There’s a photo I love from a river rafting trip with a friend.

It was taken right at the most intense part of a rapid; one of those spots where a photographer waits to capture the chaos.

In the photo, I’m sitting at the front of the boat.

Leaning forward.
Oar reaching out.
Face lit up, laughing.

My whole body says, “Let’s go!”

I’m Not Fine

I’m not one for “toxic positivity.”

You won’t hear me say things like
“just think positive” or
“someone always has it worse.”

Because those phrases often dismiss something real,
the pain, the grief, the heaviness that needs to be felt.

Our ability to feel deeply,
to stay sensitive to our own struggles and the struggles of others, is not weakness.

It’s a superpower.

Life brings storms.

The last week and a half has felt like a fever dream.

Life, as I knew it, has been put on hold. Plans paused. Schedules set aside.

I’m over 2,000 miles from home, on the other side of the country, while my mom is in a rehab center, recovering from a broken hip, and working toward being strong enough for a long journey back to Oregon…

Outside of expectations

I’m sitting at the airport, waiting for a red-eye from Portland to Memphis.

And truly… never in my wildest dreams did I imagine I’d be flying in the middle of the night, on my way to Mississippi.

I’m a West of the Rockies girl. There’s a comfort, a familiarity here that feels like home. Not better or worse, just known.

And yet… here I am.

Because life had other plans.

I started surfing in my late 40s.

I will never be a great surfer—and I’m okay with that.

I know my limits. I’m happiest on a mellow 2–3 foot day. Maybe in my 20s—when I was athletic, fearless, and a little more aggressive—I could have been decent. But that’s not really the point anymore.

Nothing makes me come alive the way surfing does.

Spring is the perfect time for new growth and goals. Nature is waking up, buds are on the trees, crocuses, daffodils, and forsythia are blooming. The rhythms of the season call us into renewal. For me, these are when a reset feels natural.

The other night I was ruminating on all the “how-tos” of life—next steps in my work, business, and relationships. Frustration crept in. I felt the pull to retreat to the familiar: go back to my old career, settle for situations that felt stuck, abandon what I’ve built. My context was discouragement; my emotional energy swung from grit to exhaustion to hopelessness. I was putting in the hours, the research, the work—yet something was off.

Today, I breathe deeply and make space for my flaws and my scattered mind. I let them run until they’re done—like a dog who plays itself tired, or a child who cries into sleep. As the observer of my thoughts, I know they don’t define my essence. Yet sometimes they’re loud, sharp, indifferent. Today, I let them pass and I watch without judgment.