People sometimes assume writing was a dramatic pivot from my corporate life. As though one day I stepped out of conference rooms and spreadsheets and suddenly discovered creativity waiting for me somewhere in the distance. But the truth is much simpler than that. I’ve always been creative. Creativity just
There is a question I heard recently that has stayed with me. If one group truly believes itself superior… why must it work so hard to restrict another group? It is not a comfortable question. But history rarely is. Because when we look honestly at American history, we find a
I want to ask you something and I need you to answer honestly. When was the last time you had a conversation that went absolutely nowhere? Not a networking conversation. Not a productive exchange. Not a discussion with clear takeaways and actionable next steps and a tidy resolution that made
Friday Before Mother’s Day — A Real Conversation About What We Carry There’s something about the days leading up to Mother’s Day that makes us pause. Not the commercial version. Not the flowers and brunch reservations. The quieter version. The one where memories come forward uninvited. Where we
There is a particular kind of exhaustion that doesn’t come from doing too much. It comes from feeling too much. The noise. The outrage. The constant pull to stay informed, react, respond, stay vigilant. I live there too. Every day. And yet—somewhere alongside all of that—I’ve
There are seasons when life asks very little of us. And then there are seasons—like this one—where it quietly asks for discernment. Not reinvention. Not urgency. Just… better choices. I’ve been thinking lately about quality of life. Not the glossy version. Not the curated version. The real
Something happened to me last week. Nothing dramatic. No revelation. No crisis. No moment that would make the opening scene of a film about a woman who finally figures it out. Just this: I was walking outside and I stopped. Not because I had to. Not because my phone died
There is a particular kind of silence that only arrives when the television is off. Not muted. Not “on in the background.”Off. The phone is face down. Notifications quiet. The house settles into itself again. And in that space—something almost forgotten happens. You begin to think. Not react.
There was fear at the White House Correspondents’ Dinner. Real fear. A moment where people dropped whatever they were holding and asked themselves a question no one should have to ask at a dinner in the United States of America: Is this how it ends? And yes—thankfully, no one
There is a familiar rhythm to election seasons in this country. Not a melody, exactly. More like a drumbeat. Predictable. Repetitive. Designed not to inspire, but to unsettle. You can hear it now if you listen closely. Not what we will do. But what they will do. Not what we
There are voices that narrate the world. And then there are voices that help us remember we belong to it. David Attenborough has spent more than seven decades doing something deceptively simple: he has shown us the Earth. Not as a backdrop. Not as scenery. But as a living, breathing
You don’t usually wake up one morning and think, Today I will wrestle with mulch, sweat, and a wheelbarrow that clearly resents me. And yet—here we are. Knees in the dirt. Debating edging. Hauling stones that seemed so much smaller at the garden center. Hiring help for the
I have a confession. I laughed out loud last Tuesday. Really laughed. The kind that sneaks up on you and arrives without permission and is frankly a little undignified. And for approximately four seconds afterward, I felt guilty about it. Because Tuesday was also the day I had read three
There is a certain kind of whisper in our culture right now that says we should all be exactly the same. Same access. Same outcomes. Same opinions. Same beige, agreeable, non-threatening middle. It’s very democratic. Very fair. Very… dull. And I’m beginning to suspect that in our noble
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 Friday,
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, you’re not alone. You’re also not broken. You are, however, living in
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: