Just Start Here

 

Just Keep At It

"Failure is only a fact when you give up. Everyone gets knocked down, the question is: Will you get back up?" (Anonymous)

 

 Hello, my lovely friends! 

    Grab your coffee (or that green juice you’re pretending to enjoy because a fitness influencer told you to) and let’s have a little heart-to-heart before the world starts screaming its demands at us. Lately, I’ve noticed a bit of a pandemic—not the medical kind, but the "wanting-what-they-have" kind. We spend our mornings scrolling through curated lives, staring at someone else’s minimalist living room or their suspiciously perfect sourdough starter, and we think, “I want that.” But here’s the cheeky truth: you don’t actually want their life. You’re just bored with the version of yourself you’ve been settling for.

Have you ever stopped to consider that the person you’re envy-scrolling might actually be happy because they finally stopped giving a rip about what everyone else was doing? Maybe that person reached a breaking point, shut out the noise, and dared to listen to the weird, quiet voice inside them that said, “I want to raise llamas,” or “I want to master 14th-century calligraphy.” They didn’t become "successful" by following a blueprint; they became successful because they had the audacity to be themselves. We spend so much time trying to be the next big thing—the singing sensation, the tech mogul, the million-dollar actor—that we forget those roles are already filled. But do you know what isn't filled? The role of you doing that one thing that makes your heart skip a beat.

    Let’s be real for a second. You might not be destined for the Hollywood Walk of Fame, and honestly, the taxes there look like a nightmare anyway. But there is something tucked away in the back of your mind—a secret hobby, a "someday" dream, a craft you only pull out when the house is empty and no one is watching. Maybe it's that dusty easel in the corner, the half-finished code for an app that solves a problem only you understand, or the garden beds that are currently growing more weeds than wonder. Why are we keeping these parts of ourselves in the shadows like they're something to be ashamed of? It’s time to stop treating your passions like a side-piece and start making them the main character.

Take me and my kitchen, for example. I have enough cookbooks to build a small fortress, and I’ve spent years just glancing at the spines while I made the same three boring pasta dishes. But here’s the kicker: I love cooking. It’s my zen, my alchemy, my love language. Yet, I’ve realized that I’ll never move from "occasional dabbler" to "culinary wizard" if I only engage with it when the stars align. Excellence isn't a lightning bolt; it’s a slow-simmering stew. To get better, to feel that soul-deep satisfaction of growth, you have to actually do the work. You have to burn a few sauces and over-salt a few soups to eventually create a masterpiece.

    So, here is your wake-up call, wrapped in a hug and a little bit of sass: stop chasing someone else’s "perfect" and start cultivating your own "interesting." This is the year we stop being spectators in our own lives. Find that one thing—that weird, wonderful, specific thing you love doing—and give it the attention it deserves. Don't do it because you want to be famous or because it looks good on a grid. Do it because the world is a lot brighter when people actually like the lives they’re living. Tell yourself right now: This is the year I lean in.

 

So glad you could make it. Whether you’re starting your day or winding it down, I hope it’s a great one. Until we cross paths again—take care!

My Favorite Things

 “Who doesn't awaken on their birthday with a tingle, a heart-skip of excitement? A thrill of a thrill, a nascent throb?... In any case, a heightened awareness of a period of personal significance. Of specialness. Our birthday is the anniversary of our self, the blessing of the fact of our being.”
(Donna Henes, "Telling Time: Birthdays," Celestially Auspicious Occasions: Seasons, Cycles & Celebrations, 1996)

 

Hello, my lovely friends!

 

     Birthdays naturally invite a pause for reflection, serving as a personal milestone to calibrate our gratitude and rediscover the small joys that define our daily lives. To mark another year of growth, I have curated a collection of my ten favorite things—the essential rituals, objects, and experiences that provide a consistent sense of wonder and grounding in an ever-shifting world. These aren't merely preferences; they are the anchors of my identity and the quiet catalysts for my creativity.

 

Sharing these favorites is more than a celebratory gesture; it is an invitation to examine what brings you genuine fulfillment. Our choices reveal the architecture of our values, turning simple interests into a roadmap for a well-lived life. As I lean into the possibilities of this new year, I would love to hear about the ten pillars of joy that sustain you.

