We got back from Miami a week ago. I’d think the trip was a mere dream, if not for the gentle accumulation of freckles dancing across my cheeks, up to my temples and forehead instead of just settling on the bridge of my nose. Solid proof, on my face, in mini brown passport stamps, that I came and went and came back again.

I think this may have been the first time in my adult life that I ever fully removed myself from everything digital. Fully let go. Shut off notifications, didn’t check emails, barely looked at text messages, with very few exceptions like corresponding with family. I barely even took photos and videos, only capturing things truly noteworthy that piqued my attention, or if my husband or his father asked me to. Which says a lot as someone slowly trying to build an online audience.

So yes, as oversaid as the saying is, it really is that damn phone. And computer. And iPad. And TV. And possibly everything else electronic, technological, and attention-imprisoning that you can think of.

I feel like this narrative of the life-changing, oh-so-spiritual experience of escaping the city and turning devices off is very overdone these days, but I must say — I get it now. I do.

I’ve never been able to fully shut off like this before; a part of me always frothing at the mouth from guilt for relaxing, simultaneously feeding her addiction to forced action by “working on my own things,” replacing one grind with another of a seemingly more virtuous, meaningful nature that, for the most part, goes nowhere.

But this time, I actually got to be lazy. The kind of lazy with five delicious ‘a’s in the middle. I got to be laaaaazy.

I spent time swimming, floating, leisurely walking, and basking in the sun, lathered in a thick layer of sunscreen that calmed my paler-than-pale skin’s active protests against direct contact with the sun’s forces.

I can’t remember the last time I’ve felt so peaceful. Grounded. Relaxed. Not unbothered by life, work, money, my future, or my career, but just choosing not to let it affect me. Not to care about it. Yet.

I didn’t miss the city. I didn’t miss my work. And though the heat tested my tolerance, patience, and brain function, I didn't miss the unbelievably cold mornings we had the week before.

I didn’t feel a drop of guilt about being unproductive or about maybe, possibly missing out on things at home.

I relished the ocean, feeling like I'd never fully allowed myself to see it, appreciate it, or enjoy it before. I was utterly mesmerized by the pelicans, an animal I’ve always associated with a comical, quirky cartoon, or the butt of a joke, that glided gracefully in the air, their massive wings casting momentous shadows on the water below, flying so close to it, and sometimes bobbing, at rest, just a few dozen feet away. I could’ve stared, observing them, for hours. And I most definitely adored not having the smell of piss and shit and god knows what else assaulting my nostrils every time I walked the streets outside.

I knew this place wasn’t going to be a permanent one for me, nor a permanent experience, but I was entirely engrossed in the bliss of just being there.

And then, a week later, we came back.

I don’t know if I am the only one, but I feel like almost every trip I have taken as an adult, with the exception of trips to family back in Virginia, has felt like a dream. Before, during, and after. Constantly accompanied by sheer disbelief that I am going, that I am there, that these things are happening to me, and then, when they take their place among the past tense, that they happened at all. Once happenings nestle into the past, it’s like they cement the feeling that it was all just a dream. And even though every moment was crystal clear and vibrant, there is another feeling, like you’re distant, not fully there, and sometimes, almost like you’re trying to swim through honey.

This time, adjusting to my normal routine took longer. Honestly, I may still be adjusting. Yearning for just being, letting thoughts pass by without stress, overanalysis, or attachment, allowing a positive or interesting few to linger and stop in for tea. Yearning for having full body contact with nature; water, sand, and sun. Yearning for the ability to not have to look at a screen.

This trip showed me the importance of regulating my nervous system, being present, and not giving quite so much weight to some of the things I’ve stressed about before. Though the vision of going all day every day without a screen, not working, and just being isn’t fully manifested yet ( ;) ), that doesn’t mean there aren’t ways to incorporate mini versions of these practices into my day-to-day.

• Not touch my phone an hour before sleep and an hour after waking

• Practice nervous system regulation techniques to stay present and anchored

• One online half-day a week

• Keeping the phone out of the bedroom

• Checking work emails at one or two set times a day

These are just a few mini goals I'm using to bring the magic of our vacation in Miami into my daily world.

Returning to life as it was doesn’t have to be a step backward, a relapse into outdated ways of being. Not if you let it.

What do you like to do to stay present and turn away from a screen? What has a trip you took taught you?

Thank you for reading :)

Until next time!

Ele 🫧

Hi! In case you’re new here, I am Ele :)

I write about sustainability, wellness, inner intimacy/discovery, mindset, and what it’s like to navigate my mid-twenties as a newly married woman looking to cultivate a life of freedom and adventure, re-summoning parts of herself that she long suppressed in the name of safety and self-preservation, and finally refusing to conform to the norms projected on her.

So if you are interested in:

• living life bolder;

• embracing joy and play in the day-to-day;

• reclaiming your agency, your spark, and attention span;

• understanding yourself inside and out;

• living in alignment with your values;

• learning and growing in a way laced with simplicity, lightness, and ease;

• healing your relationship with yourself, money, food, and your body;

• or crave depth in your life and your relationships

then I suspect you will like it here. A lot.

I hope you do, and that you choose to stay a while.

Thank you for being here 💕

With love and light,

Ele 🫧

I value keeping my writing open for anyone to peruse and enjoy, but it does take time and intentional research. If what I’ve written has resonated with you, consider honoring me by “buying a matcha!” to support my work :)

Buy Me a Matcha 🍵

🌏 If you are interested in sustainability, eco-wellness, and values-aligned living, be sure to check out Regeneratively Simple, my Wikipedia-inspired platform offering solutions to help you lead a more eco- and health-conscious lifestyle without the hassle, without the greenwashing, and without having to use AI to get the answers that you want.

✨ And if you want to hang outside of the written word, find me on Instagram!

I have never been a jealous person. At least not since the 6th grade. Then again, I haven’t had something — someone — so special that could spark it in me.

I’ve always taken pride in my immunity to jealousy, fully confident that trust and security negate its need and likelihood. I guess this is where “Never say never” came out to play. Because she’s walked right up and knocked on my front door.

I am jealous. I don’t know why, where it comes from, or how to stop it, but I am.

Jealous of the clothes that hug his body;

the sheets that keep him warm at night when the heat from my human body becomes too much.

Jealous of the native language that gets to play in his mouth and emanate from his voice, so natural and smooth; a language I am not yet fully fluent in.

Jealous of the fact that I could never experience the intimacy of knowing his first breath, while at the same time praying I will never have to witness his last.

I wish I could’ve held him when he needed it, or hold his hand when he was scared.

Jealous of the cologne that gets to seep into his skin and linger on his clothes and the air around him, long after he closes the door to our home.

Jealous of those who get to see him when I don’t.

Jealous of those he’s touched before.

Jealous of those behind the camera in his old photographs, as mine of poorer quality remain subpar.

Jealous of everyone who has had a scrap, a segment of his story I won’t get to read.

Jealous of everyone who has a different piece of him, a different memory, experience, and light that make up the diverse kaleidoscope of his life.

Jealous of the smiles and the laughs he shares with others.

Others who aren’t me.

I swear I am not toxic.

I swear that I am kind.

I swear that I am happy.

And that our love is built on trust and light.

I swear I have a life I love, all my own, outside of him.

But sometimes these feelings eat at me from inside.

Jealousy doesn’t become me, though it does become the image of the stereotypical Slavic wife, reminiscent of my heritage. Maybe it’s genetic.

I wish I were better than this.

I wish I could control it.

Is this a normal way to be?

Even when your relationship is healthy?

To be honest, I don’t want to know.

But it drives me crazy knowing others came before me, even though the list is small. Before he even knew I existed, I know, but it still aches to be aware that history doesn’t include me. And though I know those things, those moments, those people made him the man I love today, a part of me wishes they never existed and never had the privilege of knowing him that way. Simply erase their space on this planet with a blink of an eye, or the brush of my hand. In both time and in space.

I wonder if I alone am isolated in this twister of mild insanity, or if others relate to these thoughts and sensations too. I wonder if he feels the same for me… for my slate isn’t entirely clean either.

Goodness, how selfish that all sounds.

Is it normal to yearn and ache to be everything for somebody? From the water gliding over their hands as they wash them and the sleep that heals and refreshes them, to the music that soothes their anxiety and the cooled glass they bring to their lips to quench a craving or a thirst. Is it crazy that, at times, I would be willing to trade places with them?

God, it sucks to feel this way, as someone who wants nothing more than to be a good kind person, a perfect partner, a loving daughter and friend, and a healthy, supportive wife.

Jealousy feels uncomfortable, angry, and — ugly.

And though I loathe this feeling, how it burrows in my brain, happily nestled there, unwilling to get out, and though I am ashamed at its presence in my bones…

How lucky am I to have someone I love so deeply that jealousy gets to play her role.

Thank you for reading :)

Please leave a comment if you’ve ever felt this way; what has your experience been? What helps these symptoms? How have you reframed it?

I am genuinely so curious…

Ele

Hi! In case you’re new here, I am Ele :)

I write about sustainability, wellness, inner intimacy/discovery, mindset, and what it’s like to navigate my mid-twenties as a newly married woman looking to cultivate a life of freedom and adventure, re-summoning parts of herself that she long suppressed in the name of safety and self-preservation, and finally refusing to conform to the norms projected on her.

So if you are interested in:

• living life bolder;

• embracing joy and play in the day-to-day;

• reclaiming your agency, your spark, and attention span;

• understanding yourself inside and out;

• living in alignment with your values;

• learning and growing in a way laced with simplicity, lightness, and ease;

• healing your relationship with yourself, money, food, and your body;

• or crave depth in your life and your relationships

then I suspect you will like it here. A lot.

I hope you do, and that you choose to stay a while.

