January is loud. Everyone seems to have a plan, a vision, a glow-up timeline. Meanwhile, I’m sitting with a cup of tea, watching the trees rest, wondering why we expect ourselves to bloom on command.

This is a reflection from the space between endings and beginnings — about pressure, self-trust, and what it means to build a life without forcing clarity before it arrives.

Are you living the life you want right now, or waiting for someday? The Library Card Theory explores why we treat our lives like borrowed time—and how to stop. Practical steps to use the good china, take the trip, and leave your mark on the life you're living today.

Perfectionism doesn't make you better—it just keeps you stuck. Here's how the 80% rule helped me overcome my creative block and start creating after 10 years of waiting to be "ready."

A reflective essay on how loss became a language of its own — from losing a phone in a Scottish bog to losing jobs and identities years later. A story of creative recovery, writing as an anchor, and learning to live through the in-between.

By society’s standards, I’m a loser — unemployed, living at home, writing from the same bedroom I grew up in. For a long time, I carried the weight of that label like proof I’d fallen behind. But the truth? Living at home became the foundation for everything beautiful, brave, and free about my life. This Tiny Rebellion is about redefining what “making it” really means — and learning that sometimes, coming home is the most radical move of all.

The cold sea licks at my feet, and I ache with yearning—for a cottage by the sea, for salt air and harbor walks. But yearning is not absence; it’s an invitation to live the dream life in the figs already ripe before us.

We’ve been taught to chase a dream life always out of reach—moving the goalpost, climbing the ladder, never quite arriving. But what if the real trap isn’t that we’re behind, but that we’ve bought into the promise itself? In this essay, I explore how to step off the treadmill of striving and name the ordinary moments—coffee in your pajamas, tending the garden—as the dream life already unfolding. With a simple practice I call the Enough Audit, you’ll learn how to notice, honor, and nurture what’s here right now.

I used to think my dream life would begin when I “made it.” But sitting here in Rockport with coffee in hand, seagulls overhead and salt air filling my lungs, I realized: this is it. The dream life isn’t pinned to a board—it’s rooted in presence, contentment, and creativity.