1. Evening Thunderstorms - People always ask me, “how can you withstand the Florida humidity?!” For starters, there is the option to stay inside. The summers here can get pretty wicked, but nothing beats going from sunshine all day to a tropical thunderstorm at night with the candles lit and a good book!

2. Crescent City: A House of Sky and Breath - Speaking of books… Y’ALL… I’m on a mission to finish the Sarah J. Maas multiverse by October 27th when ACOTAR 6 comes out. If you have not read the Crescent City series or you are stuck, I 10/10 recommend picking these books up. The second CC book has started off slower than I anticipated, but I am determined to push through.Lately, when I finish a book on my Kindle, I will go buy the hardback as a trophy (shoutout to my sister for the idea). I love BookTok also! Give me a lil follow and let’s geek out together on TikTok.

   

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3. Skin Food - I’m not sure if you have been to Colorado recently, but it is DRY. I went to my friend’s bridal shower in Lone Tree, CO coming on 3 weeks ago, and my skin (including my eyelids) have been extremely dry ever since. If you’re someone who struggles with dry skin on the reg I FEEL FOR YOU. My friend put me on Weleda Skin Food Moisturizer and it has changed the game! It can double as a primer also :) I will take any and all suggestions or hacks to help with this issue!

   

4. Azelaic Acid - Along with dry skin, I have also been someone who struggles with hormonal acne historically. As someone who is sniffing 30, I wish someone would have told me about Azelaic Acid for acne treatment a decade ago. This in combination with a salicylic acid cleanser has completely transformed my skin. Ask your dermatologist about it!

5. Perfect Bridal Shower Dress - I have never gotten so many compliments on a dress let alone one that is Pop, Lock, and Droppable. The SNDYS brand can be hit or miss on my 5’10” 175 lbs. stature, but the Jaymes Mini Dress did not disappoint.

   

6. Tofu (hear me out) - There are seasons I go through where certain foods freak me out. Typically, it’s eggs. I get to thinking about the concept of an egg too hard, and I will go weeks without them. Now, it’s chicken’s turn. I have had quite the meat aversion in general (no I am not pregnant). I love a challenge in the kitchen, and have turned to tofu as my main protein source. NOT TOO SHABBY. Dont knock it until you try it. I’m happy to share my recipes as well! Comment below.

7. Lifting Weights Again - I get it. Working out can be one of many things. Boring, hard, exciting, time consuming, exhilarating, uplifting, etc. I still identify as an athlete and there are times where I can’t seem to get myself to the gym. This is debilitating both physically and mentally. My trainer told me, “if you aren’t feeling the gym, just get your steps in. Build some momentum by keeping that one promise to yourself and you’ll get back into it.” By golly, it worked. After a week of getting my steps in everyday, I was ready to get back to lifting. INSTANT mood boost this week. Alexa Rae you’re amazing!

   

8. Silk Pillowcases - Back in March, I went from my natural dark brown to blonde (no I am not manic). I’ve been absolutely loving it! Switching to Quince silk pillowcases has kept my hair shiny, and not to mention how great it is for the skin.

9. Bedtime Rotation - As a dreamer, it is like fighting a kid off red dye #40 to get me to go to sleep. My brain wants to keep going and dreaming as long as it can. This week, the combination of ashwagandha and magnesium glycinate at night has shut that little kid up and allowed me to get some amazing sleep.

10. Pest Control - Barbie Dreamland (this is what we call our apartment) had a crisis this week. Have you ever seen/heard of a PALMETTO BUG? If you haven’t consider yourself lucky. On Monday, Madeleine discovered one being a squatter in our living room. She couldn’t capture and execute it before going to work. She was so sweet and she lined books up against the opening under my door so that it wouldn’t get into my room. We immediately put in a request to Orkin who took care of the issue. Very very grateful for pest control this week.

Hope you enjoyed! I’m curious… what are you loving this week and what has brought you some joy?

♡ Syd

I was mid spiral, feeling like my brain had nine tabs open with the spinning thinking wheel of doom. I told myself, “finish the thought before you start the next one.” It felt almost impossible. Like asking a toddler to walk in a straight line. My mind wanted to skip ahead, catastrophize, then skip ahead again. Slowing it down to one complete sentence at a time was the hardest thing all week.

I've been more anxious than usual for no real reason. Things are genuinely going really well. I’m healthy. My family is healthy. I have great friends. A great job. Nothing's on fire. I still do gratitude every night, still pray, still go through the motions I know are supposed to help. I've been more anxious anyway. That disconnect (doing the "right" things and still feeling off) is what sent me looking for the actual problem… the speed.

I have not been pausing. Not once have I intentionally, consciously pumped the breaks.

The power of pausing is a practice of its own.