Thank you for being here 💕

With love and light,

Ele 🫧

I value keeping my writing open for anyone to peruse and enjoy, but it does take time and intentional research. If what I’ve written has resonated with you, consider honoring me by “buying a matcha!” to support my work :)

Buy Me a Matcha 🍵

🌏 If you are interested in sustainability, eco-wellness, and values-aligned living, be sure to check out Regeneratively Simple, my Wikipedia-inspired platform offering solutions to help you lead a more eco- and health-conscious lifestyle without the hassle, without the greenwashing, and without having to use AI to get the answers that you want.

✨ And if you want to hang outside of the written word, find me on Instagram!

In the interest of living my life more, I took myself to Date Night at The Met. On Friday and Saturday nights, The Met keeps its doors open late to welcome lovers, individuals, or friends to enjoy its art after hours, with live music and drinks. One of the many wonderful parts of living in New York City is the access to incredible art, museums, and experiences like this.

As I write this, I am sitting in a hall of statues and sculptures, the art form that I am most obsessed and in love with, writing on the most random pieces of paper and pages I can find. For, after all, when inspiration strikes, even a napkin or the delicate skin of a forearm will do.

It is impossible not to get lost in The Met; wandering the meticulously curated halls and wings, discovering a new room, alcove, or treasure at every turn. Every piece you stop by seems to claim not only a little bit of attention but also a little of your energy, leaving you a slightly sleepy, wanting to find a cozy nook, perhaps in those perfectly staged ornate Victorian bedrooms, and take a nap while the beauty and awe continue to quietly envelop you, just to reclaim a little bit of your energy to begin exploring with a renewed vigor again.

You don’t even realize how you’ve walked three full miles in your wanderings.

Here, in this room, the name of which I do not remember, I am surrounded by my favorite art medium. The kind that could have me shamelessly staring at each piece all day. What a beautiful place to write.

I believe that museums, music, film, and really any exposure to pure human craft are the antidote to the endless stream of evil we are exposed to on the news. Being here and seeing all of these unbelievable (for that’s literally what it is, art impossible to believe was crafted with human hands) pieces brings me a renewed love, respect, and hope for humanity. That this kind of talent, this skill, this patience, this artistry that humans possess still exists.

Even among the Van Goghs and painted depictions of the Renaissance, sculpture is still my favorite.

Where most describe them as breathtaking, I think they are breathgripping. Not just the gentle taking of your breath away for a second before it’s instantly replaced once your lungs recognize the momentary lapse and absence of air, but rather something that grips, like the desperate kiss of a lover who knows there will never be another. A feeling that keeps your breath a captive prisoner in its grasp until the awe swells in your body, requiring one. It’s a little more hypnotizing. A little agonizing, as part of you surrenders to the knowledge that you could never create something like that.

The way the carefully placed lights cast selective shadows on the figures as the external darkness progresses further amplifies the depth and complexity of their composition.

I am in love with the stunning depictions of human nudity. Devoid of shame, despite the religious or biblical connotations, characters and narratives of most.

I adore this lack of ignominy that modern religions and standards of beauty have pinned on the naked human likeness. I am especially obsessed with the women’s bodies: plump and ripe with life, with beautiful bellies, round and buoyant, but strong, capable of growing an entire human being. I am mesmerized by the curves of their breasts, the cascading curls surrounding their faces.

I love these soft bodies made of stone. Marble permission slips for what it can mean to be beautiful, and the beauty that is being human. The loveliness of human anatomy being a work of art in and of itself.

I wonder whether these women were concerned about the plumpness around their middles, or whether their attention was directed elsewhere. Perhaps to their noses, eyes, or hair. Were they concerned with their appearance at all? Or is that a plague of our modern world? To imagine any of these beautiful women ever hating any part of themselves is incomprehensible and sad, yet we do it to ourselves all the time.

How it is possible to take something as cold, rough, and lifeless as stone and somehow, seamlessly craft a depiction so smooth, life-like, human, potent with emotion, and poignant in movement, as though any one of them may spring into life at the slightest touch or gentlest breath in their direction, leaves me in complete wonderment and awe, unable to even comprehend it.

And the fabric…

Folds drape around the figures’ legs, like they could billow if the breeze shifted just so. The fabric looks soft, silky, and even… translucent.

How??

How can stone look soft?

How can it be thin, delicate lace?

How can it show an embroidered pattern on the hem of a robe?

How can I see the echoes of a human face underneath that thin veil??

How could human hands create something so flawless when it feels as though our very fingerprints are imprinted with our own unique patterns of human error, imperfection, and even destruction?

Humans are so cool.

I am glad I got lost in The Met. For I’ve found a sense of awe and hope I feared I wouldn’t feel again.

With love and light,

Ele 🫧

Hi! In case you’re new here, I am Ele :)

I write about sustainability, wellness, inner intimacy/discovery, mindset, and what it’s like to navigate my mid-twenties as a newly married woman looking to cultivate a life of freedom and adventure, re-summoning parts of herself that she long suppressed in the name of safety and self-preservation, and finally refusing to conform to the norms projected on her.

So if you are interested in:

• living life bolder;

• embracing joy and play in the day-to-day;

• reclaiming your agency, your spark, and attention span;

• understanding yourself inside and out;

• living in alignment with your values;

• learning and growing in a way laced with simplicity, lightness, and ease;

• healing your relationship with yourself, money, food, and your body;

• or crave depth in your life and your relationships

then I suspect you will like it here. A lot.

I hope you do, and that you choose to stay a while.

Thank you for being here 💕

With love and light,

Ele 🫧

Keeping my writing open for anyone to peruse and enjoy is something I value, but my writing does take time and intentional research. If what I’ve written has resonated with you, consider honoring me by “buying a matcha!” to support my work :)

Buy Me a Matcha 🍵

🌏 If you are interested in sustainability, eco-wellness, and values-aligned living, be sure to check out Regeneratively Simple, my Wikipedia-inspired platform offering solutions to help you lead a more eco- and health-conscious lifestyle without the hassle, without the greenwashing, and without having to use AI to get the answers that you want.

✨ And if you want to hang outside of the written word, find me on Instagram!

“Mamaaa, I’m booooorrrreeed,” six-year-old me whines, tugging at my mother’s skirt as she keeps talking to my friend’s mom. We’ve been “leaving” and “saying goodbye” for hours now. (Fine, it hasn’t actually been hours, and I don’t really know how long it’s been, but I’m six, and no matter how much time has passed, it’s way too long for my little child body and mind to withhold any longer).

“Baby, a smart person is never bored. Are you smart?”

“Yeah.”

“Then you can keep yourself from being bored. We’ll leave in five minutes.”

“But you said that ten minutes ago!”

This last, and, in my opinion, very legitimate point was met with a withering stare that only a Soviet-era mother could produce.

Groaning, I turn back, stomping for emphasis that went entirely ignored, and climb into the champagne colored Honda minivan, buckling my seat belt together with a semi-permanent pout on my face.

Eventually, the anger subsides (a good thing about children: they don’t quite know how to hold grudges and let their anger pool in their psyche, turning into a festering pond; their attention spans just aren’t that large), and I stare out the window. Very soon, I started to daydream. I don’t remember if it was about food, or fantastical adventures with fairies or dragons, or about the snakes I, for a long time, firmly believed I could see moving and living underground.

At some point, I also found a coloring book and colored pencils and managed to entertain myself with colors, daydreams, and illustrations, both in and outside the lines, until the time flew by and we were heading back home.

A smart person is never bored.

A phrase my mom said that has never left me.

She taught my sister and me that an intelligent person can always find something to do, and a creative one can even turn something “boring” into something interesting.

My mom was, and still is, both.

She turned the mundane task of cleaning both floors of our house into a wild adventure. While she would do the bathrooms and tidy up downstairs, my sister and I would race to pile all our toys, and any lightweight objects on the ground onto our islands (beds, couches, and the like) at a speed that only The Flash would scoff at, before the scary monster, snake, or whatever other creature we decide the vacuum is for that day, comes to find us and eat our things.

Sometimes we’d be pirates, hiding amongst our treasures on our respective islands. Sometimes we’d be horses, dolphins, mermaids, or princesses, making it to cover in the very last moment, jumping with loud shrieks and squeals onto our mattresses piled high with junk while the monstrous vacuum nipped at our heels.

When she’d cook, we’d be there: holding spatulas, licking beaters, dumping flour, kneading dough, making messes, cutting shapes, mixing, spooning, tasting (often before being given permission to), and having the greatest time while helping and learning.

She sacrificed to fill our childhoods with swimming, kung-fu, musical theater, piano, singing, harp, travel, culture, tennis, knitting, crafting, Russian, Spanish, French, Chinese, violin, history, cursive, chess, sewing, ballet, dance, pottery, and god knows what else because I can’t remember it all, just to ensure we would be creative, well-rounded, and intelligent people that know there is always something to do.

And even though her phrase is one that I hear echoing in my mind frequently, and suspect will continue to follow me till the day I die, I feel that now I must, partially, disagree. In fact, I think the phrase should change entirely.

Boredom is layered with more complexity than I ever expected when I first began writing this article.

While Merriam-Webster defines it as “the state of being weary and restless through lack of interest,” others believe boredom is simply self-avoidance, a form of trauma masking, or an inability to confront parts of ourselves and our lives that bother us or that we are ashamed of. A form of creative avoidance, if you will. The feeling of boredom is the trigger that it’s time to hop onto another distraction before the uncomfortable reality of quiet sets in.

The feeling of boredom hasn’t changed, but the time it takes to feel it and our coping mechanisms for it have evolved. With so many distractions available to us at any given moment, avoiding boredom is easier than ever, and at the same time, falling into it can and has become incredibly fast. Today, there are so many stimulants that can medicate, stifle, or numb that feeling of boredom that now, solely combating it is no longer a marker of intelligence or creativity.

