racing on tiny bicycles. Old couples chatting quietly as they pass. People living. Me sitting on a bench, leaning on my boyfriend’s shoulder. My happy place.

Hellooooo heatwave #2! I’m currently melting away in my boyfriend’s apartment in Germany, enjoying a juicy nectarine.

Did you know that only about 6% of German homes have fixed air-conditioning systems, which is a stark contrast to countries like the US, where the rate is closer to 90%? I think about it every time I see someone from the US making fun of Europeans for complaining about heatwaves. Europe is not equipped for these temperatures. Simple as that.

We did get a portable AC last week.

Bookmarked is the fourth chapter in Table of Contents. It’s the place where I consolidate all my mental open tabs and pictures, a digital garden, if you wish, and I figured I could make it seasonal. Keep reading for some summer gems I’ve found along the way and gathered into this little crown jewel of summer.

Summer looks

BIRKENSTOCK Sandals

I’m officially a Birkenstock girl! For years, I’ve refused the existence of this brand. They just weren’t me. To this day, some of the models are too rough-looking for my liking. But I found out that they have their own leather alternative - Birko-Flor® - a synthetic material which is exclusively used by BIRKENSTOCK. I got the classic Arizona model, but in the Flex Platform version, and they are cute!

The test run was through city trips in the Netherlands, the beaches of Belgium, and more walks in Germany. I’ve started calling them my best summer purchase, they are that comfortable. Took some time to get used to the footbed, but my feet are loving it. I might even go as far as to suggest that my posture has improved.

Kapten & Son

Another German brand that solidified its place in my life. My Bergen Pro Dusty Green is the most versatile backpack I’ve ever owned. It’s perfect for travel/work/daily use. During my trips, it fits my 13’’ laptop and iPad, The Artist’s Way, three notebooks, film camera, various cables, keyboard, mouse, etc. It has a secret pocket in the back, perfect for a passport. There’s a small, easy-access pocket in the front and flexible side holders for a bottle, but I love the breathable, padded back and straps.

I also appreciate the brand’s commitment to sustainability, all the while not compromising on design and functionality. One of their models won the German Design Award in 2024, another won the PETA VEGAN AWARD FASHION 2025 in the “Best vegan backpack” category. Supporting meaningful businesses while looking cute is a win-win.

I feel like I need to disclose that I’m not German and don’t live here, but this country makes great products. And made le boyfriend :)

Survival kit

Summer Nostalgia - Voicemails for Isabelle on Netflix. I missed rom-coms like this. Brought me back to the days when I would go to rent a cassette/DVD and discover a movie based on vibes.

The perfect home scent - This Tomato Leaves & Basil Luxury Reed Diffuser by my friends at Maison Scentique. This is bottled summer, and it reminds me of my mom’s garden <3

The holy grail - Herbar’s THE SUN SHIELD SPF 30 - It’s sun protection but also skincare! I’m in love with their branding, the founders, Catarina and Rui, and their dedication to Traditional Chinese Medicine, making skincare healing.

Hand fans! We were strolling through Kasteel de Haar, and my boyfriend bought me a hand fan since we were going out in the gardens, which are actually a park designed by Hendrik Copijn. The heat was very adamant, the fan proved its worth. It has saved my melting brain too many times since, and it’s oh, so pretty to look at. I’ve embodied my aristocratic, fan-in-hand aunty era.

Bring in the culture

We went on something like a road trip through the Netherlands and Belgium. Due to some unfortunate circumstances, we fortunately ended up staying at the most magical *luxurious* place on earth, close to Nieuwersluis. Funny enough, we got upgraded to the highest accommodation they had and enjoyed a pond and river view. I was just happy it was clean, and we had a comfy bed, but there was also a huge bathtub in the room. Thank you, universe!

The location was gorgeous, but also very strategic with its short distance to Amsterdam and Utrecht. And I discovered that trains in the Netherlands are amazing. What is more summer coded than romanticizing life from the train window?!

People go to Amsterdam and visit the canals first, the museums, the Anne Frank House, they take the city in. On our recent day trip to Amsterdam, the first thing we did was to enter De Nieuwe Kerk for the World Press Photo Exhibition 2026. We hadn’t planned this, I only knew bits about World Press Photo and planned on seeing it in Germany.

This was actually the premiere of the World Press Photo Exhibition 2026 in De Nieuwe Kerk, Amsterdam, showcasing the stories that matter with award-winning photography from the 69th annual World Press Photo Contest. The flagship exhibition is specially designed for the space of De Nieuwe Kerk, a 15th-century church in the center of Amsterdam.

What I thought would be a short photography exhibition turned into a two-hour heartbreaking story after story of loss, grief, resistance, tenderness, life, and the lack of the latter. We close our eyes too much for what’s right in front of us, and it pains me to be another pawn in our demise.

The World Press Photo Exhibition will travel all around the world this year with a few special exhibitions as well, so if you find yourself around it, let it be something you witness.

This weekend, we visited the charming city of Ellwangen, in the east of Baden-Württemberg in southern Germany, for the Ellwangen 2026 State Garden Show. Right next to the historic city center, the city has transformed the river Jagst floodplain into a blooming paradise. You can lounge along the river, stroll through the greenery and flowers along the banks, marvel at the bees and butterflies everywhere, all the new habitats created for insects and fish alike. You can even camp on the side and explore integrated tiny houses. It was a very at-one-with-nature experience, which aligns with their LGS motto “Desire for Change”(literal translation of „Lust am Wandel“) and the question they raise “How do we want to live?”

