A short, soul-forward story about grief, music, and the kind of love that doesn’t shrink just because someone is gone. I share why I couldn’t listen to OAR’s “Miss You All the Time” for over a year after my DaddyO died… and what happened the morning I finally could. If you’ve ever been “fine” until a song takes you out on the way to work—this one’s for you. It’s tender, honest, and ends with a reminder to love people out loud while you still can.

After a 45-minute workout, I realized the truth I can’t outrun: nobody is coming to fill my cup for me. This is self-care that actually happens—one small promise, kept, even when life is heavy.

I’m not here to be your guru—I’m here to be a light on the shore. For the people who look “fine” on paper but feel like they’re treading water: competent, reliable, and quietly exhausted. Because underneath most “money problems” is a life story, and you don’t need another lecture—you need clarity, steadiness, and a plan that fits the life you actually have. You’re not behind. You just shouldn’t have to steer alone in the dark.

For a long time, I replayed the same reel—every what if and I should’ve known better—thinking I could change the ending if I studied it hard enough. But peace doesn’t come from dissecting the wreckage; it comes from releasing the illusion that you could’ve done it differently when you didn’t know what you know now. The past can’t be edited, but it can be integrated—and the point of power has always been right here, in your next choice.

The world tells us to grind nonstop, but nature doesn’t push—and neither should we. This post is about living and working in seasons: winter for reflection, spring for planting, summer for growth, fall for harvest. When you stop forcing every season at once and start moving in rhythm, everything feels steadier, less drained, more true.

or a long time, pretending I was okay worked—smiling, staying busy, blurring the edges just enough to get by. But this past year shifted something in me. Since Mike’s accident last August, life has been a before-and-after: marriage, heartbreak, ruptures, growth, and a “sticky” season I can’t explain yet. I don’t want to blur anymore—I want to sit with what’s real, let the questions breathe, and trust that on the other side, everything will be more than okay.

Sometimes I write something and wonder what people will think—not for approval, but because words land differently for everyone. For me, sharing isn’t oversharing; it’s naming what’s real, because once I put words to something, it loses its power to drag me under. This is a reminder that you don’t have to tell everything to everybody—but you do need at least one place where you stop pretending and tell the truth.

m the outside, decisions look simple—yes or no, stay or go—but real choices carry old stories, real fears, and values we refuse to compromise. There’s no perfect decision—only the one that feels true enough, lines up with what matters most, and lets you sleep at night knowing you chose with the wisdom you had. If you’re in the messy middle, the complexity doesn’t mean you’re failing—it means you’re awake… and choosing anyway.

Some of the most beautiful people in my life are here because something not-so-beautiful happened first. The friends who feel like family, the mentors who changed me, the people who helped me stand—they showed up in the middle of chaos, after closed doors, in the messy chapters I wanted to skip. If you’re in an unraveling season, hold on: the not-so-beautiful might be making room for someone beautiful—because the people are the gift.

“Forgiveness means giving up the hope that the past could have been any different.” That line cuts straight to the point: forgiveness isn’t just releasing someone else—it’s releasing yourself from replaying what you “should have done.” This is a reminder to let go quietly, drop the need for revenge, and stop chasing conditional happiness—instead, choose joy that’s available right now, in the middle of the messy. Tag

“Fake it till you make it” can be a tool—but it was never meant to be a costume. I wore the mask so long I forgot what “okay” even felt like, bending into versions of myself that were impressive, palatable, and exhausted. This is your reminder: it’s not your job to audition for belonging. Go where you’re celebrated, not tolerated.

I changed careers, sold my house, and moved across the country—and none of it happened in one brave, movie-moment leap. It happened through a thousand small choices that scared me, with shaky hands and second-guessing… and I kept moving anyway. Hope isn’t a strategy—action is. So what’s one small, scary step you can take today that your future self will thank you for?