We treat stillness like a reward you get after you've earned it. It’s something that happens once the to-do list is empty (it's never empty) or once the anxiety has already won and you're forced to stop because your body gave out first. That's collapse wearing a comfy PJ set. Actual rest, the one that resets you, has to be a decision you make on purpose before you're desperate for it.

That decision is a skill. A muscle. Which means it can atrophy exactly like every other muscle does. I hadn't used mine in weeks, and I could feel it. Pulling yourself out of a doom spiral once it's already spinning is the heaviest possible lift. It's trying to build the muscle while only ever doing your one rep max… No wonder it wasn't working.

I started smaller. Not "meditate for twenty minutes," which was NEVER going to happen. Not with this hyperactive brain. Just telling myself to think one full sentence before letting the next one crowd in. Over and over again.

After some success, I got curious about where else this applies because I don't think the pause is only useful when you're spiraling. What if it's a habit you build in the calm moments so it's actually there when you need it in the hard ones?

Before you respond to something that stung, in a text or in person, what happens if you wait in 3-5 seconds of intentional calm instead of firing back?

Before you walk into a meeting already rehearsing your defense, what happens if you take one breath and actually hear the first sentence someone says?

Before you order your coffee rapid fire, what happens if you look at the person handing it to you to show them you actually see them?

None of these costs a significant amount of time or energy. None of them require a retreat, a new app, or 45 minutes you don't have. They cost two or three seconds and a decision to not immediately move on to the next thing.

I've noticed something else from the anxiety piece. The moments I actually paused for are the ones I can still call up in detail months later. I can recall all the specifics down to minute detail. The moments I flew through blur into one long stretch I can't tell apart from the week before it.

Flying through a day might feel like it’s save you time, but you’re sacrificing moments that can be made it into memory.

Resistance is the word I keep landing on. Before I knew it speed became the default setting. Every time I pause on purpose, I'm rewiring those pathways.

I don't have this figured out quite yet. What I’ve seen so far are the days I paused, just for a second, to finish a thought before starting the next one, were the days that felt less like I was being dragged through them. There’s true power in a pause, and, “with great power comes great responsibility.” ;)

♡ Syd

I’m three years into my Florida residency, and people have kept moving down ever since. It started with my roommate in KC. When it got down to the final weeks before I moved, she decided to make the leap too. We started off in a one bedroom, one bathroom, one closet. Somehow it became some of the funniest memories I’ve created here. We made it feel like college again, just with stable jobs and money this time (a genuine glow up, if I do say so myself).

From there, the recruiting kept going without me even trying. Our friend Madeleine visited a few times, fell in love with it, and moved down. She’s been my roommate for the last two years, ever since Kate (my first roomie) moved in with her now-husband Maxx. Also from Kansas. He followed Madeleine down six months later. Then Alexa and Jordan, who’d been best friends with Madeleine for years, visited, saw the life we’d built, and brought their baby, G, down too.

It would be untrue, and a little conceited, to say this was all on me. I took the first jump. I just got lucky enough to have people who wanted to jump with me. I’m a saleswoman at heart. The real pitch, though, was never me. Nobody moves for the weather alone. They move because someone they love is already there, texting them about it.

Moving is hard on its own. A new apartment. A new grocery store. A new commute. A new community. Building all of that into a place that actually feels like yours takes time. It’s a lot easier when the people around you are like-minded. We hear our parents say, “you are who you hang around.” When you’re somewhere new, still figuring out your next move, that saying hits different. You’re extra vulnerable to picking up whoever’s habits, attitudes, and mindset are closest to you.

That’s why I’m so lucky for this MLM I’ve created, and I encourage you to create your own. Without Madeleine, we wouldn’t have Alexa. Without Kate, we wouldn’t have Maxx. They were integral in making this unfamiliar place feel familiar, and eventually, like home.

Start recruiting.

♡ Syd

A few years ago, when I was job hunting, I prayed that I’d get every single job I applied to that night. Every one of them, no exceptions. Looking back, the best job I could have asked for wasn’t even posted yet. It showed up months later completely out of nowhere. Asking God for exact outcomes can start to feel less like prayer and more like a demand. Praying for wisdom instead, or patience, or love, is a lot harder to do.

Falling asleep mid-prayer happens more than I’d like to admit. Most nights I don’t make it to amen. My brain needs to stay in prayer mode just to calm down enough to sleep in the first place. The second I actually finish, it clocks back in: to-do lists, random errands, whatever intrusive thought decided to show up that night. Half finished has become the only version that works.

Every one of these moments used to come with a scorecard attached, and I’d walk away thinking I’d failed the test of faithfulness. I used to think that meant I was doing it wrong. Like there was a cleaner version of prayer out there, and I just hadn’t found it yet.