This Garden Show didn’t just appear because the city wanted to. They won the opportunity to host it, and in turn, it revitalized this charming place. A sprawling former parking lot was replaced with a renaturalized riverbank, city beach, and open green space, effectively reconnecting the city center with its local waterway. Now it’s full of life everywhere, and you can visit more events in the city, like the gorgeous flower show in the historic cloister adjacent to the St. Vitus Basilica, which changes theme every two weeks. I must mention that this is one of the most beautiful and intricate basilicas I’ve ever seen.

The garden show will be open until the 4th of October this year, but most of the spaces will remain for the city and its citizens. Ellwangen is truly blooming anew.

What to eat when the heat is too much to swallow

Last year, my algorithm was very “food is health” coded. That is my life’s mantra as well, but I try not to fixate on it. A very simple recipe I started making, yet full of health benefits, is my carrot and cucumber ribbons cold salad. I say cold only because I let it marinate in the fridge and it’s a truly delightful sensation.

This is as simple as it can get. Carrot and cucumber ribbons made with a vegetable peeler. I do a four-to-one carrot-to-cucumber ratio. Toss these with coconut aminos (or soy sauce), sesame oil, and rice vinegar, top with some hemp seeds, and voilà. Let it sit in the fridge for 30 minutes so the carrots soften a touch, and enjoy.

The health benefits come mostly from the carrots, and I ate it every single horribly hot evening. I don’t mean only the vitamins A and C, beta-carotene, vision support, and antioxidants. For women, they are said to aid in hormonal balance through fiber that helps the body process excess estrogen. A few friends swear by it too, which is not a clinical trial, but it is an excellent opportunity to say “allegedly”. There is no direct, peer-reviewed human clinical trial, but eating carrots has only benefits, in my book, and if it’s placebo making me less PMS-y, I can live with that. Oh, and it’s super tasty and fresh!

Soundtrack of the summer

I Knew It, I Knew You by Taylor Swift for Toy Story 5. I’m having a country, cowboy, running through the fields with my dress unbuttoned summer. This song puts a smile on my face immediately. I don’t wish to know what Taylor puts in her songs to make them so addictive, I love it and wouldn’t have it any other way! The play button is a melody of hope and happiness.

I’m also running into an obsession of Backstreet Boys-Avril Lavigne-NSYNC-Christina Aguilera-No Doubt while driving. Signing this off as one of the few enjoyable consequences of Mercury in retrograde. Screaming I Want It That Way and doing the Bye Bye Bye dance feels like a celebration of my inner child.

The TBR that thinks summer lasts twelve months (if only)

The following section is not short because I am not short on feelings about books.

Why we humans think that summer magically conjures this free time to read eludes me. My summer TBR has no respect for the concept of time, weather, work, or reality. I popped into bookstores in Utrecht and Bruges with the innocent intention to “just look”, which is obviously the biggest lie a book person can tell themselves.

Hereby acquired the following:

Famesick by Lena Dunham

I’ve adored since watching Girls and reading her first memoir, Not That Kind of Girl, in 2014. Her second memoir, Famesick, promises the same vulnerable writing and a glimpse into what’s on the other side of fame. I still remember how broken I felt after some parts in Not That Kind of Girl, and I think I’ll need the right mental strength for the topics around health issues, addictions, relationships and literally “the truth” in this memoir.

I urge you to subscribe to , Lena’s Substack, and ’s Scrollodex (Lena’s online counterpart on Instagram and Substack, her digital and brand strategist, also managing the production company Good Thing Going).

Land by Maggie O’Farrell

The author of Hamnet!!! The blurb says more than I ever could - “Land is a story of buried treasure, overlapping lives, ancient woodland, persistent ghosts, a particularly loyal dog, and how, when it comes to both land and history, nothing ever goes away.”

Also, enamored with its cover… layers, land, depth. Such beauty in simplicity.

The Correspondent by Virginia Evans

I fear I’m the only person not to have read The Correspondent. I got it recommended each time after finishing a few of Claire Keegan’s and Lily King’s books. A life of letters, the power of finding solace in literature, and connection with people we might never meet in person. Why did I wait so long?

And my long-anticipated Before I knew I loved you by Toshikazu Kawaguchi, translated from the Japanese by Geoffrey Trousselot

The Before the Coffee Gets Cold series held me in a very challenging period of life. The power of a short story is severely underrated. We look at short books like snacks, but sometimes they are days’ worth of nourishing food. If short stories like Claire Keegan’s Foster evoke an emotion without naming it, Toshikazu Kawaguchi’s power comes from calling it as it is. I questioned so many words, actions, things I hadn’t made peace with. Even wrote a short story myself along the same premise of Before the Coffee Gets Cold. The question is always the same - If you could travel back in time, who would you go back to talk to, what would you say differently, what wrongs would you right… These books feel like a cozy hug, beautiful, magical.

A stopover in Bruges added to the list:

Matcha on Monday by Michiko Aoyama, translated from the Japanese by E. Madison Shimoda

The first book in this series, Hot Chocolate on Thursday, is another extremely heart-warming Japanese story of interconnected lives, invisible strings, the beauty of everyday acts that reverberate far beyond one life.