You can open your phone and scroll endlessly, zombifying your mind and satiating boredom. You can put on a show or some music in the background when you do the dishes, making the task more interesting. You can listen to a podcast on a walk. You can zone out on the couch and watch TV. You can outsource your mind, later left feeling empty in the absence of stimulation, and then chase the dopamine again when faced with the discomfort of ‘less’ in an endless cycle of avoidance.

For some, boredom is so uncomfortable they’d rather run from it at all costs, chasing different forms of cheap dopamine than have to sit face-to-face with what their mind is going through at the given time. For some of these people, boredom even feels dangerous.

We have forgotten how to leverage boredom as the tool it is.

An uncomfortable tool. But a tool nonetheless.

Uncomfortable because it comes with restlessness, impatience, and a desire for something new, and a tool because it either serves as a signal to pivot to something different or as an opportunity to settle into it to see what arises.

Boredom is a signal. An opportunity. A portal to magic. Settling into the discomfort of it, like relaxing your muscles despite the resistance they feel in a massage to get the full benefit or relaxing your vocal cords before you sing, even though you’re nervous, to gain the best result possible, can act as a highlighter, illuminating the parts of ourselves that need attention or a shift of some sort, in bright, neon yellow ink. This surrender can also let in a thought, an idea, or some other form of inspiration that has just been dying to break through the noise you’ve been stuffing your mind full of before.

So, the next time boredom comes knocking on the door, try doing nothing. Literally, doing nothing. Sitting, or lying and — doing nothing. Don’t even meditate, for even that can act as a distraction. But just be. And watch what happens. Watch what thoughts and what discomfort show up.

Do you feel restless because you don’t want to sit with your anxiety, worrying about the exam you have tomorrow, and just want another distraction to avoid the discomfort instead of preparing for it more?

Do you feel bored because what you were doing before wasn’t fun or fulfilling for you?

Do you feel bored because you just spent 30 minutes doomscrolling, and now anything that takes longer than three minutes feels like it’s taken on an enormity that you can’t possibly accomplish?

Or, if you’re like me, do you feel incapable of doing nothing out of guilt that you should be doing more?

Boredom is complex, and it can have a lot to tell you. Invite it in for tea or coffee. Sit it down, give it some attention, and ask it some questions.

“Why are you here?”

“I’m here to tell you something.”

“Then tell me.”

“I have an idea.”

or

“You’re hiding, you’re afraid, and now you’re procrastinating, but the thing you have to do really isn’t that big or scary.”

or

“I’m here to tell you to take some rest and relax, even though you feel guilty for doing it.”

or maybe it’s something else entirely.

A recent life hack I’ve learned is to approach everything with curiosity: in a conflict, be curious about the other person’s view; if something went wrong, be curious about it instead of mentally guillotining yourself for it; when boredom envelopes you, seek to understand. It takes a significant amount of the fight-or-flight response out of uncomfortable situations and funnels panic and inner awareness (often including shame or self-punishment) outward in a much lighter form. And it works just as well with boredom.

So, I think it’s not that a smart person never experiences that feeling of boredom, but rather what they choose to do when it begins to tickle the edges of their brain, and how they use it.

Do they lean into it to see what message it carries, embracing the initial discomfort and letting new information bubble to the surface? Do they pick it up and use their creativity to mold it into something else, making it more fun and engaging for them (without utilizing cheap dopamine tricks)? Or do they succumb to its numb restlessness, medicating it with distraction?

Now, leave it to me to inflate my mom’s simple sentence into an entire essay, but her poignant statement showing that a smart person can always come up with something to do, while true, brushes over the valuable benefits of a little boredom.

I believe in today’s day and age, a smart person has to allow themselves to be bored.

An intelligent person befriends boredom, sees its value and guidance, and chooses to mitigate it or act upon it in a healthy way.

What do you think?

With love and light,

Ele 🫧

Hi! In case you’re new here, I am Ele :)

I write about sustainability, wellness, inner intimacy/discovery, mindset, and what it’s like to navigate my mid-twenties as a newly married woman looking to cultivate a life of freedom and adventure, resummoning parts of herself that she long suppressed in the name of safety and self-preservation and finally refusing to conform to the norms projected on her.

So if you are interested in:

• living life bolder;

• embracing joy and play in the day-to-day;

• reclaiming your agency, your spark, and attention span;

• understanding yourself inside and out;

• living in alignment with your values;

• learning and growing in a way laced with simplicity, lightness, and ease;

• healing your relationship with yourself, money, food, and your body;

• or crave depth in your life and your relationships

then I suspect you will like it here. A lot.

I hope you do, and that you choose to stay a while.

Thank you for being here 💕

With love and light,

Ele 🫧

Keeping my writing open for anyone to peruse and enjoy is something I value, but my writing does take time and intentional research. If what I’ve written has resonated with you, consider honoring me by “buying a matcha!” to support my work :)

Buy Me a Matcha 🍵

🌏 If you are interested in sustainability, eco-wellness, and values-aligned living, be sure to check out Regeneratively Simple, my Wikipedia-inspired platform offering solutions to help you lead a more eco- and health-conscious lifestyle without the hassle, without the greenwashing, and without having to use AI to get the answers that you want.

✨ And if you want to hang outside of the written word, find me on Instagram!

As an overthinker and a multi-passionate creative, I’m a big fan of lists.

They are the perfect vehicle for getting the things spinning and thrashing around in my head onto paper. And while there is nothing wrong with a basic to-do list, there are a few other variations that have been helping me reshape my life and restore myself to at least some semblance of sanity.

🧠 🚮 📝

1. The Brain-Dump List

This is one of the most therapeutic lists in existence. Every little thing that takes up space in the nooks and crannies of your brain gets put onto this list.

Set a timer for yourself if you like, or just go at it until nothing is left. All to-dos, all worries, all aspirations, all goals, all thoughts (be they sentences, single words, or books you want to read), everything goes on the page.

Honestly, you can just leave this list as is, since it’s served its main purpose: getting out of your brain. However, if you are so inclined, you can take a little break, go for a walk, drink some water, stretch, or take a nap (it doesn’t matter as long as it’s in complete and total detachment from the list and anything on it), and then revisit it with colored pens or markers.

You can mark/sort the things in your list by circling them with colors corresponding to urgency or category, or by rewriting the items you listed into categorized/labeled mini-lists. If you are at a loss as to how to categorize your brain dump, the Eisenhower Matrix (a method for task prioritization) is a great place to start. I also like to introduce a category for ideas or random thoughts, because amidst actual to-dos, I get a bunch of isolated, somewhat random words or abstract ideas that need to be fleshed out or just purged from my mind.

🫶🏻 💞 📝

2. The Love List

Now, this might be cheating, making this list of lists longer than just four, because technically, this one can and should be done three ways.

The first is to list everything you love.

Every activity, every thing, every physical feeling, every part of yourself, every memory, anything and everything you love. Set a timer for at least ten minutes. You may need more, since, I hope, this list is very long.

The second one is to list out everyone you love. Personally, I limit this to only people I have personally known in my life, including those who have passed. But if you feel called to include someone who inspires you, or that you haven’t met in person yet, feel free. Any person who elicits a soft, warm, and loving feeling makes it on.

The last way is to list everyone who loves you. This one may seem hard (or at least hard at some point after the obvious contenders have been listed out), but it is the most powerful.

If you need a name to start it off, use mine :)

This is the variation of the list to turn to when you are feeling low. When you beat down on yourself, feel stuck and unworthy, or in any subtle or not-so-subtle way, unloved/unlovable.

This is the list I would argue you should make an effort to create right now: finish reading the directions, open up a new note in your notes app, and fill it in.

Now, I feel like there are two tricky elements of compiling this list:

The first one is gauging whether or not some people actually “love” you or if it’s just a strong “like.”

The other tricky element is that when you do hit a low point, a list of names under the label “people who love me” might not actually do anything. In fact, your mind, in its dramatized victim state, might actually convince you, “No, no, they don’t actually love me,” as you sob uncontrollably. Hell, even when I’m doing well, I will ask my husband if he loves me at least twice in one day.

This is why the next step of compiling this list is essential — you have to gather evidence.

For each person you name on your list, you must gather at least one (aim for three) bit of evidence that they love you. Screenshot texts and messages, save voicemail recordings, take pictures of letters, cards, or even sticky notes. Anything you can find where that person has expressed their love, appreciation, or any positive emotion for you. Pride, gratitude, praise, admiration, all of these count.

Now, if for some reason you do not have evidence for a person, ask.

Tell them you are compiling an emotional first aid kit of sorts, and ask if they’d be willing to honor you by contributing something conveying how they truly feel about you. This is also how you can address the first tricky element of this exercise and verify whether or not they “love” or “strongly like,” since the depth/quality of their response will have your answer (after all, most people won’t just say “No, I don’t love you” to your face).

Usually, if you are considering including someone on your love list, it means you already love them. Therefore, you should harbor absolutely zero shame or fear in asking them for supplementary evidence for your kit. In fact, you saying that you love them and that they’re on your list may make them feel so honored and special that they’d be more than happy to give you a little something for your list.

Now that this version of the love list is done (at least it better be), I want you to go back through the names.

Does “Me” appear anywhere on that list?

“Me,” “Myself,” “I,” or your name? No?! Well, slap it on there, even if you don’t feel it’s true.

And now, for the next week, a little more homework: gather evidence for yourself. Buy yourself flowers, write yourself letters or post-it notes, take note of any compliment you receive, take yourself out on a date, document or photograph them, and add them under your name on the list.

Have this note pinned to the top of your notes app, or sitting as a document or folder on your desktop. And let it serve as your emotional crisis first-aid kit.

🙏🏻📝

3. The Gratitude List

Gratitude, aside from love, is the most potent vibration on the human emotional scale.