There’s also the version of prayer that only shows up when you need something. That one can feel the ickiest if I’m honest. It felt like when you only text someone when you want something from them. However, if you’re not praying regularly I actually think this is a fine place to start. Letting the need you’re after be the reason you finally start talking to God isn’t the failure people make it out to be. If urgency is the only reason you ever show up that’s one thing, but if it’s the catalyst for you to keep coming back… I’m all for it.

“Badly” stopped feeling like failing once I started adding gratitude in every single day. Not the five-things-list-before-bed kind. Just noticing. Like the times I wouldn’t hit a red light when I was already running late. “Thank you, God” after a good meal with a friend, for the friendship and for being able to afford the meal in the first place. “Thank you for a job that pays the bills I’m allowed to stress about, and for things still being okay.” Badly is still praying. God isn’t grading form.

Praying badly, according to anyone including yourself, really isn’t bad. Praying regardless is always a good place to be. It means you believe someone’s actually there, watching over you, working things out in your favor. Believing is usually the hardest part. Go ahead and pray badly for a while, until you get the hang of your relationship with Him.

♡ Syd

My coach finally called it. I got into the huddle antsy, ready for a play, a read… something to actually stop the beating the other team was giving us.

“Their outside hitter always hits cross.”

That was it. That was the strategy.

I was instantly pissed. No shit she hits cross, she’d been doing it the entire game. What else were we supposed to do about it right now? So the first thing out of my mouth, dripping in sarcasm, was: “OMG. No way. Really?”

His face went neutral. He kept talking. I didn’t hear a word of it because I was too busy being mad at the situation. From a young age, I was ultra competitive. We broke the huddle, walked back onto the court, and the ref whistled for a sub. I sat the bench for the next five points.

He told me to stop being such an asshole. He was right.

I was trying to get to the point. What he needed from me was to listen and to lead by example.

This is a common example of where wittiness isn’t necessarily wrong.The wittiness isn’t the problem. It’s knowing where to aim it and the timing of it to make it land.

I come by it honestly. My dad’s side of the family is funny in the fast, sharp, say-it-before-you-think-about-it way. The second anyone gets a boyfriend or girlfriend, it’s open season. My uncle once gave my little sister an empty frame for Christmas that just said LOVE with a heart on it because she’d gotten her first boyfriend in eighth grade. She was mortified. We were all howling.

There’s a running joke that I have zero patience, so I just take over and do things myself. Whenever I’m visibly trying to be patient about something, someone will say “oh, look at you being so patient” and everyone laughs, including me. It’s not a dig. It’s my family looking at exactly what I need to work on and telling me they love me anyway.

Some people outside the family have taken that literally over the years. Heard the joke, missed the love underneath it, and walked away thinking we don’t actually like each other. Which, fair, if you don’t have the context. When sarcasm is aimed in the right direction, with the intention to connect with someone and make them feel seen, it stops being an insult. It becomes proof that someone paid close enough attention to know exactly where to land the joke.

So no, the wit isn’t the enemy. My aim is.

Case in point, more recently and much lower stakes: I was at a coffee shop with my sister and a friend. We got our coffees, checked the patio, no open seats. I said, “let’s go to the front.”

My sister asked if there was seating up there.

“No,” I said. “Why else would I say let’s go to the front and sit down if there wasn’t seating up there.” (Truly a masterclass in tone.)

She just said, “oh, okay.” A beat of silence. Then we moved on to whatever we were talking about before.

Nobody got benched for that one. But it’s the same reflex, just with lower stakes. I wasn’t nervous, there was no adrenaline, no rival on a run. I was just talking to one of the closest people to me and I stopped bothering to think before I opened my mouth. I don’t get sloppy with strangers. I get sloppy with the people who’d forgive me for it.

Where I’ve actually gotten better is work. I run meetings and trainings, and there’s always a moment where someone asks a question about something I just explained. Not because they’re not smart, they’re just not always tracking the same thread I am. My old instinct is the same one from that huddle: a fast, sarcastic clapback that gets me nowhere except feeling superior for four seconds.

Now I catch it. I take a second, actually think about where they’re coming from, and answer it in a way that means I won’t have to answer it again. Nine times out of ten they just say “oh, okay” and we move on. Same two words as the coffee shop. Just this time I actually thought about them before I said anything.

Wit and sarcasm, aimed well, are a real form of emotional intelligence. You’re reading a room fast enough to catch a callback, a reference, a moment, and turning it into something that makes someone laugh. That’s a skill. I used to think of mine as a release valve, something I pulled when I was frustrated or wanted the last word. These days I’d rather use it to make someone feel seen than to win whatever argument I’m annoyed about in the moment.

I’m not trying to retire the wit. I like it too much, and honestly, it’s one of my favorite things about my family. I’m just done letting it fire before I’ve decided who deserves it.