The scenic, hidden behind cherry blossom trees, Marble Café from Hot Chocolate on Thursday, turns into the Matcha Café on Mondays. “This heart-warming story spans Tokyo and Kyoto over twelve months, bringing together a community of untold unfolding lives – all starting with a cup of matcha.”

Ironically, I started Hot Chocolate on Thursday, actually on a Thursday, so I have every intention to make an iced matcha and get cozy with Matcha on Monday.

I Want You to Be Happy by Jem Calder

The amount of times I’ve seen this book on Faber’s Instagram account made me want it with a passion! I doubted I would ever find it in the wild (I don’t really like ordering books, it’s more of a hunt, more fun, if I may say so myself). Did I snatch the last copy of I Want You to Be Happy at De Reyghere Bookstore in Bruges, like my life depended on it? Yes, yes I did. As a fellow Italian book girlie was moving through the shelves, talking animatedly about The Vegetarian to her dad, fear of losing sight of I Want You to Be Happy crept in, and I swiftly caught my prey.

Why did I need this so violently? First, the cover. I mean, look at it! I wish I had designed this. And it’s a paperback with an exclusive cover design under the jacket! Pete Adlington, you have my admiration.

Second, the story is about a copywriter at a big advertising agency, who abandoned his ambitions of becoming a novelist, and a barista, who dreams of making it as a poet. They navigate this relationship/situationship/life thing in their mid-thirties and twenties, in London… Yes.

Coming back to Germany, I had one mission to complete the summer reading list - order Creative Compass by to the local bookstore. In my piece These books changed my life, I speak in detail about how influential her work has been for me, so I’m truly curious about this book. I’m currently at week 12 of working through The Artist’s Way, and Creative Compass feels like the natural path to follow on this journey. I unblocked my creative self with The Artist’s Way. Now I shall unleash it with Creative Compass. Truly excited for this one!!!

If, and that’s a very big if, I get through these wonderful works of literature, I might crack open Yesteryear, Caro Claire Burke’s debut novel. I’m too curious! A satire about a “tradwife” social media influencer, who wakes up one day in the 19th century, where she must learn how to live without modern society… Very intrigued!

Audiobook summer sound waves

Someone somewhere once had recommended K. L. Walther, so naturally I saved every book I could find in my audiobook app. The Summer of Broken Rules is the sweetest, most heartbreaking, and liberating book, in a way only summer can break chains (or rules). This year, books like this one have changed my mind about YA. Turns out the story and dialogue could be good and possess depth. It’s melancholically predictable at places, like the rom-coms of the 90s. You suspect what the plot twist will be, but still, you’re delighted when it happens. It’s a sticky, cute summer story that takes place at Martha’s Vineyard while playing assassin with the biggest family ever and counting down to a wedding(!). It’s one of the best ways I’ve seen grief handled on a page, showing how to allow yourself happiness after and let people in again. A summer of game strategy, extreme competitiveness, delicious pies, heartwarming family interactions, friends to lovers, a very honest perspective on friendships, and coming of age. Truly a summer gem.

Just Friends, Haley Pham’s debut novel, gives the perfect summer audiobook vibes. Absolutely adored the narrator, Sura Siu!!! My opinion could be a bit biased as I adore Haley as a fellow book girlie, talking about books everywhere on the internet, and I love supporting other people’s dreams. But the story is heartwarming… coastal town, second-chance romance, the weight of dreams, people who feel like home. This story is very grief-laced as well, but the love in that grief is beautiful. It feels like losing your heart to find it safely tucked in another.

Next on my radar is Happy Ending by Chloe Liese. The pattern of only listening to rom-coms in summer is quite intentional. They just make life feel light when the heat and regular city-work life crash over me. I treat them as a vacation for my ears.

Happy Ending sounds like an Emily Henry-coded book, and I adore her work. Two newly divorced strangers become best friends after discovering their exes left them for each other. Hello, Funny Story! But there’s a custody battle for a dog! He is a chef, she is a bookseller! Hey Siri, play Happy Ending.

I first found She and Her Cat in the Malmö City Library. Last summer, on our way to Norway, my boyfriend and I stopped in Malmö for a few days. On one of them, he surprised me with the discovery of the city library. A gorgeous castle-like building, set in the riverside park, with a modern glass extension.

The setting was almost too perfect - floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the park, the trees outside, thousands of books inside, the library hush that makes you feel like time has agreed to leave you alone for a bit, harmonizing with the whispers of souls discovering stories.

The library had sections in almost every language, but the English one was huge. New releases, old classics, biographies, art books, the table was set with a dangerous buffet. Somewhere towards the end of the shelves, displayed neatly as if it had been waiting for me, was She and Her Cat by Makoto Shinkai, Naruki Nagakawa, and Ginny Tapley Takemori (translator).

I hadn’t yet heard of the book, nor had I watched Makoto Shinkai’s original short animation. I didn’t know the story had travelled through mediums - from animation to novel to series to manga. I didn’t know I was about to fall into a very specific rabbit hole about the exploration of the human condition through cats. I could only sense that the title and cover were pulling me in, and it only got better when I flipped through the pages.