Now, you can call this woo-woo all you like. Still, aside from spiritual and vibrational aspects, the positive effects of a consistent gratitude practice have been scientifically documented, specifically its improvements upon general and mental health.

The gratitude list isn’t a one-and-done. Preferably, it should be performed daily, but at the very least once every few days.

Set a timer (anywhere between 3-10 minutes) and challenge yourself to write down as many things you’re grateful for as possible in that time, as fast as you can. Another option is to set yourself a time limit of 1-2 minutes for each thing you are grateful for, and really milk the feeling of gratitude, noting the details of that thing that make you so thankful.

📦 📝

4. Your Order List

This is like a wish list, but, at the same time, not quite.

Write down everything you want, describing each thing in ultraspecific detail, but in a very particular format, which I have outlined below:

[Your Full Name]
[Date]
Order No.: 1111 (or whatever number you so choose)

Dear [Universe, Source, God, Allah, Divine Power, or just make up a name of a magical shop that grants wishes like Wendy’s Whimsical Wishing Well Spells Inc.],

Below are the details of my order. Thank you so much for delivering it to me with ease and joy, at the best possible time. I look forward to receiving these items soon.

With great appreciation,

[Your Name]

(Feel free to modify this letter in any way you choose).

After you sign off, list everything you want in as much detail as possible (the more, the better).

A note about the language though: do not write “I want ____.” Instead, list the items, events, traits, and experiences isolated from any language of desire or desperation (example: instead of “I want an adorable, good-natured puppy that loves to cuddle and play,” write “An adorable, good-natured puppy that loves to cuddle and play”).

Feel free to add angel SKU numbers, or a thank-you after every listing; this exercise is supposed to be a little silly and whimsy!

Once you fill out this “order,” fold it up, tuck it under a crystal, a totem, a stone, or something small enough to weigh it down, but not cover it up entirely, and place it in a place where you will see it rather frequently.

Now, your job is to never question how or when this order is coming.

It is. You’ve placed it. It’s done. It is on its way to you, just like any Amazon or FedEx shipment, except it won’t grant you instant gratification by arriving in the next 24 hours.

Any time you see the page peaking out from under your selected totem, surrender to the excited expectation of those things arriving at your doorstep, and make sure to keep your eyes, ears, and heart open to possibilities. Say yes to opportunities as they arise, follow little impulses to go out or do something fun for yourself (within reason), and see what follows.

These are the four-ish lists that have changed my life, and I hope that they will change yours, too. Even if that change is just bringing a little more fun and joy into your day.

Please let me know if you try any of these, and what your experience was like :)

With love and light, and until next time!

Ele

Keeping my writing open for anyone to peruse and enjoy is something I value, but my writing does take time and intentional research. If what I’ve written has resonated with you, consider honoring me by “buying a matcha!” to support my work :)

Buy Me a Matcha 🍵

Hi! In case you’re new here, I am Ele :)

I write about sustainability, wellness, inner intimacy/discovery, mindset, and what it’s like to navigate my mid-twenties as a newly married woman looking to cultivate a life of freedom and adventure, resummoning parts of herself that she long suppressed in the name of safety and self-preservation and finally refusing to conform to the norms projected on her.

So if you are interested in:

• living life bolder;

• embracing joy and play in the day-to-day;

• reclaiming your agency, your spark, and attention span;

• understanding yourself inside and out;

• living in alignment with your values;

• learning and growing in a way laced with simplicity, lightness, and ease;

• healing your relationship with yourself, money, food, and your body;

• or crave depth in your life and your relationships

then I suspect you will like it here. A lot.

I hope you do, and that you choose to stay a while.

Thank you for being here 💕

With love and light,

Ele 🫧

🌏 If you are interested in sustainability, eco-wellness, and values-aligned living, be sure to check out Regeneratively Simple, my Wikipedia-inspired platform offering solutions to help you lead a more eco- and health-conscious lifestyle without the hassle, without the greenwashing, and without having to use AI to get the answers that you want.

✨ And if you want to hang outside of the written word, find me on Instagram

Some people cloud their emotions with substances. Harmful ones. Most of the time, in excess.

Drugs, smoke, booze. Whatever that sickening, artificial watermelon, tutti frutti, supposedly berry-like, toxic substance they stick in vapes nowadays. Hell, even sex can make the list.

But there is a cumulus nimbus that is scary in an entirely different way. Scary because, if we’re not careful, we may not even notice our abuse of it. Our dependency. Our addiction to it. And, given its undetectable qualities, we are left wondering why we stay stuck.

Sometimes this cloud takes on the form of reading. Often in the name of “self-improvement” or “personal development.” That’s an effective use of time, though, right? I am doing something, moving forward. Well, let me ask: are the circumstances, actions, and habits still the same even though the page has a larger number on the bottom?

For some people, this tumultuous mass around their heads is fed and exacerbated by screens…

Turning to Instagram, YouTube, or TikTok for “inspiration” when, in reality, it just turns into hours of watching other people chasing their dreams and living, really living, instead of going out, building, and living a life of their own.

Watching movies, shows, or YouTube videos, claiming that they have no motivation or desire to do things. They’ve worked hard that day. They deserve it. And maybe that’s true, but it’s a pattern that happens all too often.

Maybe it’s having a favorite show in the background when doing any minute task to feel less alone, or to silence the sound of their own mind because, for some reason, in our world of constant noise, movement, and stimulation, that has become unnatural and scary. To shut their brain off, only to end up feeling like a zombie, just going through the motions.

Maybe it takes the form of seeking constant external counsel, advice, and mentoring while neglecting their own voice, or exhibiting extreme distrust in their own ability to do or decide something significant. Listening to those who have trodden the path before, but then timidly avoiding taking the first step themselves.

Sometimes this drug manifests as a layer of fat around their bellies that they’ve perhaps grown to love or, at the very least, accept, but that no longer serves them. That they’ve been trying to tighten and tone for their health and well-being. The shield that they just can’t seem to shed, as it acts as a subconscious form of protection from a fear they hold onto for dear life.

Funny, and ironic, how holding onto certain fears makes us feel safe. The suffocating grip we have on them somehow giving us a semblance of control that we don’t even realize is false.

But that’s the thing: holding onto fear isn’t actually safe.

It’s just familiar.

Which our brains and bodies mistake for safety.

That’s a quote I remember quite often, though I do not recall the original source.

We will gravitate toward what we know or have experienced before, even if that thing is being pummeled in the face with snow until our cheeks are pink and burning. After all, isn’t a predictable bad thing better than an unknown thing you can’t see coming? As silly as it sounds, to our bodies and minds, it is.

Familiarity. Playing it small. Playing it “safe.”

All fitting under the umbrella of ✨comfort ✨.

That’s the dangerous, demonic drug in disguise. But ooooh what a blissful one it is. Another, less vocalized, way to numb.

And it just so happens to be my favorite.

Now, just to clarify, by comfort, I don’t mean the true, safe kind. The kind that’s the warmth of your bed when you sleep at night, the depth of a loved one’s hug, or having healthy meals on the table every day.

By comfort, I mean stagnation posing as safety. Habits that may feel good but don’t actually serve you or contribute to your future or well-being. The kind of comfort you find yourself turning to, as an addict would to vodka or a cigarette, when you are avoiding something.

So please don’t walk into oncoming traffic, or sacrifice your physical well-being in any way, in the name of getting out of your comfort zone.

And all the examples above? Mine. Lived, breathed, some perhaps even current. Part of a repeating cycle of push push push, overwhelm, burnout, and surrender.

If you relate to this at all, I want you to know that it’s completely okay. And please don’t beat yourself up about it. I do that to myself daily, and it’s one of my biggest mistakes and toxic traits. It truly doesn’t help anyone, and especially not you.

It is perfectly normal and human to get addicted to being comfortable. After all, we are biologically wired for it. But where our ancestors sought safety out of necessity, our pursuit of it often becomes a coping mechanism that holds us back.

I am still learning to navigate these cyclical waters of stuck stagnation; however, a few little things have been helping me. Perhaps they can act as a little life raft for you, too. (Don’t worry, there is plenty of room on this floating door in the middle of the freezing ocean for both of us, and, unlike Rose, I actually won’t let you go).

1. Try something new every day, even if it’s tiny

There is a reason some people say that having children is like a rebirth for parents, too.

Kids discover, learn, and experience something new every day. Most of the time, with intense, immense joy. And these first acts as firsts of their own for the parents too.

As adults, we often go through cycles that reach plateaus, succumbing to the mundane minutiae of everyday life that, without supervision, can take on a monotonous tone.

One thing that has been helping me take baby steps towards breaking out of my comfort zone is trying something new every day.

Maybe that’s a new route to work or on my regular walk. Maybe it’s adding a new, possibly even particularly challenging, exercise to my gym routine. Or maybe it’s trying a new recipe instead of the 250th rotation of the same three dishes I’ve been making the past year.

2. Get out of the house as early as humanely possible

As someone who works from home, it is so easy to forget that a world exists beyond my comfortable, cozy, cave of an apartment sometimes, and every time I get outside, I find myself wishing I’d done so sooner. The fresh air (no matter how hot or cold it is outside) and exposing myself to a different, less familiar environment help wake me up and make me feel more alive.

3. Community, community, community

Now, this is something I am still building, but my stagnation tends to fester when I spend extended periods of time alone.

Don’t get me wrong, I love my own company, something I have trained myself to adore and crave; however, I have found myself isolated quite a bit lately when I’m not spending time with my husband.

Being around people who are kind, genuine, alive, and share the same values, interests, and passions is such a natural, good-feeling high that not only gets me out of my comfortable Ele bubble but also equips me with tools and inspiration on how to venture out of it even more often.

Perhaps that stress of moving out of NYC so deeply burnt out my nervous system that comfort abuse seemed the only way to cope. Perhaps there is something deeper at play that I have yet to address and discover.