 

 My Ten Favorite Things

1. Old Hollywood Movies from the 1930s and 1940s
2. All things French, especially Paris
3. All things the Moulin Rouge; movie, music, and play
4. Books, books, and more books
5. Cooking, pretty much anything
6. All things tasting and smelling of lemons
7. Coffee
8. Gardening in containers
9. Obsessed with my dog, Scooter
10. F1 racing

 

    My soul has always felt a quiet pull toward the Golden Age of cinema, specifically the flickering black-and-white dreams of the 1930s and 1940s. There is an unparalleled sophistication in the rapid-fire banter of a screwball comedy and a haunting depth in the shadows of film noir that modern digital clarity can’t quite replicate. This era represents a masterclass in escapism, where glamour was a requirement and every frame was composed like a Renaissance painting. That same appreciation for timeless aesthetics bleeds into my profound Francophilia. To me, France—and Paris in particular—is not just a destination but a philosophy of living. It is the art of the flâneur, the intentionality of a perfectly crusty baguette, and the ability to find romance in the limestone walls of the Marais. This fascination finds its most vibrant expression in the spectacle of the Moulin Rouge. Whether through the lens of Baz Luhrmann’s frenetic masterpiece, the pulse of the stage production, or the bohemian history of the Montmartre cabaret itself, I am captivated by that "spectacular spectacular" fusion of tragedy, neon, and high-kicking rebellion.

 

    When I am not wandering through the streets of Paris in my mind, I am likely lost in the tangible weight of a book. My relationship with literature is one of joyous excess; my shelves are less of a library and more of a sanctuary. Books are the vessel through which I experience a thousand different lives, providing a depth of introspection that keeps me grounded. This love for sensory richness naturally migrates from the library to the kitchen, where I view cooking as a daily ritual of alchemy. There is a meditative quality to the chop of a knife and the simmer of a sauce, a process that allows me to transform raw ingredients into comfort. Within this culinary world, I have a specific, almost reverent obsession with lemons. The bright, acidic zap of citrus is my North Star; whether it’s the zest in a lemon curd or the fragrant oil of a squeezed rind, the scent alone is enough to reset my entire mood.

 

    The morning, however, truly begins with the dark, aromatic complexity of coffee. It is more than a caffeine delivery system; it is the quietest, most consistent companion of my creative life, marking the transition from sleep to wakefulness with its bitter warmth. As the day unfolds, I find a different kind of peace tending to my container garden. There is something uniquely rewarding about cultivating life in limited spaces, turning a balcony or a porch into a lush, curated ecosystem. It requires a specific kind of patience and an eye for detail, much like the attention I shower upon my dog, Scooter. My bond with him is the heartbeat of my home; he is a constant reminder of unconditional loyalty and the simple, profound joy of a wagging tail or a head resting on my knee.

 

    While much of my life is defined by these gentle, tactile pleasures, I harbor a fierce, adrenaline-fueled passion for the high-octane world of Formula 1 racing. There is a fascinating paradox in the sport—the cold, clinical precision of engineering clashing with the raw, visceral bravery of the drivers pushing physics to its absolute limit. Every Grand Prix is a narrative of strategy and split-second decisions played out at 200 miles per hour, offering a thrilling contrast to the quiet moments spent reading or gardening. From the silver screen of the 1940s to the roar of a turbocharged engine, these interests are the threads that weave together my personal tapestry, balancing the elegance of the past with the exhilarating pulse of the present.

 

 I’m so grateful you spent a bit of your day here with me. I hope the rest of your morning, afternoon, or evening is filled with little moments of joy and a whole lot of cozy.  Take good care of yourself, and I’ll be looking forward to our next chat!

Why the Second Month is the Real Fresh Start

 

"To love yourself as you are is a miracle, and to seek yourself is to have found yourself, for now. And now is all we have, and love is who we are." (Anne Lamott)

Hello, my lovely friends! 


Can we take a moment to give February the standing ovation it truly deserves? While January often feels like a high-stakes performance under a relentless spotlight, February arrives like a deep, restorative exhale. It happens to be my favorite month—partly because it’s my birthday month, but mostly because the frantic, performative energy of "New Year, New Me" has finally simmered down into something sustainable. By now, the collective hysteria of resolution season has retreated, leaving us with the quiet clarity necessary to actually get things done. If those ambitious January goals are currently tucked away in a drawer gathering dust next to a neglected blender, breathe easy. There is a profound, underrated power in being the person who starts when the crowd has already stopped.