I read a few pages that day, and then, tragically, we had to leave… but on the next day, I went back with time to spare between the shelves. I found She and Her Cat again, settled into one of the sunny chairs by the windows overlooking the garden, and dived in.

I’m a slow reader on a normal day, but this was worse. I kept looking up at the trees, at the light, at the people browsing through books, flipping back the pages of the book in my hands. My heart was filled with pure joy, and my mind was already making a scrapbook page of this moment, longing for it before I had fully lived it.

After hours of reading, I was only halfway through. We were leaving the next day, so I promised myself to find the book again. At first, I thought it was the story that had marked me. It definitely did. She and Her Cat follows the quiet, complicated, sometimes hidden lives of women and the cats who see them as their favorite person. The cats don’t understand adult problems in the way humans dress them in words. They don’t understand work pressure, creative doubt, grief, loneliness, undefined relationships, or the tiny breakdowns we hide on normal days. But they sense presence, warmth, routine, the scent of your emotions changing. They sense when something in you has shifted. They sense when their human is sad, even if they cannot translate sadness into the correct human words. But they wish for your happiness…

What if your cat wants to see you paint? What if your cat hates seeing you give up on yourself? What if this small creature’s heart holds the biggest, softest love for you and just wants to hear your voice?

I carried this feeling out of the library with me, but months later, when I finally ordered the same edition and returned to it properly, the story wrapped around my life. By then, I was coming back to painting again (more like struggling) after years of not touching a brush. Not exactly starting from scratch, but returning to an expression of myself that had been very quiet, muted, forgotten. The second story in She and Her Cat, with its creative work, self-doubt, and painful power dynamics, reached me much deeper than it would’ve months ago when I first read the book.

But my story within the story is not why this book belongs in Cover Stories. She and Her Cat is a story that moved from one medium to another. It is a story that kept changing hands and ways of expression without losing its beautiful beating heart.

She and Her Cat began as a five-minute black-and-white original video animation (OVA) by Makoto Shinkai (Japanese: 彼女と彼女の猫, Hepburn: Kanojo to Kanojo no Neko), subtitled Their Standing Points, in 1999. Shinkai, as writer and director, made the short to help someone he loved overcome a difficult time. He based his hand-drawn animations on photographs he took of the cityscapes and streets, even recording the voice for Chobi (the cat and narrator of the story). This early OVA is considered the work that helped him gain recognition, setting him on the path for amazing works like the more popular now Your Name (2016) and Suzume (2022), among others.

Later, She and Her Cat was adapted into a novel in Japanese in 2013 by Naruki Nagakawa together with Shinkai. In 2016, the story expanded into a four-episode anime television adaptation, subtitled Everything Flows, produced by LIDEN FILMS Kyoto Studio and directed by Kazuya Sakamoto, with Shinkai’s original story and Naruki Nagakawa’s screenplay. That same year, Tsubasa Yamaguchi’s manga reimagined the story again, following Miyu and Chobi in a way that reads as a continuation. A few years later, in 2022, the English release of the novel, translated by Ginny Tapley Takemori, was published. So far I’ve seen two English editions, but it has been translated into multiple languages. The visual part of my edition is a symbiosis formed by James Iacobelli’s art direction, Kelly McAdams as cover designer, cover illustration by the super-talented María Medem, and full-page illustrations by Rohan Eason at the beginning of each chapter. Rohan Eason’s work is what fully immersed me in the story. All in black line work, carefully etched details, rooms that feel lived in, cats that feel like they are watching the world with more understanding than any human in the room. Some illustrators can build entire worlds on a single page. Rohan does that, and with each glance, the world expands. They are not illustrations you look at once, you keep coming back to discover more. I don’t see his work as ornamental or decorative for the book. His illustrations develop the story along with the text.

The OVA tells a story in observation, contrast, scent, presence, a life through changing seasons. It speaks through shadow and detail, and I see the same reflection in Rohan’s interpretation of the scenes, mirroring perfectly in a different style, but still using the same tools. The cover is an invitation for something mundane, human, but sweet and cozy. Rohan’s page illustrations are the epitome of the hidden parts of our lives, with their intricate details and purposeful lines. The full weight of human life with its clutter, hidden corners, windows of life, pockets of loneliness. This contrast is what makes my edition so special.

By the time it reached my hands in Malmö, this interwoven story about women, the warmth of companionship with their cats had already flown through animation, screenwriting, manga, prose, and translation.

This chapter in Table of Contents - Cover Stories - is for books, stories, and the people behind every part of their art. Because sometimes art is not the “thing” being translated, it’s the translator.

A cat translates voice into love. A short film translates love into five quiet minutes of care we can’t speak aloud. A novelist translates an invisible string into four connected lives. A translator carries tenderness from Japanese into English. A cover translates an entire story and makes a promise. An illustrator translates that promise with every glance you take, tying the pieces together, but still bringing you back to the primary emotion of the sweetness in everyday life.

Discovering all this, I had to dig deeper into Rohan’s work. The universe was doing its thing of showing me all the dots to connect. I discovered his wider world of predominantly black line illustrations and muted colors and the wonderful tarot cards illustrated by Rohan Eason for Melinda Lee Holm’s Tarot of Tales. I do my personal tarot readings every day, so this expansion of his art enchanted me straight away. Tarot is also a visual language, one open for translation. The cards don’t tell you an exact meaning or an answer in words. They provide scene, symbol, status, mood. You read an image, and then you translate it with your words. It’s another way of telling a story, but you’re the reader, the translator and the one painting the scenery.

