The life I’m building is slightly wild, deeply intentional.

It’s about testing leisure like a muscle.

And realizing it’s not a reward for a job well done. It’s the reset that makes life worth doing in the first place.

For a year, I committed to carving out one moment each week that was mine.

A solo walk. A breath in sunlight. A painted landscape no one else had to see.

I wasn’t trying to “fix my life.”

I just wanted to feel it again.

At the time, I was commuting to a job that left me uninspired and creatively numb. The days bled together. I felt flat. Grateful, but muted.

And then one day, I finally said it out loud:

The middle road is not for me.

So I quit.

It wasn’t dramatic. It was… steady. Honest.

And necessary.

Because I had a vision I couldn’t shake, and a drive that wouldn’t let me quit—not this time.

This isn’t my first leap.

The first time, I was naïve. Starry-eyed. No plan, just hope and a pack of watercolor crayons.

But now?

Now I’ve got new skills, new strategy, and a Pomodoro clock running while Coco Jones plays in the background.

Now I’m a woman with purpose, pressure, and progress. And the audacity to believe that alignment is the strategy.

For the first time, my Virgo ass is letting go of the blueprint.

There’s no ten-step plan.

Just deep knowing, and a slightly wild pull toward something I can’t explain, but trust anyway.

I’ve pivoted into a remote role that gives me freedom.

Freedom to hike.

Freedom to paint.

Freedom to take care of my family while honoring my work.

I wake up with sunlight on my face and gratitude in my bones.

Not every day is glamorous—but every day is mine.

I’ve romanticized my life into something that makes sense again.

Maybe I’ll take the train up the West Coast.

Maybe I’ll paint a new collection in Oregon, finish the travelogue in a coffee shop in Big Sur, or just wander for a while.

This next chapter is a reckoning—the kind you feel in your chest.

It’s about owning my story. Living it fully.

Making art, making memories, and making a living while doing both.

I’m building a life that makes sense for me.

A life where motherhood, art, joy, and abundance all get to coexist.

Because what’s the point of dreaming if you never get to live inside the dream?

And I want the same for you.

To find your version of a sunrise and snacks.

To romanticize the ordinary until it feels sacred again.

To remember that “balance” isn’t a destination. It’s a series of choices—tiny, radical, everyday decisions to come back to yourself.

As I write this, I’m reviewing old journal entries, and I’m honestly astonished.

Because I’m not planning my dream life anymore.

I’m living it.