Julie explores life with curiosity, creativity, and connection. I share observations with humor, offering perspective on the world and how it shapes us—lightening life’s complexities along the way.
Yes, I took this from Facebook. Please enjoy! 😀 Atlantic Records made billions from his songs. He grew up in a house full of heroin addicts and was homeless by 15. A kid raised by junkies and beatniks in Greenwich Village became the most prolific hitmaker in modern music history. Nile
I went to an Easter egg hunt on Sunday. Now, I need to begin by saying that I do not attend Easter egg hunts lightly. I carry with me a long and distinguished history of Easter-related trauma. My memories include small children being trampled like bargain shoppers on Black
There was a time—not long ago—when parents told their children, “You can be anything you want to be.” Doctor. Lawyer. Teacher. Architect. Now, in our more technologically evolved and spiritually exhausted era, the guidance has become more streamlined: “You can be anything you want to be… as long
There is a particular kind of exhaustion that comes from arguing with people who are not arguing in good faith. You know it. You’ve felt it. The circular conversations. The shifting goalposts. The shrugging dismissal of facts that would have shattered your worldview if the roles were reversed. You
There is something about this stretch of days that asks a little more of us. Good Friday does not rush. It does not distract. It does not offer easy answers or quick comfort. It sits with us in the quiet, in the weight of things, in the recognition that life—
Nobody is making a documentary about her. She doesn’t have a podcast. She’s not building a personal brand. She has approximately 340 followers on Instagram, most of whom are relatives and one very enthusiastic former coworker named Dave. But every single week, without announcement, without applause, without a
We made a pilgrimage last night. Not a casual outing. A pilgrimage. To Emens Auditorium in Muncie to see the one, the only, the myth, the marble bust of American songwriting himself—Bob Dylan. A legend. A king. A man whose lyrics have been studied, dissected, and probably used to
Can I ask you something? When was the last time you felt like enough? Not almost enough. Not enough-for-now-but-working-on-it. Not enough-compared-to-where-I-was-three-years-ago. Just… enough. Take your time. I’ll wait. If you’re struggling to answer that,
I need to tell you something. And I need you to actually hear it. Not scan it. Not nod politely and move on to the next thing. Not file it under “nice thought” and forget it by Thursday. Hear it. You have permission. That’s it. That’s the whole
There is a certain tone people use when they talk about protests now. You know it. You’ve heard it. “Performative.” “Pointless.” “Nothing changes.” “A waste of time.” “My favorite is the casual shrug dressed up as wisdom: If it mattered, it would look different. Or the more aggressive versions:
A Saturday that, on paper, probably looked like any other. Coffee. Errands. Maybe a walk if the weather cooperated. Except it wasn’t. Because while one man, Donald Trump, spent the day tucked safely behind the gates of Mar-a-Lago, eight million Americans stepped out of their homes and
You stay home. You shake your head at the news. You say to yourself, “This isn’t right,” and then you move on with your day. No judgment. We’ve all done it. But there are other moments—rarer, more consequential—when silence starts to feel like something else. Like