Rohan’s tarot card work, with its symbolism, connects seamlessly to his illustrations for She and Her Cat. They ask us to stop and question why the window is open, what the clutter on the ground is, and what the objects creating this scene are. Each detail is there on purpose. It could represent an emotion or a key aspect of life. Tarot cards need a second look, so does his work. The first look sets the scene. The second one hints at a hidden meaning. The third opens the door for you to an unseen world.

As someone returning to painting, I understand the fear of making a mark, similar to one of the women in the story. The way a blank page can feel dramatic and horrifying for absolutely no reason. The way you would want to create and still sit there, like the paper is showing you receipts of all your past and future failures. As someone who reads tarot every day, I understand that one visual can say what language needs a whole essay to hint at, and maybe that is why I fell so hard for these illustrations and the story within.

Rohan’s work feels patient but confident. It trusts the viewer’s eyes to linger. It doesn’t flatten the story into one obvious emotion, one simple scene. It develops in front of your eyes and gives space for tenderness and heaviness to exist together. Which is exactly the point, isn’t it?
NOTHING IS BLACK AND WHITE ^{(the official moniker and creative project name of Rohan Eason)}

She and Her Cat does this twist of emotions as well. The story is mundane, but it is not simple. It is comforting in its similarity but not hollow. Loneliness is observed and lived through, not instantly fixed. Cats witness and hold space. They are not there to save anyone. They are a constant, an anchor.

Maybe that is the real translation happening through every version of this story. From Makoto Shinkai’s OVA to Naruki Nagakawa’s adaptations, from Tsubasa Yamaguchi’s manga to Ginny Tapley Takemori’s English translation, from María Medem’s cover illustration to Rohan Eason’s page illustrations, everyone keeps translating the same truth through a different language. Every life matters. Presence can make a change. A cat can become an anchor. A drawing can evoke emotion before you’ve acknowledged it.

That is why I cherish this book as a piece of art as much as a story. It doesn’t ask one medium to do all the work, but it lets each form carry something different, and then the reader carries the rest in their imagination and heart.

If I had finished She and Her Cat on that first day, I wouldn’t have found the connection so meaningful. To appreciate the artworks further, to arrive here, tying all invisible strings together… maybe this is how books make their mark. A moment nurtured over time becomes another story entirely. Like a blooming flower, slow and quiet. Quiet. Like a cat entering a room through the window.

This piece has existed for me for two months. I have been working through The Artist’s Way for the past nine weeks and had this seedling growing in my morning pages on a morning when I thought I didn’t have time to write at all. I was rushing to leave for therapy, calculating the traffic, the time I had to be back for work, cursing the coffee machine for needing a clean, and trying not to abandon the tiny morning rituals that keep me human at the same time. Yet, I sat down to write. It was chaos, big strokes, jumbled sentences. I just stayed long enough to reach the third page, to meet myself, and by the end, I was filled with gratitude. I was grateful to have protected this peace. This time. This privilege to put myself first. To listen before the world gets too loud.

Now I can appreciate that this is what the morning pages have been teaching me. Not to become this perfectly punctuated writer who never has drafts and finishes a short story in one sitting. They have taught me to sit with myself and listen. To write without judgment. To not question if I’ve earned this. I have.

The morning pages come from The Artist’s Way by Julia Cameron, a 12-week journey of creative recovery. Guided by the 12 chapters, each week you embark to recover your sense of safety, identity, power, integrity, possibility, abundance, connection, strength, compassion, self-protection, autonomy, and faith. You work through these topics to unblock your creativity. One of the pivotal tools in this creative reawakening is the practice of the morning pages.

The morning pages are three pages of longhand, stream-of-consciousness writing, first thing in the morning. They are not supposed to be profound, perfect, or even complete. Just writing down whatever comes to mind. I imagine it as a cluttered shelf that I sort and move one item at a time to the page. Or as Julia Cameron calls them, “brain drain”. By draining the thoughts bouncing around your brain, you clear the pathways.

For me, the first page is noise, complaints, insecurities. The second page forms a path. The third page is where I stop negotiating with myself, and clarity blooms from ink. That morning, clear as day, I allowed myself to keep my peace, to arrive to myself before arriving anywhere else.

It sounds simple, but sometimes the simplest things are the hardest to achieve. A few pieces of paper, a pen, a few stolen minutes before the day begins. But I know too well the heartbreak of not making space for your own thoughts. For too long, I had been drowning in the vortex of the world rushing in first.

Years ago, when I was fueled by young ambition, working in advertising, surviving on caffeine and adrenaline, I would open my eyes to hundreds of notifications and a racing heart. I used to call this state “my mini heart attacks”. I brushed it off as if I didn’t see anything wrong with pumping cortisol into my system first thing in the morning. The system overload signs started flashing when I would dread the next day coming. I didn’t want the wave of anxiety and the feeling of already being late to hit me again. My wiring was rebooted by a panic attack on the subway on my way to work. An email-induced lack of oxygen. As I came up for air and climbed back above ground, I was done. Something had to change. The smallest but most impactful change was setting up two automatic, overlapping modes on my phone. I could receive calls only from my family when they were on. Everything else was silenced. I got my silence back. Step by step, I regained control over my attention and time. I checked things when I was ready.