♡ Syd

There was a line of evergreens between our house and the neighbors’. One of them had an opening in the branches big enough for a kid seven or younger to disappear into.

When we stepped beneath the trees, it was a restaurant some days. A military fort on others. Once in a while, the passage to Narnia.

Nobody knew which one it was going to be until we got there. None of it was manufactured for an audience.

There’s minimal proof of this magical dimension. If there are any pictures of it, they’re buried in a box somewhere, not circling the internet for anyone to find. All we have are the memories of it and the feeling it gave us.

We had no idea what a camera was even for yet, not in the way we do now. Whether it looked good, whether anyone else would think it was cool, none of that crossed our minds. We were each other’s audience, and the only one that mattered.

There was no other option back then. Now there’s times where you re-stage the laugh because the first one didn’t look right on camera, or you wait to eat until the photo’s taken (guilty), or you do the whole thing twice, once for you and once for the version of it you’ll post. There’s an audience on the other side of a screen for anyone who wants one. We started tailoring our activities, hobbies, and joys for that audience instead of for ourselves.

I find myself soul searching for the moments that have brought me raw, unfiltered joy. That started way back before I could even spell my name.

circa 2002

Dad built a treehouse over several weeks, working on it after we were sent to bed or while we were at school, so none of us actually saw it being built. There weren’t any permits or plans taped to the fridge. No one filming the reveal. For a kid, it seemed that one day it was suddenly finished, like it had been growing alongside the trees the whole time. As far as we were concerned, it was the best treehouse to ever exist.

The backyard turned into whatever we wanted it to be. An obstacle course that ran through every part of it, the slide, crawling through the small spaces, and the finish line was a 40-yard sprint to the hose. The relays somehow always ended in a tie because nobody wanted to be the one who lost. If we did lose, we’d throw a fit until the next day when we’d get our redemption. We learned to pump our own legs on the swing, falling off more times than I’d like to admit , before it all clicked. I’m glad there isn’t a reel of me learning how to swing out there. I just learned how to swing, and it was done without being put on public display.

Everyone has one of these. A place or a moment that was ordinary to anyone walking by and completely sacred to you.

We had Perler beads spread across the kitchen table for hours, making ornaments, gifts, or new bedroom decor. Baking with Mom, flour everywhere, “helping” in the way a six-year-old helps.

Some weeks, one of us got to plan dinner. We would write out the whole menu in a Word document, print it, take it to the store with Mom and pick every ingredient ourselves. Then cook it and serve it to the family like they’d had their reservation for months.

These moments didn’t take much money to pull off either, and that might be the part I’m most grateful for now. Nobody handed us a finished product and said, “have fun.” We had to build it ourselves, which meant we got good at creating anything from our own imaginations. We grew up pretty traditional, middle class. There wasn’t a lot left over for the newest electronics or rooms full of toys. What we had was more than enough: supplies, imagination, and the space to make anything we wanted come to life.

Somewhere in your own childhood there’s probably a version of this. Something you did on repeat because you loved it. Not because it would get a lot of attention. See if you can still name it.

As far as my siblings and I? All of us love to cook now. All of us love to host. All of us have built our lives from the dream life that once only lived in our imaginations.

I’m aware of the irony of writing that to an audience (you’re on the other side of a screen right now). But there’s a difference between making something because you love making it, and making something because you’re picturing the attention you’ll get before you’ve even started.

Little Syd didn’t create her perfect dinner menu because she wanted the whole family to tell her how good it was and how impressed they were with her. She did it because she loved cooking with her mom and caring for others. That’s the part I’m trying to get back to.

The Perler beads, the dinner menus, the obstacle courses created in the treehouse. All of it was impressive to me because they were things I loved doing. It didn’t need to be trendy or the most interesting thing anyone had ever seen. It didn’t need an audience to be worth doing.

Right now, everyone online is trying to look like everyone else online. Let yourself love whatever you’re doing enough to be the reason you do it in the first place. The things that uniquely bring you joy are worth sharing.

♡ Syd

A few years ago I would’ve called this a lot of trouble. Now I call it the whole point.

We’ve built a culture that treats routine like the achievement and intentional connection like a quarterly deliverable. Wake up, cold plunge, supplement stack, gym, protein target, sleep score. All of it optimized, none of it optional, and somewhere in there “seeing people” got filed under if I have time. We talk about our mornings like they’re under contract. The people who actually live the longest aren’t the ones with the most disciplined routine. They’re the ones who keep breaking it for each other.

That’s not a vibe. It’s Blue Zones research, and it’s more specific than the wine-and-olive-oil headlines let on.