In any case, pushing my comfort zone and my tendency to avoid are themes in my life that I encounter quite often, and I have a feeling I will continue to play with for the rest of my life as my comfort zone expands.

What helps you when you find yourself stuck and stagnant? How have you stretched your comfort zone, or will you?

Thank you so much for reading, and until next time.

Much love and light,

Ele

But what about all our other dates before? Weren’t all of those fun too?

Yes, they were. But this one was a little different…

I didn’t touch my phone.

I didn’t use it to take pictures of the food to share on my Instagram stories later.

I didn’t take it out to show something I’d seen earlier in the day or to illustrate a point.

I didn’t even take it out of my purse, except for when my husband went to the bathroom, and I wanted to look up a few Turkish phrases to surprise him.

I know the whole world is talking about the problem with phones, and digital detoxing with their fancy Bricks and apps, but it’s honestly laughable how something so simple can make such a big change.

My husband and I are both addicted to our phones, and unfortunately, we both sometimes enable each other’s screen addiction. But awareness is the first step to recovery, and we, most definitely, want to recover.

The entire original purpose of social media and invention of phones was to connect with people. People far away, people you love but don’t talk to often, and with individuals you otherwise would’ve never even known existed. The unfortunate thing is that this incredible tool has also turned into an inhibition, leaving us more disconnected from our lovers, friends, families, nature, and, more scarily, ourselves.

So here are some ideas for what you can do with your partner next time you can be together instead of watching a movie or scrolling on your phones.

Low Energy | Low Spend

1. Put a puzzle together

If you have one, great! If not, libraries will often have a few; borrow from a friend; get one secondhand; or go to a store and pick a new one together.

Or rent one! The Puzzle Exchange lets you rent a puzzle, put it together, and then return it when you’re done so someone else can enjoy it.

2. Try a new recipe

Go to a bookstore or a library (try not to use your phone for this part), flip through a cookbook, and choose a recipe to try. Bonus points if you call a friend or relative to walk you through a recipe.

Then go to the grocery store, get what you need, cook, and enjoy the meal together. Triple bonus points if you get flour on him, or she boops your nose with sauce, or something else cute and fun like that.

3. Listen to an album all the way through

Put on an album of new music, lie down on the floor with pillows and blankets piled everywhere, perhaps some ambient candles and tasty snacks, and listen to it all the way through together.

4. Play a card or board game

Learn a new board or card game, or teach your partner one they don’t know but you do. Or play one you both already know and like.

One really fun one that I love is Taco, Cat, Goat, Cheese, Pizza. I will not elaborate. You just have to experience it for yourself and thank me later.

5. Create your own paint-and-sip

Grab some paints, canvases, or even just paper and watercolors, and set up your own paint-and-sip! The sips can be alcoholic or even just tea, but attempt to paint something together. This could be trying to paint portraits of each other (if you want a laugh) or trying to paint the same scene or object.

6. Create a memory scrapbook

Print pictures from your time together and create a scrapbook of those memories.

7. Nap

Take a nap together. When was the last time either of you took one? You probably need it too.

8. Appreciate nature

Stargaze, sunrise or sunset watch, forest bathe, birdwatch, or just sit and stare at a body of water together.

9. Read

Read together. Whether separate books on the same couch, or reading aloud to each other, as a bookworm, this is one of my favorites.

Low Energy | Mid Spend

10. Play a connection-based card game

We’re Not Really Strangers is the first that comes to mind, but there has been a surge of others popping up. This can be a physical and dirty, or innocent deck, but the point is to connect, open up, and get to know each other in ways you may not have thought of before.

Mid Energy | Low Spend

11. Create a spa evening

Take a warm bath or shower together, wear robes, light candles or set up diffusers, give each other massages, and maybe throw in a face mask too.

Personally, in the intense summer heat, I love making a watermelon refresher drink by just blending watermelon, cucumber, and mint, and serving it in a fancy glass for self-care nights like this.

12. Volunteer together

Find a cause/charity you both care about, and spend a day, morning, or evening volunteering your time together.

One of my favorites is going to a local dog shelter and taking a pup out on a walk. It’s so much fun, and let’s me get my dog fix since I cannot yet get one.

13. The “How much is it?” game

Go to a very ritzy, fancy, expensive store, and while browsing, take turns peeking at the tags and having the other person guess how much the item is. At the same time, the person who finds the most expensive thing wins a prize.

I did this with a friend at the Manhattan Saks 5th Ave, and we had so much fun mocking the ridiculous items costing wild, outerspacious amounts of money.

A bonus of this game is that it can also act as a good manifestation exercise, making you feel more comfortable in affluent environments.

14. Go to a museum together

Mid Energy | Mid - High Spend

15. Honor each other’s inner child

Go to a store, and each get a toy you really wanted as a kid but never got, or do an activity that meant a lot during childhood, like visiting a playground.

As adults, we get so fixated on our roles and obligations, rules and “making it,” that we forget to prioritize joy, play, and honoring the little kids in us that are the reason we are where we are, and probably dreamed of being able to do some of the things we get to do now.

Plus, thanking and acknowledging your partner’s inner child is a kind of intimacy and feeling of being seen that very few other acts can impart.

16. Take a class together

Learning something new together, especially if it’s something neither of you is particularly good at, is such a great way to connect over a shared experience. If you don’t know what class to take, here are some ideas:

Dance
Cooking
Horseback riding
Yoga
Book binding
Candle making
Pottery
Archery

17. Style Each Other

Go to a store, and pick out outfits for each other that the other person has to wear the rest of the day. You can be kind or not, but if you choose something the person would normally never wear, maybe keep those tags on, so we don’t contribute to unnecessary consumer waste. Just an eco-conscious thought from an eco-conscious girly.

18. Build a LEGO set

Build a LEGO set together! If a brand new one is too expensive, eBay has a slew of them.

19. Go out to eat

Breakfast, lunch, or dinner, go out together (but don’t use your phones!). Maybe try a new cuisine or try a new spot.

High Energy | Low Spend

20. Wrestle

Do with that one what you will.

21. Get active

Maybe learn a new sport, or teach your partner how to play one they don’t already know. Go rockclimbing, hiking, or ice-skating. Are there any others that are particularly fun to do in two?

High Energy | Mid Spend

22. Host

Host friends, family, or a party at your place! Get some snacks or cook some food, and spend time with those you love while hosting with the one you love. Maybe you could even use some of the ideas above as a group activity!

High Energy | High Spend

23. Go on a weekend, screen-free getaway

Go away to a cabin in the woods or by a lake without WiFi for the weekend. Now, this one may be good after some practice of reducing screentime, but it’s a great excuse to unplug, reconnect, deepen, and explore the area.

I hope you now feel inspired to do something special with your partner to reclaim your time, your attention span, and your relationship from the digital grip of social media, screens, and AI.

What activities are you thinking of doing first?

Until next time, and thank you for reading.

With love and light,

Ele

I feel like I have completely lost myself over the past few months. If I were the religious type, I would surely blame the devil and call it his work. His devious and evil plan to trip me and force me to stumble. The interesting part is that these trips and stumbles are so minuscule in the devil’s grand scheme that they would never actually cause me to turn to extremes and fall into his lap, playing with his favorite, ultimate evil ways, but still. Devil play afoot. Though why the devil would concern himself with such tiny inconveniences and setbacks, I haven’t a clue. You’d think he’d have all his time and energy going to wars, criminals, and trillionaires.

But no. There is no devil play. Just my very human nature of having ups and downs, making poor choices, and succumbing to the inner stories that have acted as my companions from early childhood.

In these few months of feeling a little lost, I’ve neglected all the practices, habits, and life-infusing rituals that make me me. Well, make me the sane and happy version of me.

Meditation, morning pages/journaling, gratitude, affirmations, and early bedtime. You name it: all dropped. One by one.

And now it is my job to take the broken shards and piece them back together again.

And you know, for a very long time, I would blame and beat myself up about it. How dare I do this? How could I break these promises to myself? And I call myself trustworthy?? Please. How can anyone trust you when you can’t trust yourself to do the very basic things that keep you happy, your faith strong, and your mental health afloat?

But I am choosing not to think that way this time.

Things will happen. Life will happen.

Like for these past few months? Moving from one state and one big city to another, smaller one. Not knowing for sure if we had a place to live until three days before we had to move.

Things, stressful things, like this, can happen. And maybe I will forget or drop a practice, or a habit, in those moments. And that’s okay. The objective is not to have every habit, practice, and ritual stay every single day, no matter what life brings, but to have the resilience to bounce right back when it slips, instead of succumbing to the “failure” of doing so in the first place, which happens to be my tendency. My mastery, actually.

You know, as I write this, I am reminded of the trend on Instagram a while back, where people illustrated the fallacy of the “Shit, well I already f*cked it up, so then what’s the point, let me f*ck it up some more” mentality.

Allow me to explain.

Have you ever been on a diet, and “slipped up” by having sugar, or a slice of pizza, or something that isn’t on your “can eat” list, and then thought to yourself, “Well, I already messed it up, what’s the point” and then went on to gorge yourself on all kinds of sweets, and fatty, processed foods?

Well, I am a master at this. Sadly, since my teens. This tendency to associate one misstep with complete failure, negating all past and future progress and success, while simultaneously acting as a permission slip to hate and punish yourself for it by doing more of the exact negative thing we perceive as our “failure.” Now, this Instagram trend I mentioned was absolutely brilliant in illustrating how unhelpful and wrong this mentality is.

• A person would pour themselves a glass of water, and some would spill over the edge. They would realize what they were doing, exclaim a profanity, and then keep pouring water onto the countertop instead of correcting to fill the glass.

• Someone would accidentally miss the nail when hammering, realize it, and then keep hammering that spot instead of moving to the nail.