The truth is that January is often too crowded with pressure to allow for real growth. We try to overhaul our entire identities while recovering from the holiday hangover, which is a recipe for burnout. But in February, the "New Year madness" has faded, and the world feels manageable again. If you’ve fallen off the wagon, consider me your co-conspirator in the art of the comeback; I didn’t see a thing, and honestly, the wagon was probably overrated anyway. This is your invitation to look at your aspirations through a lens of grace rather than guilt. Reclaiming your momentum doesn't require a grand gesture; it just requires the honesty to admit that the first attempt didn't stick and the courage to try a different angle.

If your original vision feels as daunting as scaling Everest in a pair of flip-flops, it’s time to stop overthinking the summit and start looking at the path. We often paralyze ourselves by staring at the "monster" version of our dreams, forgetting that every monumental achievement is just a long string of tiny, mundane wins. Radical transformation is rarely the result of a single explosive moment; it’s the product of breaking down those intimidating goals into bite-sized, digestible slivers and tackling just one at a time. This month isn't about being perfect; it’s about being persistent.


Remember, the calendar is an arbitrary guide, and you certainly don’t need the flashy optics of a January 1st start date to be a force of nature. You already possess the vision and the vibe; what you have now is the focus that only comes after the hype has died down. This is where the real work happens—in the quiet, steady rhythm of a Tuesday in mid-February. Let’s reclaim the narrative and pursue those ambitions with a sense of calm intentionality. You have the time, you have the talent, and you most certainly have the grit to make this month your masterpiece, one small victory at a time.

It was a treat having you stop by! Whatever the sun or moon is doing in your neck of the woods, I hope it’s treating you well. Until our next encounter... Ciao for now!

Finding Your Way

 

My Favorite TV Shows

"Think for a minute about what makes you fabulous and how you can celebrate it." (Laura Mercier)

 

Hello, my lovely friends! 

    Prepare yourselves, because my television palette is a chaotic masterpiece of high-stakes drama, supernatural shenanigans, and just enough soap opera suds to keep things bubbly. I’ve never been one to stick to a single genre; some nights I want a show that challenges my very perception of reality, and other nights I just want to watch beautiful people make terrible life choices in expensive houses. My viewing habits are essentially a tug-of-the-war between my desire for intellectual stimulation and my primal need for campy, unadulterated chaos.

    We might as well start with the heavy hitters of the eerie and the unexplained. If a show doesn't involve a moral dilemma or a monster in the woods, am I even really watching? I’m still hopelessly devoted to the unsettling brilliance of The Twilight Zone and its spiritual ancestor, Alfred Hitchcock Presents, which proved decades ago that the scariest things aren't under the bed, they're usually hiding in plain sight. From there, I dive headfirst into the supernatural deep end with True Blood and Grimm, because apparently, I have a thing for folklore, fangs, and the occasional shirtless werewolf.

    When I’m not exploring the shadows, I’m busy losing myself in sprawling epics and the inevitable heartbreak they provide. Game of Thrones and The Walking Dead both taught me the valuable lesson of never getting too attached to anyone with a pulse, while Haven kept me guessing with its delightfully weird small-town mysteries. It’s a stressful way to spend an evening, sure, but there’s nothing like a little "impending doom" to make my own night laundry pile seem significantly less threatening.

    Finally, we have to acknowledge the guilty pleasures that aren't actually guilty at all, they’re essential. Sometimes you need to trade the dragons and zombies for the polished silver of Downton Abbey, just to feel a bit more refined before descending back into the glorious, messy drama of Desperate Housewives and Melrose Place. There is a specific kind of magic in watching suburban secrets unravel or 90s apartment complex dwellers sabotage each other, and frankly, I wouldn’t have it any other way. My top ten list is a bit of a mood ring, and right now, the vibe is "expertly curated mayhem."

