Allowing Myself

…to feel, to love, to be.

Tag: writing

Day Alone – Last Bookstore

Since yesterday was Veterans Day (and work was closed) I took Monday off as well, creating a 4-day weekend (after 4 days of travel for work). It was the perfect way to get grounded.

I did a HITT exercise, gave the dog a bath and then ran 2m with him. I met a friend pretty early for breakfast at Paper or Plastik Cafe (where the “no laptop” pic was taken above – Hi Julie!) and then picked up a weaving Jessica O’Brien made and gave away for free via Twitter (heart the Internet).

Some time that morning I thought about The Last Bookstore in downtown LA – I’d never been. Having the entire day to myself seemed like a good enough reason to go.

The drive downtown was pretty easy with the help of GPS and I found a metered spot across the street. #bonus

Inside it is all sorts of used-bookstore-goodness. There are shelves and shelves of books, grouped in the usual categories, but the endcaps had random assortments of new and used volumes. The tables in the middle held art or coffee table books – the themes not entirely obvious at first glance. There were a bunch of very worn, very old chairs strewn around, some with people lounging and reading. And there were PA speakers set up, with a random playlist going, though I caught some Conor Oberst, which made me super happy.

I walked around for over an hour, collecting a few books that I thought were worth owning. And by worth owning, I mean, books whose pages I may want to write in the margins of. I love reading but I don’t buy books often anymore. In the interest of more open space in our apartment, I gave away most of my books in the past few years – getting our living room down to one bookcase and the bookcase upstairs holding other things besides just books.

But that dry, paper smell of stacks of books? That never gets old.

I drove from the bookstore to a Starbucks. I tried writing some, but my brain felt so overwhelmed with ideas, it seemed blank. After an hour of scratching around, I left to pick up groceries.

At home I unpacked the groceries, biked the dog around the neighborhood, cooked Mexican food for dinner, and pulled the 9 of Cups from the tarot deck: It is a sign to enjoy the abundance of life and to feel each of your emotions as if you had never felt any of them before. See the perfection all around you.

Yes, another day alone. Just like my day in Pasadena last month, it was a much needed luxury of spending time with myself, and creating space to just be.



On Being Married Two Years (a poem)

It’s probably still too early to tell,
but I think we’re jamming along just fine so far,
as husband and wife.

Our lives have picked up,
as they do around 30.
So many invites and obligations,
but we make the time to talk over really good coffee (because now we drink coffee, like adults)

(When did we become Adults
with bills and jobs and decisions like,
do you want to start a family?
And how much is too much money to spend on a gym membership?)

After two years, I know that your tone of voice is always caring,
your words truly never mean me harm.

After two years, I know that you think a lot more than you speak.
And I want to hear all of your thoughts.

After two years, I know you like my hands in your hair
and your back scratched
and when I hold your arm while we walk the dog.

They say it’s a marathon, not a sprint.
And I feel how this works now, though it’s only the start.

It’s not about any one moment, but the string of hours + days + months + years.
That this one pile of laundry actually doesn’t matter because we’ll do it
and there will be more.
Again and again.
Wearing our clothes. Piling them up. Sorting. Washing.
What does it matter if I do this load and you do the next?
So long as our clothes are still mixed up together.
So long as you still help me carry it down to the laundry room.
And help fold it all.
Or go pick up groceries while I am busy. Because we have to eat and if I add
One more thing to my to do list, I will cry.

You know this.
Like that time I was working late,
and you had bought food and made homemade guacamole.
So it was there, in a little glass bowl, under that yellow fridge light, for me, when I came home.

It really is the little things.

Like that time you told me not to worry about whatever anxiety was taking up space in my chest because it would all happen whether I planned or not.

After two years, I now know there’s no reason to pick a fight,
that I’m probably just tired.
And I need a nap.
And you will nap with me, and we will lay there, with the dog between us
And the floor fan humming,
and the curtains swaying,
and the swish of cars outside,
in the late afternoon light.
And my frustrations will ebb and my love for us will flow.

It’s probably still too early to tell,
but I think we’re jamming along just fine so far,
as husband and wife.

Writing And Me (Blog Hop)

I’ve been journaling for 17 years, but I haven’t thought of myself as a writer, really, ever. I’ve thought about being a writer, like someone who wants to be a firefighter or president when they grow up. Now, I believe it’s the action that’s important (ex: if you want to be a runner, get outside and run. If you want to be a writer, write.) Yet, even after 530+ blog posts, I’m just beginning to think of my writing as significant enough to call myself a WRITER.