Dan Buettner’s team studied the five regions in the world where people routinely live past 100, and when researchers dug into what those places actually had in common, connection wasn’t one item on a longer list. It showed up three separate times under three different names: belonging to a faith community, putting family first, maintaining a close social circle. Diet and sleep are in there too, and they matter. But out of nine habits, only one got repeated three times. Three of the nine “Power 9” habits are just social connection wearing different outfits. In Okinawa they call it a moai, a group of people who commit to each other for life, showing up on ordinary Tuesdays with no occasion required.

The data behind it isn’t soft. One meta-analysis followed over 300,000 people and found that those with strong social relationships were 50% more likely to survive over the study period than those without. Researchers said the effect was as strong as quitting smoking or treating high blood pressure. A separate nine-year study found that people who lacked social and community ties were two to three times more likely to die than those who stayed connected. Loneliness isn’t just an emotional weather pattern. It’s a measurable mortality risk. (I did not expect to be citing mortality statistics in an essay about a same-day flight to Denver, but here we are.)

When I rearrange my week for someone, I'm not interrupting my health plan. I'm finally running the one part of it that's actually proven to work.

I think about this every time I catch myself protecting a routine like it’s sacred. The same supplements, the same 9pm wind-down, the same rotation of shows, on repeat because it feels like control. Your nervous system doesn’t know the difference between a calm morning and a numb one. It can’t tell you’re “optimizing” when what you’re actually doing is avoiding the version of connection that requires effort, planning, or a flight number. The chemistry we’re all chasing, the calm, the reset, the feeling of being okay, doesn’t come from a stack of pills timed perfectly to sunrise. It comes from a person who flew somewhere to see your face for four hours.

I used to think of “the village” as a nice idea. Now I think of it as a return on investment, and not a metaphorical one. The people you rearrange your life for are the actual longevity plan. Everything else is the in-between.

This doesn’t mean burning yourself out saying yes to everything, and this isn’t a whole cinematic moment, either. That’s a different problem, and a real one. This is about which inconveniences you’re willing to call worth it. There’s a difference between a life that’s overbooked and a life that’s oriented around your people, and the second one is the one the research keeps pointing back to. You can tell them apart by how you feel afterward. Overbooked drains you. Showing up for someone, even at a bad hour, tends to fill something back in.

It’s rarely the marathon finish line or the flight across the country. It’s more often the smaller decision, made repeatedly, to let someone interrupt your plans. Answering the call. Staying an extra hour. Saying yes to the trip that doesn’t make sense on paper. Every one of those is a deposit. You don’t see the return right away. You see it decades from now, in whether or not you’re still standing in a hospital room together, or whether or not you made it to 100 with people who actually know you.

We’ve turned rest into a personality and connection into a scheduling conflict. I’d rather be the person whose calendar looks slightly chaotic because I keep choosing people over the plan. If the Blue Zones data is right, it’s not even a sacrifice. It’s the strategy.

♡ Syd

If you want to read up on Blue Zones for yourself:
Sources

1. Blue Zones Institute — Research Evidence, bluezones.com/blue-zones-institute-research-evidence

2. Holt-Lunstad et al., meta-analysis of 148 studies (308,849 participants) on social relationships and mortality risk, cited via welzo.com/blogs/longevity/blue-zones-longevity

3. Berkman et al., 9-year follow-up study on social/community ties and mortality, cited via Kreouzi, Theodorakis & Constantinou (2024), American Journal of Lifestyle Medicine, journals.sagepub.com/doi/10.1177/15598276221118494

There was a version of this prayer I could’ve said in my sleep. Almost a year of nights, same words, asking God to get me ready for my husband. I knew it cold.

Then one night I didn’t say it. The next night I didn’t either, and I noticed I felt relieved, which is a strange thing to feel about giving up on someone you haven’t met yet.

That’s the part of faith I never hear anyone cop to. Sometimes it isn’t belief that keeps you praying. It’s habit. And when the habit finally breaks, you find out how little belief was actually holding it up.

I should back up, because the prayer itself is the whole point. I wasn’t asking God to bring him. I didn’t ask for a sign, a name, a face across a room. I asked God to keep preparing me. To have me ready when His timing was right, and to make it all click then instead of now. Which is a very mature thing to pray while secretly meaning now. (I meant now. I always meant now.) I’d say it at night, or in the middle of some event I wished I had a person to share it with, politely requesting a patience I did not actually want granted.

For a while it didn’t feel like anything. No chills, no clarity, no sense that anything on the other end was receiving. I said what I needed to say, I sat there, then went on with my day like I’d just replied to a text. I used to think that meant I was doing it wrong.

The thing about faith is that most of it looks exactly like that. Not the mountaintop. Not the testimony you cry through. Just the same sentence, most nights, into a quiet that doesn’t answer back.