My Top Ten Favorite TV Shows
1. Twilight Zone
2. True Blood
3. Grimm
4, Game of Thrones
5. The Walking Dead
6. Haven
7.Alfred Hitchcock Presents 
8. Downton Abbey
9. Desperate Housewives
10. Melrose Place    

It was a treat having you stop by! Whatever the sun or moon is doing in your neck of the woods, I hope it’s treating you well. Until our next encounter... Ciao for now!

 

Not So Bad Here

 "Be thankful every chance you get. Not because life has been easy, perfect, or exactly as you had anticipated, but because you choose to be happy and grateful for all the good things you do have and all the problems you know you don't have." (Author Unknown)

 

Hello, my lovely friends!  

 

    So, did everyone actually survive the Great Frost and those dramatic storms? I know some of you truly went through the ringer, and I promise I’m sending warm thoughts your way. Meanwhile, over in my neck of the woods, the "weather event" was a bit of a theatrical flop. Sure, we endured those bitter, negative temperatures all day, but as for the snow? It was less of a winter wonderland and more of a light dusting that couldn't even commit to the bit for forty-eight hours.

Poor Scoots was the most offended of all. He caught a glimpse of the white stuff at night and likely went to bed with visions of epic drifts dancing in his head, only to wake up to a backyard that had mostly returned to its usual self. He did manage to hunt down a stray patch or two of slush near the fence, looking very much like a dog who had been promised a blizzard and was handed a lukewarm slushie instead.

  

     Last Friday, the universe decided to pair a funeral with a blizzard, forcing us out into the kind of cold that makes you question every life choice you’ve ever made. We were mourning my aunt’s mother on my dad’s side, and I’ll be honest—the snow almost won the "should we stay or should we go" debate. However, we were the official guardians of the post-service cake.

Despite the frostbite-inducing trek, it was actually lovely to see everyone. We took over a few tables afterward to swap stories and play the ultimate game of "Who Have You Seen Lately?" I’ve truly missed that side of the family, even if my excitement was seasoned with a healthy dose of "please don't breathe on me" anxiety. It seems half the guest list had recently battled another round of COVID, which had me eyeing the room like a germaphobe in a petri dish.

To play it safe, I started aggressive preventative measures with my medicine cabinet the moment I felt the winter chill trying to turn into a full-blown relapse. Thankfully, my immune system took the hint and held the line. I managed to survive the snow, the germs, and the emotional rollercoaster without bringing home a parting gift of the sniffles—which is a win in my book.

 

    Yesterday, the world went dark—no internet, no cable, and a blissful silence from the phones. While most people would have spiraled into a digital withdrawal-induced panic, I found it surprisingly refreshing. It turns out that scrubbing a kitchen is significantly more therapeutic when you aren’t being bombarded by notifications or the background hum of the 24-hour news cycle.

 

The forced offline status gave me the perfect excuse to finally tackle my mom’s craving for white tortilla cheese enchiladas. I whipped up a dozen, and we spent the afternoon splitting them and chatting about absolutely nothing of consequence. It was pure, unhurried quiet—at least until Mom decided the silence needed a soundtrack. She fired up some Cher and started dancing in her seat, turning a tech blackout into a full-blown living room concert. Honestly? It was the best day we’ve had in a long time.

 

 I’m so grateful you spent a bit of your day here with me. I hope the rest of your morning, afternoon, or evening is filled with little moments of joy and a whole lot of cozy.  Take good care of yourself, and I’ll be looking forward to our next chat!

It's Up To You

 

Now Is the Time

 "Start living now. Stop saving the good china for that special occasion. Stop withholding your love until that special person materializes. 
Every day you are alive is a special occasion. Every minute, every breath, is a gift from God." 
(Mary Manin Morrissey)

Hello, my lovely friends!

    We’ve officially reached that awkward mid-to-late January slump where the "New Year, New Me" glitter has lost its sparkle and mostly just looks like a mess on the carpet. If you’ve already abandoned that 5:00 AM Pilates habit or if your "dry January" ended abruptly on a random Tuesday because, well, Tuesday happened, give yourself a high-five. The honeymoon phase of the calendar year is over, the gym is starting to thin out again, and honestly? We can all finally breathe a little easier now that the performance of perfection is starting to crack.