So it’s only fitting I was invited to a blog hop by Jill Salahub (a blogger I love AND get to actually chat with online) and have the honor of sharing with you a few awesome friends who will be posting next week.

1. What am I working on/writing?
I’m always writing morning pages, reading (books and blogs), intuitively taking in information, having deep conversations, taking photos, writing blogs posts and creating my life.

I began my blog in 2010, the same spring that I adopted a dog, bought a beach cruiser and began therapy.

Therapy was a game-changer for me. I finally started to understand all of my anger, hurt, and exhaustion and began valuing both myself and the life I was creating. I felt a need to capture my life in a more thematic, coherent way – outside of just stream-of-conscious journaling.

The same friend who suggested I try therapy (that I would actually like it) said my creativity came out in all aspects of my life – how I trained my dog, how I loved my husband, how I cooked, how I blogged and how I spent my days.

This took time to sink in but it’s how I see life now.

So I am always working on my life – learning new things, capturing moments, processing experiences, writing about them and then sharing them on my blog.

Creativity through living.

2. How does my work/writing differ from others of its genre?
When I go into a Wild Write (as taught by Laurie Marks) I find my writing dives deep into the emotional experience of a situation. I’m all feelings, nostalgia, fleeting time and heartbreak.

My blog writing tends to be more day-to-day life, but focused on the themes of self-care, self-awareness and growth, details of my days, fun experiences and the larger threads that tie my experiences together.
When I began my blog, I had parameters. I would be truthful of my experience but also respectful. I didn’t want this to be an angsty online journal, I wanted it to be a creative space in line with the blogs that gave me great comfort (see a list of them at the end of this post).

I knew I wanted to share my experience. And the lens of my life include becoming more and more true to myself as I go through my late 20s, being in a committed relationship, the details of my days, anything I’m drawn to and the fleeting sense of time.

3. Why do I write what I do?
I am struck with how finite life is on a daily basis. When I’m falling asleep at night, I think “One day, I will be dead and gone” and this thought is both jarring and motivating.

Annie Lamott posted on her FB last week:
“Oh my God, what if you wake up some day, and you’re 65, or 75, and you never got your memoir or novel written; or you didn’t go swimming in warm pools and oceans all those years because your thighs were jiggly and you had a nice big comfortable tummy; or you were just so strung out on perfectionism and people-pleasing that you forgot to have a big juicy creative life, of imagination and radical silliness and staring off into space like when you were a kid? It’s going to break your heart. Don’t let this happen.”

This is it. THIS is what I’m trying to capture in my own blogging, in the blogs and books I read, in the conversations I have, in the people I spend my time with, in how I spend my days.

This is why I write – to capture the world around me and my own experiences, because I know it is all so fleeting, that it’s passing me by even as I notice it passing me by.

There are still days I forget that I am in control of my life and I have the power to choose how to spend my days, but blogging reminds me of how far I’ve come, where I’m at and where I’d like to go.

And I write to touch people – for my writing to resonate with them and their experiences. To be a light or a companion for them. The hope that my little example guides their way – to give them permission to love their life, to let go, to slow down, to truly be themselves and love what they love – even when life feels chaotic, stressful and impossible.

4. How does my writing process work?
I don’t feel like I have a conscious process, but it seems to flow in three parts:

  1. I am thinking a lot, all of the time, about everything
  2. I write things out in my morning pages, and
  3. Then I tie experiences together through my blog posts.

Every morning, I wake up and write morning pages in bed, while H leaves for work and Carter lays in his crate, patiently waiting for me to finish. Afterwards, Carter and I head downstairs where he eats breakfast and I down a glass or two of water. We head out for a run, bike ride or walk so he can get his exercise in while I do too.

Throughout my day, I take photos, think a lot, jot down thoughts, save articles and blog posts to Evernote, have conversations with people and live my life.

When I have an idea that feels whole enough to tackle or I have the urge to blog, I sit down, go back through my memory, photos and notes, and pick something to write about.

Because I think so much – and tend to intuitively take in my life and then process it outwardly by writing or talking – most blogs posts come quickly. From years of journaling, it seems, most blog posts come out mostly-formed. This doesn’t mean that they do not need editing – but they usually don’t feel like work. They feel like having a nice conversation with a friend. I have something to share, and I share it.