It’s such a simple act, but to this day, I swear by my Do Not Disturb and Sleep modes. My little guardians. Regaining your time regains your attention and the space for your thoughts.

In the past few years, I have often woken up with work-related problem-solving thoughts for no apparent reason. I would catch myself and remind my brain that we haven’t clocked in yet. This time is still ours. This time is sacred.

To protect this in practice, I have an ironclad morning routine. I call it dropping into the notifications of my senses.

I start with the sense of place. The first conscious thing I do upon waking up is to drink my tea while noticing the space around me. Then I move to the sense of sight. The first grounding thing I do is to make my coffee, take it out on the balcony, and observe. To stare at the trees, track the birds in flight, marvel at the mountain guarding over the city.

This morning, scent joined in too. As I walked out, I was enveloped in the sweet fragrance of the blooming linden across the street. Then, I let the senses soften. The first challenging thing I do is to sit and meditate. This is my game-changer, my mood-shifter. To release the white-knuckle grip on control and let things be.

I’ve had days where I wake up like a cloud of gloom on a sunny day, and after meditating, I’m filled only with gratitude and appreciation. Or at least, I’ve acknowledged what’s bothering me by observing my thoughts. I watch the clouds without becoming a cloud-chaser. I let them come and go. I carry this gratitude into my Five Minute Journal. Then I open my notebook and write my morning pages. What happens there is always a mystery. The words coming out of my pen are never consciously on my mind. I pour out everything. They give me access to thoughts that have a habit of staying locked shut because I get too overwhelmed by the number of issues my brain can list. So I write them down. I had been struggling to formulate this piece, too many ideas wanted to be let in, and I found the answer in my morning pages. I could access words and a source within me that I wasn’t aware of. It’s my brain archive, my therapy, my second form of meditation, or just putting on paper what has been nudging at me, stealing the spotlight, taking up the RAM of my brain.

This carefully constructed morning routine is how I make sure I put myself first every morning. I make the time to sit with myself.

The most important aspect for me is to never rush it. Even when I’m “late” and stressed, I’ve seen that I still make it on time. And I’m proud for still doing it another day. But we’re conditioned to always rush. We’re constantly “late”. Ever behind on news, events, messages, emails, people’s requests, family demands, and needs. We try to pack our days with so much information and outside chatter that we can’t help but feel behind, brains overloaded. There’s always more. So we rush. As if this is a train we have to catch, and if we don’t run, don’t get on it, life will be ruined, we would’ve missed our chance.

The life waiting for us will still be there, even if we don’t arrive at the exact time we had set.

I choose to be proud of this time I carve out for myself. Proud of the choice itself. To open the door for myself first. Let the rest come in later. When I’ve had my coffee and my view. When I’ve sorted the contents of my thoughts. When I’ve allowed silence and sense to take over, to observe.

It’s easier to rush, to leave self-care for later, to flood the garden with cortisol, to put out the imaginary fires others have set at your front door. But how do you tend to that garden later? How do you plant seeds to nourish yourself? Where do you find water when your cup has already been emptied?

That morning, I made it to therapy on time. Against all odds, the coffee machine survived my anger. Work was there when I got to it. Nothing collapsed because I chose myself first, and the page. This is a lesson I keep learning. That everything can wait.

Open a new page and come slow down with me. I’ll meet you at page three.

There will never be an easy way to express my endless appreciation for ’s work. Not to be dramatic, but it changes lives. At least the life behind this screen. The one reading, listening, consuming her words over the past few years.

In September last year, I was lucky enough to receive the ARC of A Year of Nothing. Especially since I missed getting a copy of the previous edition, and this one changed the publishing game with Emma Gannon rewriting the rules. On top of that, she was the person approving all ARC requests. “Your request has been approved by the publisher” meant something more, as Emma Gannon is the publisher. I was ecstatic!

Little did I know that writing my review for A Year of Nothing would change my life as well. I had so much to say, not only about the book but about the influence Emma Gannon’s work has had on my life. I ended up writing a full-on essay that couldn’t work as a review. It meant too much to leave it as a simple, short review. A tiny idea sparked. Maybe I should start my own Substack. Maybe it needs a new home.

It felt like kismet. What better reason to start a Substack publication?!

The Hyphen is the reason I had my Substack account in the first place. It opened the door to a world that feels authentic and filled with amazing discoveries. I love opening my Sunday Scrolls, reading every new piece, listening to the podcast episodes… it is my safe space.

As this chain of events led me to the present, Emma Gannon’s books have been a constant for me in the past. Her work kept meeting me at different versions of myself and stages of my life.

Emma Gannon often mentions that her books and characters, in the end, work as therapy for her and a way of voicing her truths. I’m yet to find a piece of work from her that is not therapy for me. When you form a connection with characters that feel so true and human, the reflection is so clear. You can work out your own struggles while someone on the page is going through hard times. It’s almost like you see an overview of your life through the lens of someone else. If you’re able to reflect through that mirror, change inevitably happens. Not in the miracle kind of way, more in the lingering thoughts that keep coming back - Is this the life I truly want? Is this who I dreamed of becoming? Am I floating on the waves of life, on someone else’s current? Is this me, or am I wearing the mask of society’s expectations?

