I truly believe we’re all learning how to stay connected to the creative pulse in the midst of life’s demands, to pause long enough to remember that creating isn’t something reserved for when time allows. It’s something we return to, again and again, because it brings us home to ourselves.

It’s funny what happens when you step away from the daily grind and immerse yourself in nature. The noise of everyday life begins to subside, and the hum of the natural world starts to emerge. A chorus of sound and stillness that carries its own kind of wisdom.

Creativity isn’t something we can force. Like life, it requires us to let go, to let our very existence be enough, to get curious about what is showing up. Our invitation is to pay attention: to meet the morning, the day, the moment, the lover, the page, the canvas, with presence and wonder. What emerges from there is any number of possibilities.

Back in 2019, I shared a glimpse of my journey on social media about why I was leaving the classroom after nearly a decade of teaching yoga, Reiki, and meditation. Much like then, what remains true today is that I’ve always felt a responsibility to my community to show up authentically and vulnerably.

Emotional labor. Co-regulation of the nervous system. Attachment dynamics that leave women carrying the weight of the connection while men get to coast or simply check out. Studies can chart cortisol levels and brain patterns, but what they can’t measure is the unbelievable raw ache of realizing your attention, your softness, your creative spark, your care, your generosity, has been treated as an infinite resource.

Artists have always carved their own paths, often at the expense of approval or convention. To live as a creative is to resist the narrative of conformity. It is to walk to the rhythm of an inner drumbeat, even when others don’t hear the music. It is to follow the nudge to make, to shape, to bring into form what doesn’t yet exist. Not because it will sell or be understood, but because it insists on being born.

Inspiration rarely arrives as a grand announcement. More often, it appears as a fleck of gold, a sudden shimmer at the edges of your awareness. Sometimes it’s the way morning light drapes itself across your cheek like a warm kiss, inviting you to linger in bed just a little longer. Sometimes it’s a line from a song that burrows into your chest and refuses to leave. It can be the quiet pull to finally speak a truth to someone you love, not because it’s easy, but because honesty is what will deepen your connection, bridge repair, and make space for something more honest and real between you.

When we begin to honor the self not as a brand or performance or endless project to improve, but as a living, breathing creative force, we start to live artfully. Not just in what we make, but in how we move through the world. We begin to see just how important it is to tend to our inner world. To tend to the inner garden of our being, with nourishment and care. Because ultimately, how we relate to ourselves is how we relate to the work. To others. To life.

It’s a courageous thing to embark on a creative path—to live life through a creative lens. It’s unconventional and not for the faint of heart. While others seek tradition or narratives handed down by their institutions of faith, role models or favorite content creators, there are those of us living on the outskirts of mediocrity.

For most of my life I’ve been drawn to the edges, where structure begins to fray and something more interesting and more alive starts to emerge. As a creative I’ve often felt allergic to convention, not because all structure is bad, but because so much of what we’re handed about success, identity, relationships, and even art itself is shaped by systems that reward sameness and penalize exploration.

Sometimes the most creative thing we can do is stop. To step away from the pressure to produce and simply listen—not just to the next idea or task, but to the quiet underneath it all. To the body asking for gentleness. To the heart saying, “Tend to me.”

I think it’s true what they say, that some relationships will profoundly change you in ways you can’t fully comprehend until much later. It’s only in looking back, with some distance and tenderness, that you begin to see not just where the relationship fell short, but how it shaped you. How it invited you to grow in ways you never would have, had you not allowed yourself to be changed by it.

New Episode Out Now! Dive in and explore the tension between art and capitalism in our latest conversation.

Being human means learning, again and again, the art of holding and releasing. Of loving fully while knowing nothing is promised. It’s not so different from the creative process.

As I sit with the idea of being a beginner again at forty-something, I feel lifted. Even in a time filled with uncertainty, in the states and abroad, I keep returning to this truth. Hope and the willingness to reimagine a path forward are part of the human condition. Just like creativity. Just like connection. Just like the need to belong.

This morning, I woke to a call from my daughter. She’s preparing to usher in the birth of her daughter (yes, I’m going to be a grandmother). And I can’t help but feel the sacredness of this moment.

Living Artfully (the name of my upcoming book) invites us to infuse our lives, our work, relationships, and creativity with intention and curiosity. To show up as we are. To approach life like art... not for the result, but for the process itself, where, in my opinion, all the good stuff lives. This way of living asks us to relate to others not from obligation or performance, but from truth. Our own truth, not someone else’s, and not at the cost of others, either.

There’s something deeply refreshing, and dare I say it, luxurious about a slow Sunday. It invites you to slow down, take stock, greet the moment. For me, it means choosing softness over cynicism.

I recently went on a road trip with my partner, and in between podcasts and our favorite tunes, we found ample space to pause, connect, and reflect. I know the open road isn’t everyone’s cup of tea, but for us, it’s become a source of deep connection—and for me personally, an opportunity to recalibrate my nervous system.

What began as a simple writing prompt turned into something else entirely, a love letter, a survival guide, a list of things I wish someone had told me sooner. Here’s what I’ve learned (and unlearned) about dating, friendship, bodies, boundaries, heartbreak, healing, and what it means to show up, for yourself and others, in your 40s and beyond.