Blogging has gone hand-in-hand with becoming more ME than I’ve felt in a long, long time. As I listened to my needs and wants, I wrote it down. As I found myself through therapy and creativity, blogging helped me find my voice. And track that trail.

My blog is a reflection of this process and it’s a work in progress. I want to understand, reflect on and enjoy my days through my writing. Recently, I am actively raising the bar. I want my blog to reflect me as a person and my life experiences even more, I want to expand into telling longer stories, other people’s stories, posting more regularly, and seeking out readers. I am now comfortable enough with what I’m building that I want to share it. I am not embarrassed or self-conscious about my blog. I’m proud of it.

Drawn to Laurie Marks Wagner @27 Powers, Andrea Scher, Jen Lee, Susanna Conway (who’s blogging e-course I recommend!), The Noisy Plume, Esme Wang, A Design So Vast, Pink Ronnie, Elise Blaha Cripe, Ali Edwards, Jill Salahub, Jamie Ridler, and Abby Kerr.

AND… these lovely ladies involved in the blog hop:

Jill Salahub | Thousand Shades of Gray
Jill Salahub is an Introvert, INFJ, Highly Sensitive Person, Scorpio, and Four on the Enneagram – in other words, a passionate mess. She’s a wholehearted practitioner of writing, yoga, meditation, and dog. She is generous and gentle, loves laughter and pie. Her mission is to ease suffering, in herself and the world. Jill writes about the tenderness and the terror, the beauty and the brutality of life, and of her efforts to keep her heart open through it all on her blog, A Thousand Shades of Gray, (which she started writing long before those books).

Katie Arnold | Talk Less, Say More
Katie is a music industry professional, healthy living enthusiast and fitness fanatic.  Her blog Talk Less, Say More is a place for her to share all of her life passions in one space – writing, music, good food and fun workouts.  She believes all things in moderation are the key to living a healthy and happy life, and loves inspiring her friends, family and others around her to live their best life too!


Jessica Defino | hell or high fashion
Jessica DeFino is a Los Angeles-based wardrobe stylist, writer, and blogger. With a focus on fashion, Jessica’s work has been featured in Harper’s Bazaar China, Remix Magazine, ELLE Mexico, RayLi, and B Mag Online.  Her blog,, is dedicated to helping others better their lives through the power of personal style.

Lynne Raspet & Suzee Ramirez | Two Poppies
We are sisters, the two youngest in a family of five children. Two Poppies is a place where we share our “art and soul” ~ our creative expressions, personal inspirations, thoughts and dreams. We are moving into the realm of blogging at our own very s…l…o…w… pace due the other directions in which our lives are pulling us.

Lynne is a mom of four who bounces all over the country (especially the South ~ in fact they are moving within the month to El Paso, TX) with her Air Force pilot hubby and loves discovering new places to travel and adventure everywhere they live. Capturing real life with her camera, including morning walks, road trips, and the baby squirrels they fostered is her idea of a good time. Her favorite ways to sweat right now are running and yoga. She believes in serendipity including an adorable kitty who appeared at midnight on Christmas Eve and became part of their family.

Suzee lives in Orange County, California (her entire life!) and has two lovely animal- & beach-loving girls (we’d have a farm on the ocean if they had their way) and is married to her fellow entrepreneurial husband. She enjoys being active, creative, adventurous, and living with a sense of curiosity, awe, and wonder. Her reading is mostly centered on spiritual discovery & feels very comfortable knowing that life is a completely miraculous mystery.

Our paths have included teaching (Lynne was a bilingual English/Spanish kindergarten teacher) and graphic design (Suzee has been in this field for many moons & was partner in a design group). We currently also own and operate Multicultural Kids, which sells all kinds of products that encourage children to discover and appreciate the amazing world and all of its people. We are in the process of producing our first book, “A Beautiful Rainbow World” ~ a children’s photography book with photos from around the globe which will be out in June

Returning Home From The Retreat

Your car, barreling down the 5 at 70mph. The last hour, torture.
The dog a whirling dervish of wiggles, following at your heels as you go back and forth
One, two, three times
to lug all of your shit in. Bags of clothes, food, camera and paintings.
Putting your hands in the wet acrylic pain. Was that just yesterday, a mere 36 hours ago?

It feels as if a lifetime happened at the retreat, and since.