The version we get sold is a highlight reel. Someone prayed, and then the job came. Someone believed, and then the diagnosis reversed. Someone trusted, and the door opened. I love those stories. I’ve written one of them. They’re the returns, though. We rarely highlight the years of contributions.

So around month ten, I quit.

Not dramatically. I just decided it wasn’t going to happen for me and started rearranging my life around that. I’ll be the fun aunt. Eventually the rich aunt. I doubted myself, and I’ll say the part you’re not supposed to say in a faith essay: I doubted God. I didn’t just lose the feeling. I gave up the wanting. I called it being realistic. It was really just being tired of asking for something that never came.

Here’s the question I keep circling. If I stopped feeling it, stopped believing it, and gave up on the whole thing, was any of that year even faith?

I’ve decided it was, and that the ugly, given-up middle is the only part that counts.

Feelings are the least reliable input I have. I’ve felt certain about people who left, felt called toward things that went nowhere, felt nothing in rooms where I now know something was happening. If I only counted the times I felt it, I’d have almost nothing on the books.

Doubt gets treated like a defect, the thing you confess and repent for. I’ve never met a person with real faith who didn’t have real doubt underneath it. The ones who scare me are the ones with no questions. That’s not conviction. That’s a position nobody’s ever stress-tested.

It got answered. Just not the way I was refreshing for. It turned out to be someone who’d been my friend for years, someone I never saw coming, because I was too busy scanning the horizon for a stranger. It didn’t click until I’d stopped waiting and started doing the work on me. The mirror stuff. The unglamorous, nobody-claps-for-it work of getting my own heart ready.

Which is when I finally caught the thing I’d been too annoyed to see.

The way you pray decides where you look. If I’d prayed bring me my husband, I’d have spent that whole year as a scanner, auditing every man in every room for the part, treating my life like a casting call. Instead I prayed prepare me, and without meaning to, that pointed the search inward. I wasn’t hunting for him. I was working on the parts of me that would’ve made me hard to build a life with. My habits. My fear. The stuff I’d have brought into it and blamed on him later.

The work did something I didn’t see coming. It taught me to tell the difference between a voice worth listening to and noise. “Sydney doesn’t know how to date.” “Her standards are too high.” That one usually came from people who called themselves friends. Then the other genre, from the guys: “I can give you whatever you want.” “I have a nice car.” I knew every one was a lie, and not because I was being stubborn. The praying had gotten me to actually know myself. You can’t sell someone a story about who they are once they’ve done the work of finding out firsthand. The standards weren’t too high. They were finally accurate.

The trickiest noise, though, wasn’t coming from them. It was coming from me.

When you want something badly enough, you start begging God for signs, and a sign is really just a demand with better manners. Show me. Point him out. Confirm it so I can stop wondering. But a standing order for signs is the easiest way to talk yourself down the wrong road. You start reading meaning into everything, and not all of it is a God thing. Some of it is just you, wanting, dressed up as guidance. (The enemy doesn’t need much. He mostly needs you impatient.) Tuning out the friends and the guys with the nice cars turned out to be the same skill as learning to stop demanding signs. Both are just noise. The work is what let me hear past all of it.

Praying to be prepared doesn’t hand you a map. It points your soul in the direction it was built to go, then lets you walk without a running list of signs to misread. When you finally land where you were made to be, you don’t need it confirmed. You can feel it. Your soul goes quiet in the good way.

I thought I was praying for patience. I was actually praying for a redirect.

The quiet year wasn’t God saying no. It was God doing exactly what I asked, and me calling it nothing.

Here’s the part I didn’t expect. The man I ended up with, Dylan, isn’t just someone I can live with. He’s a better partner to me than anyone I would’ve cast back in scanner mode, when I was shopping for a type. I can only see that because of the work. The version of me from month ten would’ve looked right past him. Or worse, gotten him and not known what she had, because she hadn’t built the thing that lets you love a person in the specific way they actually need. You don’t get handed that. You build it before they show up, usually without realizing that’s what you’re doing.

That’s what searching can’t give you. Searching can find you a person. It can’t make you into someone who knows what to do with one. When you’re where God made you to be, with the person He made you for, your soul is at peace in a way that has nothing to do with butterflies. It’s quieter than that. I wouldn’t have recognized the feeling if I’d spent that year hunting, because I’d have been too busy looking to notice I’d already arrived.

The prayer worked. I just didn’t recognize it, because the answer showed up as preparation instead of arrival, and nobody sends a notification for that.

I still say some version of it most nights. Same quiet, most of the time.

I just don’t assume the quiet means nothing anymore.

♡ Syd

Not a sad story. Just an honest one. It got me thinking about a part of life that usually came easy to me that I found more difficult when I packed up my life and moved to a state where I knew approximately no one:

Nobody hands you a village in your late 20s. You build it. One awkward coffee at a time.