The norm, the social conditioning and “being nice for everyone else” are themes that keep coming back to me every time I read anything from Emma Gannon, fiction or non-fiction. I challenged my understanding of work with The Multi-Hyphen Method. Olive gave me permission to voice my decisions. A Year of Nothing sat with me and my shame of always being on the verge of another burnout. Table for One broke all chains of pretend and showed me a way to embrace my life.

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A Year of Nothing

I looked at this year of changes, challenges and self-discovery through Emma Gannon’s eyes but reflected on the feelings deep within me. I drew so many parallels to my own experience with burnout. But that’s the thing. It’s never the same for anyone.

I was 26. Being diagnosed with depression and burnout at the same time. After months and months of doctors, and tests, and every part of your body being examined under a microscope, you should get a sense of resolve. But I didn’t. My initial thought was “well, great, there’s no pill for that” because you just want to feel better. They’ve told you what it is, but there’s no “cure” for it. It’s your brain against your brain when your brain is actually “the pill”. It’s particularly hard to accept that - no, you are not naturally sad - you’ve had depression for years. And nobody noticed. You didn’t notice. You accepted that this is who you are. Where once you were described as “Miss Sparkles”, you’re now “Miss Walking Cloud”. Your public image is that of a dedicated hard worker. Inside, you’re strained, overextended. The protocol to “get better” is to rest and focus on what makes you feel good. Depression doesn’t agree with that. The cure for one feeds the other to take deeper roots. Maybe that’s why I chose a different way.

When I look at it now, I can’t say what exactly helped me, but it wasn’t any traditional advice. The words of my doctors would echo forever in my mind - “You are the perfect patient. Perfectly healthy.” In contrast, I felt like I was dying. I like to call my way of “getting better” a constellation of happy coincidences. But it wasn’t until I started going religiously to yoga that everything changed. To this day, it’s the one thing that brings my mind into my body. It set me on a trajectory that I am so grateful for now. But the timeline wasn’t easy. From the day I realized that I had a problem to my first yoga class, I was drowning in despair for more than two years. It always comes to the question - Am I allowing myself rest? Do I build boundaries where they are needed? Do I put my body and my sanity first? Something I received as a confirmation from A Year of Nothing.

Recently, I listened to Emma Gannon’s conversation with about their experiences with burnout and depression, and thought to myself - There they are. My people. My community. It was as if my soul was whispering - I see you. What else could we do for someone else’s pain than witness? And maybe sometimes we think - I’m here. Your pain speaks to my pain. A Year of Nothing truly felt like witnessing. Sitting between the pages for myself and for Emma.

The Multi-Hyphen Method

To pinpoint exactly when I came across Emma Gannon’s work would be impossible. The 2019/2020 algorithms kept pushing her in my orbit, thanks to her podcast Ctrl Alt Delete and my insufferable tendency to better myself. For years, I would get every self-help book, save any podcast episode, and bookmark articles. I never read or listened to any, of course. I was trying to piece together something that wasn’t broken. This realization hit me when I started listening to Emma Gannon’s podcast and later on, ordering The Multi-Hyphen Method.

The vivid memory of going to the post office when my copy came in, is still attached to the feeling of “I will get my sh*t together with this one!” If you’re familiar with The Multi-Hyphen Method, that’s not how it goes. Instead, I embraced my quirks, my weird and chaotic hobbies, and realized that I’m not just this job that I’m doing.

For the majority of my life, I have thought of myself as mediocre. Mediocre in everything. I had never been great at school, but I was exceptional at learning languages. I never settled for one sport, just did them all. In my work as a graphic designer, I never cared for awards and special mentions, but I was interested in every aspect and niche. This later allowed me to become a Creative Director early on. I never cared enough about social media, but I can manage campaigns single-handedly. This has been on my mind for years. How mediocre I am and never an expert in anything. After reading The Multi-Hyphen Method and continuously being curious about anything and everything, I realized that I’m not mediocre. I’m a multi-hyphenate. At one point, I was a creative director, a social media and affiliate manager, a freelance graphic designer, and a content creator. All at the same time. Every day. I could do this only because I never limited myself, and swapping from one to the other boosted my creativity and my drive. Embracing and working with your own toolkit, the hyphens, is what gives our short lives the spice to crave another day. The freedom and stability in one.

There is, of course, the risk of overworking and overexerting yourself because you need to water all these plants you’ve potted around you. Burnout is a key point in The Multi-Hyphen Method, and having A Year of Nothing now feels like a poetic flip. For Emma Gannon and for me. Even if you’re aware of the burnout signs, it doesn’t mean you’re fully prepared to stop and take a step back.

In a world where we’re constantly being told to do more, optimize better, perform for numbers, this book gave me the tools to be more. Be more for myself, for my happiness, and for my future. Every self-help, business, and productivity book would highlight what’s wrong with me and tell me where I need to be to achieve this gargantuan task of becoming “the best version of myself”. The Multi-Hyphen Method connected with me on a human level and gave me permission to be me and grow from there. To expand, not shrink myself into a single line of focus. I did not have to rewrite my entire personality. I only had to question is this personality really me, or am I performing?

