My Chaotic Realm

I’m not starting 2026 with a manifesto. No word of the year. No demand that I become sharper, faster, or more impressive by spring. No declaration of the goals that I “must” do, then accounting for them (done or not). I’m starting the year the way I start most things now: by listening. Listening to my body, to the whispers on the wind, and to the voices in my mind. The last few years taught me that reinvention isn’t loud. It’s patient. You don’t burn your old life down—you compost it. You let what’s been survive long enough to feed what comes next. I’ve lived so many versions of myself. Some were polished. Some were exhausted. Some were trying very hard to fit inside systems that never fit back. Some of them almost died. Yet, all of them belonged. All of them brought me here.  Eventually, you can read more about those versions in my book (when I publish!). This year, I’m interested in sustainability—not as a slogan, but as a bodily truth. The kind that asks:  What do I want ...

I entered 2025 carrying more than I admitted. Stress I had normalized. Pain I had minimized. Stories about myself that no longer fit—but hadn’t yet been set down.   This was not the year everything changed. This was the year I changed how I listened . I learned that my body was not betraying me; it was telling the truth long before my mouth could.   I stopped asking What is wrong with me? and began asking What do I need to stay whole? I did not escape the systems that exhaust me, but I built buffers, boundaries, and language. I practiced choosing enough over everything . I honored my creativity not as output, but as remembrance — through essays, vignettes, journaling-as-ritual, and the slow, cosmic redrawing of my life’s Etch-a-Sketch.   I reclaimed nourishment: food as care, rest as necessary, ritual as grounding. I marked time not just by tasks completed, but by what I built with my hands and what I consecrated with intention. I allowed myself to be seen. I let s...