Untried isn’t the same as unloved

I used to think “do what you love” was permission. Now I think it’s often an excuse. I didn’t love coaching until I tried it scared. I didn’t love writing until I forced myself onto the page. Comfort wears love’s clothes well. If I...

Believing in the wrong voice too long

I’ve caught myself doing it mid-conversation. Someone pays me a compliment, genuine, specific, and I’m already building the rebuttal in my head before they’ve finished the sentence. That’s not humility. I used to think it was. It’s just a...

The color of enough

There is a shade of blue that does something to me. Not a specific blue I could name or point to in a Pantone chart. It is more a quality of blue. The ocean on a calm morning before anyone else has arrived. The sky in that particular hour between late afternoon and...

The bread that cannot be rushed

Thursday evening I start the dough process. Not because I have to. Because something in me needs to. There is a particular ritual to sourdough that I have come to understand is about far more than bread. You begin with a living starter. Genuinely alive. Fed and tended...

What are you afraid of

I want to tell you something that took me an embarrassingly long time to understand. The Monday dread we talked about on Day 1 is not really about Monday. The hollow feeling on the audit from Day 2 [what fills you]is not really about the job. The drift from Africa...