Not a single thing is cleaned up or taken care of. Unscrewing the broken toilet paper holder from the wall, changing the garbage bag in the bathroom, stripping the bed and putting on a duvet cover – knowing that, even if the apartment is filthy, clean sheets will make you happy.

You already feel rusty.
Feeling the weight – the shoulds and responsibilities – come raging back. Not one load of laundry folded. Not one sink cleaned. Feeling like you have to do it all.

Then, you remember your practices, shooting photos on a walk with the dog – the golden hour, captured. Your heart beat calms.

Returning home from the retreat, you talk to Mom, eat leftover chili, watch football on in the background, text your sister, eat 5 Oreos, wait for a locksmith.
Get a new door knob.

Returning home from the retreat you see the sticky, dusty residue on the counter tops. Feel crap from the carpet stick to your toes. No one’s watered the plants so you pour water from the dog bowl over them.

Returning home from the retreat you can already feel the magic slipping away – bright and calm self squashed under the realities of “home”.

Is this how addicts feel – free from their programs, but not their minds? Is this when the “real work” starts? And what about soldiers? How do they leave the monotony, the camaraderie, the danger and go back to driving automatics and waking to an alarm?

All of us women scattered. The retreat a dream we once had – the magic and the calm dissipating – like ripples on a still pond.

Plop. One pebble after another.
A handful of rice tossed into the air on a wedding day.
A fist of balloons, released.
(It is everything and it is nothing an echo says)

Driving back into LA, you pine for the pines. The leaves falling. The sun at a different angle, less harsh. Cleans pants and a/c that works.

And you know you can build your own little world right (write) inside here. A nest or a hovel or a den. The way animals settle in and dream.

Returning home from the retreat.

Heartaches for the Impermanence

I’ve been thinking about ease, about changing my one little word (which I have yet to write about here), about cold and seasons and God and creativity.

But mostly I’ve been focused on getting enough sleep, drinking enough water, running my miles and staying leveled… not doing anything to tip the scales, to allow the demands of work to take me away from myself.

Wasn’t sure what to write about tonight and then remembered I’d marked this passage in the book I’m reading – Traveling Mercies by Anne Lamott – where she recaps advice a priest gave her when she was considering an abortion:

“Get quiet for a moment, and then think about having the abortion: if you feel a deep secret sense of relief, pay attention to that. But if you feel deeply grieved at the thought of it, listen to that”

What a perfect way to describe our own ability to choose, to listen, to trust the inner guide.

And then this yesterday in The Right To Write by Julia Cameron:

Practice means what it says: writing is something to be done over and over, something that improves through the repetitive doing but that needs not be done perfectly… Consistency is the key to mastering the instrument that is you.

You, the writer, are a spiritual instrument. If you allow yourself to write consistently, you will become more and more finely tuned. You will become more and more fluid and expressive. As you become more fluid and expressive, you will become more vibrant, more vital, more alive.

I’ve been thinking about repetitive actions, the daily happenings, the differences within the sameness. Rituals. The idea that we’re all stalking our lives like animals, thinking it’s something to take down, eat alive, thrash about. Or we’re so dejected, we don’t even bother engaging. So disappointed that adulthood is just more laundry, more email, more snow.

But I’m learning to see the immense magic in all of this – how I want to take a photo of every freaking palm tree against a blue sky every.single.morning. How I want to show you my boots next to a patch of ice or aligned with a parking spot marked with my favorite number. How I spend every morning the same way – wake up, write, feed the dog, run, shower, eat… and I have yet to tire of this.

Instead it’s these rituals that keep me going when the pressure of work is on, or when the push and pull of days ruffle my feathers.

Tonight I called a good friend. She was in tears, dealing with the grief of losing a mentor, and talking about how it just makes everything so much more real. That we’re only here for such a short time. That the socks on the floor, or the dirty dishes aren’t really that big a deal.

That the ice I stood next to yesterday may be the only ice this year.

And I am so grateful to be in a head-space where I can fully appreciate these moments. That I could show up to support one friend last night and another today. That I can kiss my husband. That I can have my sister snuggled on the couch with my dog.

And yet my heart aches for the impermanence of it all. For the season changes, for the growing older, for the books read and unread.

There isn’t enough time, I keep thinking, over and over again.