Olive

It’s not unexpected that Emma Gannon’s first fiction book found me. What was unexpected was the effect it had on me. This is her most influential work for me and my life. Until I read Olive, I hadn’t heard people speaking openly about choosing not to have children. It was a time in my life when I was unsure of my choice. I was questioning everything.

I got to “read” Olive via my best friend’s Audible account in 2021. I remember not being able to find the book and her offering her credits so I could listen. Which is very symbolic for me in the sense of friendships in Olive.

I have this very vivid memory of cleaning my apartment while listening and stopping in my tracks. I can’t recall exactly what part made me stop, but I remember how validated my feelings felt. I did not want to be a parent. Olive made me feel seen. It made me acknowledge my feelings and fears. It helped me accept that I don’t have to walk the path of everyone else. The “right” one. I had my own. I had the right to choose for myself.

The friendship dynamic in Olive helped me later navigate my own friend group. I had my mind set, but that didn’t mean that I couldn’t be there for my friends. I celebrated their tiny, cute humans, went on endless walks in the park with the stroller when they needed to get out of the house, promised talks about anything but diapers, held their hand when a hope didn’t become reality, and wished my strength would transfer to them. Maybe because of this, they never resented me for being different. Maybe it’s because I openly embraced my choice. Maybe I just don’t care what people think about my life.

Thankfully, I had made up my mind before I could wonder if this was what I truly wanted because everyone around me was doing it. It could’ve been so natural to get married, have kids, and continue in the norm. And honestly, that’s how I thought life would be when I was young. I had been a milestone child. The one to achieve it all. The linear plan I had always imagined was to finish uni and earn my master’s by 25, get married at 26, have kids at 27. But that was it. The line ended there as if I had no other aspirations for my life. This was the norm. Safe to say, none of this happened, and I wouldn’t change a thing. I did get my master’s at 23, though :)

What I realized while reading Olive is not to refuse all social norms, but to question them. Question if the life you plan is the life you truly want for yourself. It also made me embrace all my weirdness and that being different is okay. It’s actually pretty great.

Most of my friends have children now, and I love all of them. The parents and the kids. My family never questioned my statement that no grandchildren will be coming from me, and I get to be the fun aunty to four amazingly great, smart, crazy boys. I get to give my full energy when I’m with them and allow them cheeky snacks. I love this part of my life, and I see a lot of Olive in it. A key part of this, though, was my boyfriend. I had proudly stated early on that I didn’t want kids and braced for the opposite statement, only to learn that he had made the same choice for himself years ago. This was crucial in fully releasing my guilt, letting go of my belief in the “right choice”, and confirming what the story in Olive concludes - a happy ending is still possible.

Table for One

My excitement for Table for One was so great that I asked my boyfriend to order it to his local bookshop in Germany. Luckily, I was there during publication week, and the brilliant UK hardcover was mine in a few days. It stayed on my bookshelf for a while, though. Sometimes I have this feeling about books - not yet. The story unraveled itself to me just when I needed it most.

This feeling of being alone, I felt too deeply. It was as if the spine of the book cracked and opened up mine. For the past few years, I have been in a happy long-distance relationship, and I work from home. On most days, I don’t see a single soul that’s not on my screen. I can’t call my boyfriend every time I start spiraling about something because that would be a full-time job. I needed to accept that this is life now, I can find ways not to feel lonely, and being alone is actually not bad when you can do whatever you want. When you’re set on carving your own path and happiness. It took me years to come to this conclusion, and one very well-written story.

I will never forget the thought that what every character wished for was dressed in fear. They claimed the opposite as their personality and sabotaged themselves with deal-breakers, as if wanting less could protect them from wanting too much. Isn’t that the easy way out? Dreams are scary. You have to face the hard truths, dig deep into your fears, and embrace the shadows you had turned your back on to see where the light is shining on your path of life.

The funny thing is that I was Willow, in a way. I can look back at it now and see that I had the “picture-perfect” relationship. I had built brands but stayed in the shadow of my ex. I used to call these brands “my babies”. I couldn’t imagine leaving them, even if I was not getting paid. And maybe that’s why I was so angry for Willow not getting the recognition she deserved, stepping back from her dreams to fuel her partner’s dream, and let’s face it - severely underpaid. I was in the same position. But I left with a bang, my pride and nothing else. Getting my time and my efforts back.

We connect with books and stories where we can see a reflection of ourselves. This reflection was too clear. Willow was staring into my soul, asking - So what did you do with your time back?

The crisis I’ve experienced is similar to Willow’s life events. In my case, I was drawing connections to past and present, but I kept asking myself if my younger self would be happy with where we are now. The younger me who went on solo camping trips at the seaside. The one that had a calendar full of friend meetups, not Teams calls. The one who said ‘yes!’ to everything and anything that sounded exciting. Would she be happy that we’re dwelling on past choices, not daydreaming, locking ourselves at home for work? Of course not! She would book me a yoga class, a table for dinner, and a flight.

Table for One showed me that my dreams and desires are for me. And this is why my own table exists.

The tides of fate have turned again. Emma Gannon’s next book, A Creative Compass, lands next week, right as I’m tuning into my own North Star.

This is why I am here now, creating a space that is mine but built from so many others. For others.

I’m coming back home to myself. Where I can be too much, feel too much, write too much :)

A table for me. My Table of Contents.

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