• Someone would be watching TV, realize they went 18 minutes past their bedtime, get frustrated, and then continue binge-watching until 3:00 am.

Having these visual examples calling out this cycle is so helpful in illustrating how nonsensical it is to continue the negative behavior after awareness of it hits. Doesn’t it make much more sense to realize the slip-up, the mistake, acknowledge it, thank it for showing you the way, and then self-correct?

I think, during this break, particularly when it comes to the habit and practice of writing, the longer I went without doing it, whether that be typing on a computer like this or physically journaling, the greater the barrier of reentry grew. The more likely it was, I knew, that I would create garbage. That what I would write would be bad. Unshareable.

I put so much pressure on myself to do it well and perfectly, and be interesting, wise, or valuable, every time, that the longer I put it off, the bigger the elephant of fear in the room became. And then, instead of just taking little baby steps toward it, little stabs at it, breaking it up into digestible pieces, I just shut it out completely. What’s the point? I know it’s all going to be garbage anyway.

Well, Ele, in case you haven’t already learned this a million times. Not everything is meant to be a chocolate praline dome, topped with bits of gold leaf right off the bat. Sometimes, the chocolate melts, or the praline is soggy, or the gold leaf blows away, and it looks like a literal pile of shit, but without those experiences, how would you know how to make one of the best desserts on the planet? (Apparently, I am craving a chocolate praline dome with flecks of gold leaf on it. Seriously, I have no idea where that visual came from).

Anyway, I am back.

Piecing things together step by step. Learning and relearning as always. And back to my favorite and most fulfilling work: learning myself, loving myself, and building the best version of her I can. Rewriting her stories that no longer serve, into ones that empower, and uplift, and hopefully helping you in some capacities to do the same.

Aah, it feels so good to write. I’ve missed you.

Maybe it will help you too.

My absence from Substack for the past month can largely be attributed to perfectionism.

Of course, I’ve had other things taking up my time, such as starting physical therapy, birthday celebrations, working on my ongoing endeavors aside from my “job” job, events, and a potential new project I am excited about, to name a few.

I found myself in a cycle of excessive overthinking (again), and with the sudden influx of new subscribers, I began to overthink my writing too.

It’s like I’ve stifled my magic. Dammed my flow.

Luckily, today was the day for my Artist Date (a concept from The Artist’s Way by Julia Cameron): a full hour devoted to something creative, fulfilling, and completely devoted to myself, a practice intended to release creative blockages.

So, I printed some coloring sheets from somewhere in the interwebs, cracked open my box of coloring pencils that probably lost all hope of escaping the cabinet in the corner of my living room, and sat on the couch to color along to smooth jazz.

I had no idea that I would accidentally find a method, an exercise, for releasing my tight grip on perfection. A little fun method, I will share with you now, in case you need it as much as I did tonight.

Okay — print out some coloring sheets (I used these), and get something to color with.

Now, the only rule of this exercise is that you cannot use a color that you’d normally find in reality for the element you are coloring. So, if you take, for example, the sky, it can’t be blue (ideally, you’d avoid grey and sunset colors too, but we’re starting with baby steps).

If you are at a loss and just staring at the page without a clue what to do, try inverting the colors (i.e., if you are coloring a tree, make the bark green, and the canopy brown). If that doesn’t help, look up an image of the color wheel and choose the exact opposite of the one in your head.

When I was doing this earlier, my intention was simply to color for fun and to regulate my nervous system, which has been thrown a little off-kilter lately.

After I colored in the green of what looked like a snake plant, I suddenly had the urge to color the bunny pink. This impulse was immediately suppressed by the thought But rabbits aren’t pink, don’t do that.

Why not, though? It’s literally just a coloring page. A place where reality doesn’t have to exist.

So I decided to follow my impulse anyway and colored the damn bunny pink.

Afterward, I found myself thinking, What’s an unconventional color I can use here? which led to the second rabbit being blue and a plant on the windowsill purple.

Suddenly, I was having fun. An activity intended to be a peaceful, meditative practice, serving the serious, logical purpose of “regulating my nervous system,” became not just those things but play too.

I found myself excitedly exploring which color would be the craziest for a given thing and going with the first one that came to mind.

There was also the added element of coloring under warm lighting, which meant there was a sliver of mystery about what the colors would actually look like in the morning, when I could see them in normal lighting, making the process even more fun.

Now, I know that this may seem utterly silly and ridiculous.

How can coloring possibly help with perfectionism?

Well, the sneaky thing about perfectionism is that, without your realizing it, it can seep into every aspect of your life, sometimes verging on OCD. Even coloring something a color that isn’t “what it’s supposed to be” can be triggering.

If you're anything like me, you may not even notice that your perfectionism is chronic; a manifestation of deeply ingrained fears of doing something wrong, of not being good enough, of being judged or outcast. The fear of being scrutinized leading to a constant, chronic state of self-scrutiny, often rippling into intense judgment of others.

I’ve noticed that my perfectionism festers, often manifesting as projection onto other people. I can just imagine myself sitting next to a child coloring at a table, and saying, “No, Jimmy, the sun can’t be purple. And cats aren’t blue. Even Russian Blues are technically grey.”

Why should such meaningless things and the behaviors/reactions of others bother me? Why should I expect anyone (including myself) to conform to my ridiculous, perfectionistic high standards that, let’s face it, usually only suck the fun, joy, and humanity out of things? Standards that originate from a place of fear and insecurity, no less.

Of course, the only solution to calming this perfectionism for good is to address those underlying fears and stories, but given the slightly greater complexity and time intensity of that process, it's nice to have a small outlet for relief.

With love and light, and until next time,

Ele

I know I can do this thanks to the many typing practice classes I took on TypingClub.com (not in any way sponsored or affiliated). I have my sleeping eye mask on, my hands hovering over the keyboard, anchored by the tiny bars I know to be F and J.

I look ridiculous.

I start to type, blind.

Single-stream writing. For an hour. Blindfolded, to see what happens. To see what shows up when distractions are eliminated, what happens when I allow myself to write for a solid, uninterrupted hour.

Sometimes I don’t even get interrupted by another person; I interrupt myself. Going back, editing, and deleting instead of just letting whatever wants to come out come out. Or getting distracted by notifications, open tabs, or just the nagging thoughts of other tasks I am neglecting in this moment.

The wild part is when the interruption comes from the act of writing itself. How can something I love so much sometimes become a source of discomfort? Something I procrastinate?

Of course, I realize that the root of this discomfort has nothing to do with writing. Maybe it’s an underlying fear of being seen. Judged. Deemed a bad writer. Who knows what the shadows of this feeling are.

But that’s why single-stream writing is such a powerful exercise. You write everything that is in your head. Absolutely everything. Even the umms, and hmms, and “f*ck this”s. Writing without judgement, without hesitation, without the need to go back and edit as I go. Giving every word, thought, and mistype a space on the page.

I am a writer. I have to let myself write. Even if the result is beautiful, golden garbage. With a sprinkle of diamonds on top.

Which, to be completely transparent, that blindfolded session truly was. A whole lotta nothing. But I think a lotta nothing will eventually add up to something. No?

Ele

A few months ago, I made a mistake. A significant, but reversible one (I hope).

I have long harbored the dream of sharing my writing in the form of a blog.

Literally.

The Ele Fogg Blogg was an idea I’d had since I was 16 — the domain name purchased, gathering dust for so long that, eventually, I did the merciful thing and selected “Cancel Renewal.”

A dream that ran in tandem with the first was to share my life, my creativity, and the things I care deeply about on social media, through pictures and videos.

Now, in September 2025, naturally, without force or stress, I began doing so, primarily on Instagram. To my surprise and creative delight, my consistent activity on The Ele Fogg Blogg followed shortly after.

And god was it so much fun!

Things flowed: I was experimenting, learning, growing, expressing myself, being vulnerable, becoming more comfortable with things I'd once labeled as, well, not.

But then, during this beautiful and most fragile part of the process of creative self-discovery, I made the mistake…

of bringing someone else into my creative process.

Now, before I go any further, a few disclaimers:

• I did so of my own free will — purely a result of my underlying complex of not feeling good enough, not knowing enough, and feeling the need for external validation and help to “get better” (trust me, I’m working on that).

• Part of the reason for doing so was also to help support and get support from a friend who is a) more experienced than me in this arena, 2) has a degree, license, and experience in psychology and therapy, and 3) has been previously hugely helpful with tips, tricks, and guidance, including some very eye-opening realizations.

Unfortunately, this process primarily became about building a personal brand, which, in full transparency, was a soft, gentle, underlying current from the start, but now it has become a full-fledged, ball-busting objective.

Suddenly, it was all hooks, optimization, grabbing and monopolizing attention, establishing expertise, choosing a feed color palette, switching reel covers, updating bios, retaking profile photos, speaking as fast as possible so the content is 3 minutes or less, storytelling, angle changes, and on, and on, it goes.

Now, I will say that I learned a lot. There are many tidbits I will take. But some things, just, triggered me.

This just doesn’t feel like… me.

The worst part? The inner judgement returned, bringing stress and overthinking along with it, stifling all signs of play and exploration.

The whole point was to have fun.

The whole point was to experiment and surrender to creative expression and vulnerability.

The whole point was to build community.

The whole point was to be as human, as real, as raw, and messily imperfect as possible, in protest against the cookie-cutter, ad-cluttered, fake, AI-ness of what social media has become.

But I caved into the pressure and the trap of trying to monetize my hobby. At least, way too early.

Part of the blame lies with the nature of Instagram as a platform. But the other part is mine. For not trusting myself enough and not deeming myself, my words, my art, my creativity, my playful mess worthy of unfolding on its own.

The fruit was still unripe when I chose to pick it. But hopefully I can pair the slightly too green banana with an avocado to rectify its lack of ripeness. Something about the gaseous vapors.