I need you so much closer – Death Cab for Cutie

Unraveling The Year Ahead

Each year, Susannah Conway puts together an “unraveling the year” beautiful workbook that helps you review the year and dream for the coming months. Printed it up in color today – one copy for me, one for my sister – and we spent a few hours this evening journaling, thinking and writing. It’s helped me grasp the enormity of 2012 (wedding, marriage, family, siblings moving to LA, honeymoon, other travel, so many work events, changes at work, my own ups and downs). I didn’t realize until tonight that by choosing “Trust” as my 2012 One Little Word, I also brought “Doubt” into my life. (Hopefully more on this soon).

I’m toying with a word for 2013 – I feel I’m on the brink of it being secured. In the workbook I chose a word, but I’m also feeling it’s not quite there yet. Still, it’s exciting and fun to dream about the year ahead. I ended up writing way more than my sister and tired out before I finished – so I’ll work on it again. Hoping to complete it this weekend, but maybe it needs to simmer some. We’ll see.

Get yours here: Let’s Make 2013 The Best Year Ever

Life Isn’t a Support System for Art

Last week, before I left for my road trip, I finished Stephen King’s On Writing. I’d borrowed it from friends a few weeks before. Somehow I started reading it without any intentions to and it grabbed a hold of me again. This is one of only a few books (less than 5) that I’ve read more than once.

I’ve noticed my tolerance for crappy books is down and my need for reading is up ergo I have permission to quit books. Gasp. This used to not be granted to me by me. Oddly, at the same time my interest in rereading books increased. Tried and true, I guess?

King draws you in with the bits of his growing up, being a younger brother, writing at his desk in High School. This time around his whole near-death experience went by in only a few pages. Poof. In my memory of the last time I read it… and when was that… the description of his pain and recovery dominates. It’s conversational. It’s funny. And it’s educational. I learned practical advice that I don’t get by writing here in my room, alone. Like, how to delete as many adverbs as possible. But also advice you can apply to any pursuit – life, really – of starting small and being smart and working hard.

He also seems wildly in love with his wife, which I just adore.

Note that I’ve never read a single Stephen King novel, but I like this book. It makes me want to read his novels, but I do feel a class issue there for me as a reader – that his novels are somehow unworthy of my reading time – which you’d think is an opinion this memoir would alter, being so well written, but no…not yet anyways.

Maybe I just need to start with the right one…  Any suggestions?


p.s. After I published this, the space on the side of the “published” bar had a Stephen King quote – I kid you not! Funny universe, really funny.

Making It Happen (part 2)

(Read Part 1 here)

Yesterday I worked on a draft for a writing project, creating content for a website. This is completely new (and scary) for me.

I wrote two drafts and they felt like shit. Absolute shit. But an intuitive voice said to send them off to my “editor” for her feedback. That once I had her feedback, her wisdom to pull the strains of what was “good” and what was “great” would in turn help focus my writing and get me on track for the actual post I was to submit by Friday.

This Friday.

Off they went as tiny email attachments, with an apologetic note about how shitty I thought they were and to please not base any final product she’d hope to receive from me on the crap that she was now reading.

As soon as I sent it, dread. And then I opened up a text file and started typing what I really wanted to say. That came out a tad better, so I sent that to her too, with the same warning / disclosure / apology.

This was the first thing I’ve sent her so essentially this was the first time she’d be giving me critical feedback. She called me tonight. Returning the call, I crossed my fingers… and toes.

Not only was she incredibly encouraging, supportive and kind, but the parts I had hope for she liked, and the parts I knew were shit, she agreed were shit.


And of course she liked the 3rd draft the best, the one where I shared a personal story. Because we all know that stories are what connect us and that details make stories concrete. The issues with the drafts I disliked? I was being too general. She suggested I “fall back on my own experiences” and “where you’re coming from is valuable”.

It felt so good.

It clicked when she said that. She went on to that instead of introducing me – my bi-line- as attached to my current job, that we could focus on me. Me as this person with these experiences and then takes in other experiences, other people’s stories, and passes this info around to help people make sense of where they’re at. Like an alchemist.

And that felt even better.

Because for the past two days I’ve been reading “Fire Starter Sessions” and it’s all about just that:

“Free your talent and serve your soul” (

“Being your true self is the most effective formula for success there is” pg xvi in the book.

All of this feels so right – so much of the work I’ve done in the past 2-3 years has gotten me to this point. And to have a woman who I think it just the coolest ask that I create content for her site and after submitting a few drafts have her come back and say, “Yes, but more you”

More. You.