I’ve never been one for the January 1st sprint. There is something so unnecessarily aggressive about trying to overhaul your entire existence while you’re still recovering from a holiday cheese coma. I prefer to treat the first couple of weeks like a soft launch—I sit back, observe the chaos, sip my coffee, and see where my head is actually at once the dust settles. It turns out, where I’m at right now is standing on the edge of a very big, very transformative year. The roadmap for my next twelve months is looking less like a straight line and more like a wild, winding mountain pass. It’s thrilling, it’s vibrant, and if I’m being completely honest, it’s scaring the absolute daylights out of me.        


But here’s the thing about that fear: it usually means you’re actually onto something real. We spend so much time trying to curate lives that look balanced and "correct" on paper, but life is meant to be a collection of the things, people, and places that actually make your pulse quicken. I’m a recovering perfectionist—trust me, I used to have a gold medal in overthinking and a PhD in "What Will People Think?"—and I can tell you from experience that perfection is the most boring goal you could ever chase. It’s a cage with very pretty bars. This year, I’m trading in that polished facade for a bit of productive messiness, as long as it leads me closer to what makes my heart sing.    


    So, if you’re feeling the weight of those "forgotten" resolutions, let this be your permission slip to just drop them. Put down the heavy expectations and pick up something that actually brings you joy. Whether that’s starting a new project, traveling to that one spot that’s been on your bucket list for a decade, or simply learning to say "no" to things that drain your battery—do it. We don't have enough time on this planet to live according to a checklist of "shoulds." Lean into the scary changes, embrace the "wait and see" approach, and remember that being a work in progress is much more interesting than being a finished product.    

 I’m so grateful you spent a bit of your day here with me. I hope the rest of your morning, afternoon, or evening is filled with little moments of joy and a whole lot of cozy.  Take good care of yourself, and I’ll be looking forward to our next chat!

It's Just Hanging Around

 "Think for a minute about what makes you fabulous and how you can celebrate it." (Laura Mercier)

 

 Hello, my lovely friends! 

    I’ve officially become a human revolving door for every germ in a five-mile radius. Just when I think I’ve finally evicted the latest bug, it loops right back around for an uninvited encore. This past week, the "neighborhood crud" decided I was its favorite host again, leaving me stuck in a dizzying cycle of sniffles and regret.

Thankfully, I’m fully vaxxed, so while others are currently fighting for their lives, I’ve mostly just been a very expensive space heater. I spent the better part of the weekend in a medically induced coma (also known as a nap), and I’m finally feeling like a functioning member of society again. Here’s hoping I’ve officially kicked this thing to the curb—or at least told it to find a new door to swing through.

    I hear most of you are currently living in a literal winter wonderland, and I’ll be honest: I’m reaching a level of jealousy that’s becoming borderline unhealthy. While you’re out there living your best "thriving in a snow globe" life, we had a pathetic dusting last night that vanished faster than my New Year’s resolution to eat more kale. It’s a tragedy, truly.

Right now, our local ski resorts are looking more like hiking trails with delusions of grandeur. Half of them aren’t even fully open because the sky refuses to cooperate, leaving us in a climate so dry I’m basically turning into a human raisin. At this point, I’m not even being picky—I’d take a monsoon, a slushy mess, or a light misting if it meant putting some moisture back into the air. If you have any spare clouds or a direct line to the snow gods, please send them my way before I give up and start praying to my humidifier.

    How is 2026 treating everyone so far? Personally, I’ve spent the better part of the new year in a heated, one-sided argument with a stubborn sickness that just won't take the hint. Aside from that glamorous development, things have been pretty quiet—mostly because it’s hard to make "big moves" when your primary accomplishment for the day is successfully reaching for the tissues.

While I’m over here playing professional patient, my poor mom is dealing with the real deal. Her back is acting up again, and now her "good" knee has decided to join the rebellion. She’s already eyeing a second knee surgery, but since she’s reached a certain vintage, she’s worried the doctors might give her the "let's just wait and see" routine. It’s a bit of a toss-up, but I’m crossing everything that they give her the green light soon. There is absolutely nothing fun about watching her power through that kind of pain, and frankly, she’s overdue for a break from being the universe's favorite target.

 

Thank you so much for stopping by.
I wish you a good morning, afternoon or evening wherever you are.
Until next time… Ciao!

Just Do It