The beautiful thing, though? My Substack is untouched by the demons of optimization.

It's the place I return to to slow down. Reflect. Relish. Create. And do it beautifully. Messily. Humanly.

I have 1 1/2 weeks left in my commitment to this process.

I have decided to approach that time and process with openness, learning everything I can from these methods and this approach, and bringing as much fun, lightness, and me-ness as I can muster.

Then, as soon as the tether snaps and the so-called training wheels come off, I will do only what resonates and leave the rest.

So, what did I learn (aside from some cool editing tricks in CapCut)?

- Don’t let others into your magic process too early, if at all.

- You are enough, and so is your creative expression (in whatever form it takes). It deserves to shift, unravel, bloom, wither, renaissance, pivot, and take on a life of its own, without the interference of others or the pressure to monetize.

- Trust yourself; you’ve got this, better than you may think.

- Listen to and get advice; not all of it needs to be applied, though.

- Do not rush. Take your time. Things happen when you need them to, or when you’re ready for them.

And with that, I go to sleep, because it is waaaayyy past my bedtime (9:30 and it is now 1:27; whoopee!).

With love and light, and until next time,

Ele

This desire, initially and partially, came from an underlying paranoia about what AirPods do to your brain (good? bad? bah I don’t know since it is almost impossible to determine what is true nowadays with the power money, marketing, and advertising have over everything) and partly from a desire to reconnect with myself, my thoughts, and the beauty within. A decision that has resulted in nothing but the discovery of little pockets of magic.

Sitting on the Downtown and Brooklyn Q with my open book and open ears, the doors slid apart, letting in a new set of passengers, a tune drifting inside right along with them. I am sitting on the seat closest to the door on the entry side, so I don’t see the source.

The voice is delicate and smooth, beautiful, but timid, almost cautious of its own loveliness.

- An older lady waddles in, mouthing the words, her eyes almost entirely filling the wide, thick, round frames of her blue-rimmed glasses.

- The woman across from me filmed the singer through the subway door in what I’m sure was a perfect shot.

- A lady by the open door in a mask and headphones paused, looking out. Listening.

The last note rang out, the subway doors still open, and the four of us clapped.

The doors close. The train moves. And then, in the window, I catch a glimpse of the voice’s keeper: a tall, lanky boy, with a shy but kind face and short brown hair, dressed in muted tones of green and brown. I smile.

“Beautiful,” the woman in the mask says, gently shaking her head, before settling back into position as if nothing happened.

The boy and bustling station around him fade from view in an instant.

It was like that beautiful, shared human moment was the predecessor of a flood of noticing:

• The girl walking past, telling her companion, “I don’t think my dad likes me very much…” the rest of her story petering off behind me;

• The little grey poodle, with black faux leather booties and a navy raincoat, head lowered with humility, the city world too big and loud to look up at and take in, while his owner stands patiently waiting for him to move;

• The couple on the train clearly on a first date;

• The other couple on the train clearly in a fight;

• Another couple making kissy faces at each other and laughing, clearly head over heels;

• The woman with bright pink hair and pink eyeshadow past her eyebrows;

• Three girls, all dressed in black, out on the town, one of them harboring a hideous pair of boots — the classic pointed-toe design topped with a piece of leather rigatoni that stretched down to the very heel — prompting me to ask the age-old question: why???

Yes, New York City is the place for people watching and finding characters that Lewis Carroll couldn’t even think up.

But — if I were plugged in, listening to music, affirmations, an audiobook, or a podcast, or even if I was just in a cycle of overthinking, I wouldn’t have noticed them. I wouldn’t have had all these little reasons to smile. Little stories and lives to witness, however briefly. Little curiosities to inquire into and think on.

This art of noticing, of being present, of listening, and of awareness, though something I have danced with before, is something I just fell into with renewed attention. Unintentionally. Unplanned. And much like falling in love, it’s a feeling, a state, I don’t want to fall out of.

Thank you for reading.

With love and light,

Ele

Ever since I moved from the state for lovers, every family visit (whether theirs or mine) has resulted in tears. It used to be much worse; with me sometimes sobbing even days before leaving, just in anticipation of the impending separation.

For a while now, though I still cry, I do so a little less and only when my loved ones are already out of sight.

After every trip, every visit my mom and sister make, I am reminded of what I am working for: to see them more often (lots more), support them (and spoil them), and go on wild adventures soaking up their presence.

Time, particularly with those I love most, is my greatest treasure, and I will find a way to build a future in which it doesn’t have to be bartered, won, saved for, or negotiated. A future where, if I do not live nearby, I can, at the drop of a hat, say “I want to go to mom’s house,” “I want to have dinner with dad,” or “I want to hang out with Anais,” and get up, get a ticket, and go.

I am very lucky to have a couple of people like that in my life, but one in particular will likely always take first place…

14 years. That’s how long I had been a student at Laughing Dragon Kung Fu, here in Virginia (where I am visiting for the holidays), before moving to New York City.

Those years spent at the Kung Fu school were among the best of my life. I reached advanced ranks and participated in the performance demo team, sometimes spending upwards of 12 hours a week in the kwoon (training hall).

My second home.

Every year when I come back for the holidays, I take my teacher, whom we students call Sifu, to MudHouse, where I treat him to a beautifully green 16-oz unsweetened oatmilk matcha, and we catch up, filling each other in on our lives’ goings-on.

I’ve known this man since I was two. Or should I say, he’s known me since then; my knowing him came later, when I could actually form coherent thoughts and string together sentences.

Where the kwoon was my second home, Sifu was (and still is) a second father.

The man is almost always smiling; his eyes practically disappearing from view, buried somewhere amidst the wide smile lighting up his entire face.

Sometimes his tongue will make an appearance, slipping out between his teeth for a split second in his goofy grin, before retreating back, almost like it was never there. For a long time, it didn’t occur to me just how dragon-like that is.

He will talk it up with anybody and everybody. People stop him in the street to say hi, because he was the one who did so first, who knows how many days, weeks, months, or even years ago.

He is not without the ability to be firm or serious, but even those moments are laced with his innate goodness and kindness.

Always open, always present, always attentive. Possessing an incredible ability to make everyone feel important and seen. Make everyone feel like someone.

It was only during our first annual matcha meet-up that the realization hit me: the laughing smile, the tongue, the physical and mental strength, the unconditionality of openness, and the wisdom…

Sifu is The Laughing Dragon.

He is who I want to be like when I grow up; whose energy, beingness, and unconditional goodness, acceptance, and integrity I would like to embody.

I wonder what kind of dragon I will be. I can only hope to fill his scales.

Thank you for reading.

With love and light, and until tomorrow,

Ele

That’s why, this year, I am setting myself inspolutions; resolutions centered around truly living my life

Inspolutions:

• Take a bookbinding class

• Learn about and implement principles to optimize my gut health

• Take an auto mechanics class

• Become a [solidcore] coach

• Develop greater fluency in Turkish

• Travel more, even if it’s just the next town over

• Prioritize my health over all else

• Learn country line dance

• Continue growing my personal brand and social media presence with authenticity

Things that scare me but that I still intend to do:

• Collect 1000 rejections

• Take more chances

• Go on a solo trip

Habits I look forward to cultivating:

• Drinking more water

• Get more sleep

• Spending less time on electronic devices

• Commit to my daily physical fitness and exercise training

• Sweat vigorously at least once a week

• Dance to my favorite music for at least 5 minutes every day

• Write every day, in addition to morning journaling, even if it never gets published

• Walk 5-10k steps a day

• Read every day

Books I look forward to reading:

• I Deserve This Sh!t by Jordan Tarver

• 101 Essays That Will Change the Way You Think by Brianna Weist

• Butts: A Backstory by Heather Radke

• What If We Get It Right?: Visions of Climate Futures by Ayana Elizabeth Johnson

• If You Can’t Take the Heat: Tales of Food, Feminism, and Fury by Geraldine DeRuiter

• Becoming Supernatural: How Common People are Doing the Uncommon by Dr. Joe Dispenza

• How to Win Friends and Influence People by David Carnegie

Key words for 2026:

• Freedom

• Abundance

• Peace

• Fun

• Play

• Audacity

• Courage

• Joy

• Mindfulness

• Inention

• Authenticity

Things I am leaving in 2025:

• Scarcity mindset

• Overthinking

• Low self-worth

• Shame, judgment, and people pleasing

• Being “realistic”

• Staying small

Things I am taking with me in 2026:

• Daring to take up space

• Building self-trust

• I am the shit

• Genuinely not caring what other people

• Being delusional and dreaming BIG

• Living life for me

What are your inspolutions for 2026?? 👀

With love and light, and until tomorrow,

Ele

Days with nothing but lounging, delicious food, favorite shows and movies, a beautiful day of 65 degrees Fahrenheit (that I refuse to think too deeply about as it would stimulate a negative spiral of thoughts on the climate crisis), which was spent outdoors, Christmas traditions, and cozy times inside, all surrounded by people I love more than anything in the world.

The spell of a Christmas tucked away from the outside world was faintly dissipated yesterday when a dear family friend took us shopping at a mall about an hour’s drive from here.

Aside from the health and environmental considerations of garments, clothing and I have a very interesting relationship. One that correlates pretty closely with those I have with my body image and self-worth which have been a consistent work in progress.

Ever since I can remember, my body (and what I put in and on it) have been a constant point of self-analysis, and criticim.

For the longest time, clothes has been the last thing I would ever care about or spend on. It truly never mattered to me.

Shopping for clothes was always an exhausting and draining endeavor, frequently a stimulant of tears as zippers got stuck, or buttons would pause a breath away from closing. The clothes, so beautiful and seemingly flattering on the hanger, would hang on me, instead, like the skin of a hippo.