And to feel obligated to tell her that I’ve never done this before and that I really needed to bounce ideas off of someone strong and supportive. And she jumped right in and said that I can email or call her any time, that this is one of her favorite things to do ever, and to have her end the conversation with saying that I am super smart and she really values my experience and input and all that I uniquely bring to the table.


The best thing was that in that 3rd draft – in the nugget of gold I’ll work from – I quote an ongoing conversation I have with my parents. Turns out my editor has the same frustrating conversation with hers. So right there – to have my experience resonate with hers – was the bright shining arrow that I’m headed in the right direction.

If it doesn’t light you up, you’re not the right person for the job” (pg 23)

Somehow, It’s All Enough

Home two weeks now and finally back into the swing of things. This weekend we ventured around LA, cleaned the apartment, and purchased new items to spruce up the house (including the paisley pillow above – which I’m in love with).

Yesterday I worked out and today I ran 3miles. Last night we went out to dinner with new / old friends. I’m putting a good bit of time into work and feeling out a routine. Tonight we actually watched a movie, which we hardly ever do. My digital sabbatical feels good and I continue to get up each day and write morning pages.

I don’t talk about this blog nor my morning pages practice with anyone. Until last night’s dinner, I don’t think I’ve really ever mentioned either to friends, not even besties. Even though it’s a huge part of my life – 3pgs long hand in the morning, quick blog post at night – I do it for me. As much as I like the idea of writing professionally, especially having a blog that speaks to and supports other people and the art of conversation… I don’t know.

Somehow, the writing is enough.

And so is walking my dog, being out in our neighborhood, riding my bike, running, cuddling with my husband, clean sheets, home-cooked meals, new pillows, a good day of work, an engaging conversation with friends, a phone call with my sister, a visit with my brother, a text from my parents, flowers on the table, a few sun salutations, a perfect latte and watching the ocean.

It’s all enough.

There was a time when it wasn’t because I wasn’t (you only have to go back through the last 222 posts to see my hard-earned progress). I didn’t think highly of myself, didn’t think I deserved all that was streaming past me in each day. How wrong I was.



Making It Happen

It’s been 2 weeks since I received a new pang of inspiration.

First, it started with my colleague asking for help with his daughter and her first interview (ever) for an internship. When he started writing down my suggestions, I felt a rush. He apologized for interrupting my work. No, no – I assured him – whatever this brainstorming thing is, I would love to get paid to do it.

The next day I woke up to find a voicemail from a contact who’d had a “career epiphany” and wanted to talk it out… with me. I spent over an hour chatting with him. That evening, I was a sounding board for my brother who is trying to move his internship into a full-time position. I was talked out but satisfied.

A mere four days later, I met a contact at Internsushi for lunch. I love meeting up with this gal – she and I have a mutual understanding of the struggles of communicating the work environment to newly graduated students. We’ve both worked with interns, companies in demanding creative fields, students and navigated our own careers. Plus, her man plays for the Phillies and mine is from Philly, so yay.

As we chatted about GenY, work habits, recruiting, start-ups etc she began jotting down a few things I said. Again, that rush. She said I should talk to her boss. That they’d love to use some of my experience and ideas for their site. Wowza.

Now in the middle of the 2nd week, I had a phone meeting with another contact who was talking out her work load, contact management and general productivity flow. My suggestions came naturally (as I’m dealing with the same shit storm). It was like mentoring and it felt awesome.

The next day, I was on the phone discussing an opportunity to write content for InternSushi. I took notes, my heart racing with excitement, and told them I’d draft up a list of ideas by Wednesday and sent it over.

Just before, a day late, I sent a 3 page PDF brainstorm of ideas for their feedback.

And to top it all off, yesterday I had coffee with the above contact who’d had the “epiphany” and realized that, holy crap, we could be doing our original idea of videotape interviewing people about their careers in the music industry but we could also do a podcast.

See, I’ve had all of these ideas percolating, swarming in my head. I keep listening to podcasts, reading books, meeting with people, and this just adds to the ideas. But I don’t know where to put them. And yet, just as quickly as the multitude of ideas came swooping in, so did the content buckets. Maybe I do need another blog… maybe a podcast would work… and then there’s the guy who can help with the video… and oh, you wanted to write content officially, here’s a platform.

I guess I’m making it happen, and let me tell you, it’s scary shit. Which is why I have this video on repeat.

I’ll keep ya posted.