The village I had

Growing up in Kansas, community was just... there. It came with the territory. Family down the road. Friends I’d known since we were losing teeth. The church that watched me grow up. People who knew my parents, my siblings, my whole story before I could tell it myself. Even in college, I could tell someone where I was from and we’d instantly have common ground.

I never truly had to build any of that. It was handed to me, the way it’s handed to most of us. And like most handed things, I didn’t clock its value until I left it behind.

You don’t notice infrastructure until you’re standing somewhere it doesn’t exist. Roads, plumbing, people who’d notice if you disappeared for a week. Same category, honestly.

The second job nobody posted

Then I moved to Florida, and I learned what adult friendship actually costs.

Making friends as a kid was passive income. You showed up to school, to practice, to the neighborhood, and friendship just accrued. No effort required beyond existing in the same room repeatedly.

Making friends at 29 is a second job. There’s networking. There are cold intros. There are first hangouts that feel suspiciously like interviews. (So... what do you do for fun? Do you see yourself staying in the area long-term?) There’s follow-up. There’s the vulnerability of double-texting someone you’ve hung out with twice. There’s rejection, the plans that never materialize, the “we should totally do this again!” that both of you know is a pleasantry.

Here’s the part that stings: you’re doing all this labor at the exact age when everyone else’s village is already full. People in their late 20s have their people. Their group chats are established. Their traditions are set. You’re not just applying for the job. You’re applying for a position that technically isn’t open.

Chosen costs more. Chosen means more.

When I finally got comfortable in my new city, I started to resent this. Why does something that used to be free suddenly cost so much?

But I’ve started thinking about it differently. A handed village is inherited wealth. Wonderful, grateful for it, didn’t earn a dime of it. A chosen village is a portfolio you built position by position, and you know exactly why every single person is in it.

The friends I’ve made here didn’t end up in my life by geography or obligation or because our moms were friends. They’re here because one of us was brave enough to initiate, and the other one said yes, and then we both kept saying yes until it stopped feeling like effort and started feeling like home.

That’s not a lesser village. That might be the more honest one.

Gabi is proof. We met through work, but barely… we’re in a field where everyone runs their territory solo, and we’re not even in the same division. She’s in sales, I’m in consulting. Add in the fact that we live almost an hour apart, and there is nothing convenient about this friendship. No shared office, no shared neighborhood, no built-in reason to see each other. It exists purely because we both keep choosing it. The first time we hung out, it felt like talking to a friend who already knew everything about me. I knew immediately this was the kind of friendship worth throwing more energy at. So we did! The next hangout, we brought members of our already-established groups. And even though we’re both extremely busy and love to be anywhere but home, we still reply to each other’s stories and send the occasional “I miss you! Just wanted you to know” text.

What feels like a lot of effort in the beginning slowly becomes second nature. And then one day it’s just another person in your corner.

What it actually took

Not a strategy. Not a hack. Just a few things I had to get over:

Being the initiator, over and over, without keeping score of who reached out last. Saying yes to invitations I was tired for. Going to things alone, which I used to think was mortifying and now think is a superpower. Letting the awkward season be awkward instead of taking it as evidence that I don’t belong here.

Also, accepting the timeline. A handed village took 25 years to build around me. I’ve been in Florida for three years. The math was never going to be instant.

The return on all of it

I still miss the village that raised me. That’s not going anywhere, and I don’t want it to.

But there’s a special pride in looking around at the people in your life and knowing that every single one of them is there on purpose. Nobody assigned them to you. You found each other in the middle of busy, chaotic, adult lives, and you both decided it was worth the work.

The handed village is a gift. The chosen one is proof.

Proof that you can land somewhere with nothing and build belonging out of awkward coffees and brave double-texts. Proof that home was never really a zip code.

It’s just people who keep saying yes to you. And you, keeping the nerve to keep asking.

♡ Syd

Tell me: are you living in a handed village or a chosen one? Hit reply, I read everything.

I’ve seen a lot of friendships fall apart not because someone did something wrong, but because someone changed. Got a new job. Moved. Started therapy. Found a new hobby. Came out the other side of something hard looking a little different than before, and the people around them couldn’t figure out what to do with a version of their friend they didn’t recognize. So instead of getting curious, they got weird about it. (That’s not losing a friend. That’s just losing a grip on someone you were never actually letting be a full person.)

The friendships that last are not the ones that stay the same. They’re the ones that make room for the new.

Making room sounds like a simple concept. It isn’t. It means checking your expectations and ego at the door. It means not needing someone to stay exactly who they are right now so that you can feel comfortable with who you are. It means asking questions instead of projecting. It means celebrating when someone evolves, even when it’s uncomfortable, even when it makes you feel like you’re getting left behind, even when their growth subtly points a finger at the places you haven’t moved yet.