But then, yesterday, after finding two successful outfits and getting a few very poigniantly posed questions from my sister, I wonder, was my aversion to investing in beautiful clothing truly because I didn’t care? Or was it just another excuse to play small, blend in, and stay in my comfort zone?

Sweaters, sweatshirts, and leggings, just other things to hide under. The “I don’t care what it looks like as long as it’s comfortable” just another guise to stay just that — comfortable.

I learned what it felt like to have a piece of clothing I loved upon wearing it; that I would not stop talking about and am excited to wear. Because I gave myself permission to see myself wearing something nice.

I deserve good things. I deserve pretty things. Things that are comfortable, and beautiful.

I will still probably have a long period of just throwing things on for ease, comfort, warmth, and safety, which comes with the little to no exposure of my body.

But now, maybe it will be a bit easier to get myself clothes that do me justice, as an act of self-love and an exercise of self-worth, without allowing them to hold any negative power. After all, they are just clothes, not a personal attack.

With love and light, and until tomorrow,

Ele

Being a woman is no romp in the heather. And I, at least in my consideration, have it pretty good. I haven’t given birth (and God knows I do not want to), and my cycle is somewhat forgiving; short in nature, and pain? A gift only present on the first day (if I am lucky).

But today — oh lord almighty — I had my first ever IUD placed.

And I swear, I cannot remember being in this much pain. Ever.

The first four hours were mostly tears. Tears that started before the appointment even began. Followed by what I was told would be some “mild cramping” and “lower back pain.”

Spoiler alert: mild it was not.

But, as I thought about it, I feel like I’ve said that before. Awful stomach bugs, torturous flus that would have me sweating and incapacitated for weeks. And if I’ve said it before, is it still true? Has it been true at all those times?

In my reminiscing, I came to the belief that time alters our perception of pain.

After the pain dissipates, the memory of it fades as well. More and more as time goes on.

Maybe the pain seems like the worst it’s ever been because it’s happening now. Not some phantom whose severity faded with the days and months that passed. An echo whose origin cannot be accurately remembered, no matter how hard you try.

Maybe this is also why women have multiple children; aside from the concoction of biological chemicals playing their role in the mix, the pain exists in memory but eventually enters a universe of “It wasn’t that bad.” But then, luckily, I am not one to know.

Luckily, the pain has somewhat subsided, and sleep will help, I’m sure. But even in pain, my writing finds a home.

Thank you for reading.

With love and light, and until tomorrow,

Ele

During the pandemic, a game called Among Us reached peak popularity. The game’s premise, forgive the mansplanation, is that the players are tasked with fixing the spaceship while there is an Imposter among them whose objective is to kill all the players before they discover their identity.

I love that game.

Lately, though, I’ve been feeling like an imposter a lot, if not all of the time. And by imposter, I simply mean imposter syndrome, not an assignment of elliminating people as they try to fix a spaceship, or anything else for that matter.

I am working with a dear friend of mine who is a psychologist and organizer of the mastermind group I am a part of on “unpacking” my personality to see how I could best show up in my content in alignment with myself, my goals, and the value/service I want to provide others.

A chapter of this journey is determining a potential area of expertise.

Expertise?! Me?! Jesus Christ. A lot of profanity comes to mind.

The cumulative seven hours we spent on my childhood, my trauma, my relationships, goals, desires, fears — absolutely zero problems. Talking about my experience, my education, my criteria in any aspect of my life? Holyyy.

The resistance, the “This is ridiculous,” the negativity, the petulant child have never been as vocal.

Today my assignment was to simply update my Instagram profile to include words like Eco-Wellness Lifestyle Blogger and Influencer in NYC. You’d think the world was ending or I was being forced to sell my soul to the devil of capitalism or something.

I have a total of 220 followers and 20 Substack subscribers. What kind of influencer is that?

But I did it anyway.

The interesting part? The second I hit publish, the chatter stopped. Gone. Immediately.

I’ve had friends and mentors inform me that in one way the imposter syndrome never goes away, for as you level up in life, each level is a bit more challenging than the previous one, meaning you have to be a slightly different version of yourself to overcome it.

But I also understand that my imposter syndrome is a symptom of the self-worth work I have to keep doing.

And I am so grateful for the friends and mentors that show me when the imposter is simply in my head.

Thank you.

With love and light, and until tomorrow,

Ele

I am supposed to be on an airplane, on my way to be with family for the holidays, but the universe had other plans for me tonight.

I took a Lyft because of my heavy luggage, arrived at the airport just under 3 hours early to be safe, and went through TSA, waiting patiently as an officer manhandled my things (who knew that candles still sealed from purchase at a store would be cause for alarm and precise sample swabbing?), only to have my flight get canceled.

I went to one end of the terminal to be told to go to the other for my airline’s help desk, arrived at that help desk to be sent to another one, to find no one there (and wouldn’t be for the following 45 minutes).

Somewhere during that half hour of waiting in line, I had the bright idea of calling the airline. God bless the young woman on the other line who was able to squeeze me into a flight tomorrow. Granted to another city over an hour away from my hometown, but at least it isn’t the 9:30pm flight on Sunday that I was offered on the airline app.

When I got home, the lovely young woman’s eyes at our building's front desk widened. “What happened?!” I then met her, “Oh no, I am so sorry!” to my little story with a calm remark of, “Ah, well, it happens.”

This seemed to surprise her. “Geez. I need to be a better person, because if that happened to me, I would be so pissed right now. I’d be trying to get that plane to come back!” We laughed, and as I went up in the elevator, I reflected on how I handled and reacted to the entire situation.

Of course, the second the flight got canceled, I felt heated. I ran through the airport (twice) trying to find a way to fly out tonight. Honestly, if I were in the past, my mind would be reeling and ranting simply about the expense of having to take a car there and back for no reason.

But at some point in the running, waiting in line, and being on hold, the dust settled a little, and I thought to myself, Thank goodness that it’s just a cancellation, and not something worse. Thank you for protecting me from whatever it was I was supposed to avoid in the sky tonight.

There is a Russian saying my mom would tell me frequently (and still does, actually): whenever faced with monetary loss, she’d say, “Слава Богу что взял деньгами.”

“Thanks be to God that he took money.”

After all, the almighty doth hath the power to take anything. A life. A leg. How lucky am I that I have both? A life and a leg (two ;)).

Though God is not the label I choose to use, any time the whining, complaining, and “How could this happen?!” tried to return, it popped into my head. Thank you.

Some may think it silly to think like this.

Some may believe it stupid to trust that everything is meant to be, and that the cancellation of my flight was, in fact, sparing and protecting me from something else entirely.

But the fact is, it doesn’t even matter if that belief is true. It doesn’t matter if it is naive, silly, delusional, a fantasy, the truth, or fact.

If for nothing else, then for the sake of my psyche, sanity, and outlook on what happened.

I cannot control the weather.

I cannot control the airline.

I cannot control the planes.

I cannot control the cancellations.

I cannot control the man who groped my candles.

So what use is the seething, bitching, and raging at the skies? The only thing that does is make me (and anyone around me, for that matter) utterly miserable. And anger isn’t as pleasant an emotion as we think it is.

I found it in me to even laugh, as I exited the airport through the doors I had just walked into three and a half hours before. After all, how funny is it to just pop into an airport for a visit and go right back to the home you left?

All I could think was, “Well, this was an adventure.”

As I sat in the car retracing the route home, I was flooded with thoughts reframing the situation:

• I have my health, my body, and my life all intact.

• I have the financial bandwidth to accommodate the expenses of getting to and from the airport, no matter how useless, wasteful, or unpleasant doing so was.

• I got some exercise running around the airport.

• I am already all packed, so I don’t have to unpack and repack before tomorrow.

• The girl on the line when I called got me an earlier flight than I expected.

• I got to financially support two people with the car trips I took to and from my house.

• I get to sleep another night in my husband’s arms before I leave him for over a week.

• I still get to see my family, just a little later than the initial plan. Only 22 hours! At least 9 of which would have been spent sleeping regardless.

It was with great pride that I realized that these thoughts, this gratitude I had, were entirely genuine. Not a forced coping mechanism or practice as it was in the past. That’s not to say there wasn’t some need for coaxing these thoughts out, but for the most part, that inner coaching was immediate and unprompted.

In situations like these, it is so easy to give in to the negative cyclical patterns of thought that just won’t shut up. But ultimately, we have power over these situations, at least in regard to our own person. How we think, feel, and react.

What was a time you were faced with unpleasant circumstances and somehow altered them in your eyes?

With love and light, and until tomorrow,

Ele

I recently received feedback from a dear family member saying they could tell when, on another platform, I would post just to post, rather than from genuine inspiration. An invaluable piece of feedback, I think.

I do believe in not posting for the sake of posting, or speaking for the sake of speaking, even though I sometimes slip. I am an advocate for intentionality and mindfulness in all things; the world has enough static noise filling it as it is.

So it begged the question similar to the cliche:

If you don’t have anything to say, should you say anything at all?

The beauty of writing, as opposed to some of those other mediums, is that sometimes, even when you initially have nothing to say, once you begin to create and write, the “something” comes.

I am learning to give myself permission to create junk. Junk, crap, garbage, call it what you will, but to not stop creating. If I block this flow now with a perfectionistic assessment of what I make, stagnation will fester once again, and nothing, good, bad, wonderful, or demonic will be created.

Some posts will be better than others. Many will be masterpieces, and many won’t be good.

Some should maybe not see the light of day.

But I like sharing those too; the messy, the imperfect.

It’s kind of cool for someone to pour their soul out in front of strangers, and find the vulnerability within themselves to go ‘I made this. I think it sucks, but I want to share it with you, too. I am letting you in. Into the messy, the process, the growth, the peaks, the valleys, and the rawness of human creation. I am letting you see all of it.’

What a privilege it is to see the drafts along with the publications.

With love and light, and until tomorrow,

Ele