Here’s what we talk about enough. When you create space for someone to be fully themselves, they do the same for you. It’s one of the best trades in existence. You stop performing friendship and you start actually being in it. You stop showing up as the version of yourself that everyone expects and you start showing up as whoever you are right now. This is when you can really know someone. Not the curated, comfortable version of them. The real one. The one who is figuring things out in real time, just like you.

You can only love someone through every change if you make room for every part of them.

Because you know who they actually are. You’ve seen the full picture, not just the highlight reel.

I have a friend I’ve known since I was 18. We were college roommates. She is not the same woman she was then. Neither am I. The person I met and the person I know now are completely different, and I’ve had the privilege of watching everything in between.

I have a friend I’ve known since I was 7. She is now a mother, a wife, a business owner. She is not the same 7-year-old girl I grew up with. Not even close. And that is the whole point.

The friendships I value most are with women I get to know in every phase. The marriage. The motherhood. The confidence that finally kicks in. The reinvention nobody saw coming. The heartbreak that changes how someone moves through the world. The season where they lose themselves, and the one where I get to watch them find whoever comes next. We love each other through the space and the silence. Some years we talk every day. Some years life gets loud. The friendship doesn’t disappear. It just breathes differently.

This phase of life, right before the next big chapter, is a privilege if you let it be. You start to see clearly. You find out which friendships have room to grow and which ones only had room for who you used to be. You find out what kind of friend is for you, what kind of friend isn’t, and the kind of friend you want to be.

♡ Syd

I don’t mean that in a bad way. People genuinely mean well when they project their complicated feelings about aging onto you at get togethers and in the comments of your birthday posts. But at some point in your mid-twenties, everyone around you starts doing math on your life that you didn’t ask for. Are you where you thought you’d be? Do you have the job? The relationship? The savings account that doesn’t make you want to close the app immediately?

Here’s how I think of it: we have only been adults for ten years. Ten. If adulthood were a career, we’d still be figuring out the unwritten rules and wondering why nobody covered them during orientation.

Your 20s are, and I say this with full love, baby adult years. You’re running on a combination of ambition and anxiety and very little of what anyone would call actual experience. You’re making decisions with maybe 10% of the information you’ll eventually have. And somehow we’re all supposed to have it wrapped up before the clock hits midnight on our 30th birthday.

I’m not buying it.

I turn 30 in February. Instead of feeling behind, I’ve started thinking about this last year of my 20s as three things at once: a celebration of what I’ve built, a funeral for the parts of myself that give me the ick, and the foundation for everything that comes next.

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The celebration is real. I stuck to a budget this year in a way that finally felt sustainable instead of punishing. I’ve been putting money toward the life I actually want instead of spending it on a version of my life I was performing for other people. (That’s a sentence that took me 29 years to be able to write without cringing.)

The funeral is equally real. There are patterns I’ve let myself get away with for too long. Ways I’ve shown up in friendships, in my own head, in my habits, that I’m officially done excusing. I’m not going to list them all here because I have some dignity left, but you know the feeling. The ick you get about yourself when you’re being completely honest at 1am. That stuff.

The foundation is the part I’m most excited about. I’ve spent the last couple of years getting better at choosing the right people. Not the ones who look good in a group photo, not the ones who seem “cool” to everyone else in whatever circle I thought I wanted to be in, but the people I’m genuinely myself around. The ones who make me want to be better, not different. This feels like something I’m building on for the first time instead of starting from scratch.

I think when people warn you about 30, they’re really just projecting their own regret about how they spent their 20s. Which I get. But I’d rather go into the last year of this decade with my eyes open than spend it anxious about an imaginary deadline.

30 isn’t coming to get you. It’s just coming.

♡ Syd

Those who actually makes room for me, versus who just lets me hover at the edge of things and calls it friendship.

A few weeks ago I went to dinner with some friends I’d call fun, not close. We met up with some of their friends I didn’t really know. Meeting new people is one of my favorite hobbies, so I was excited to be there. Except nobody pulled me into the conversation. Nobody asked me a single question about my life. I sat there for two hours basically watching a movie I wasn’t cast in. (Genuinely impressive how a table of so many can make one person feel invisible.) I’ve also got a friend I’m slowly putting distance between myself and someone who keeps score without ever saying it out loud. She’ll show up if it’s convenient for her. She keeps a running tally of every favor, and cashes it in the moment you stop being convenient. Being around her feels like a transaction I never agreed to.

Neither of those moments are a big deal individually, but they started to become a pattern. This taught me something: you can tell exactly how much room you have in someone’s life by what they do when it costs them something.

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The leads me to lean more into the people who do the opposite.

My roommate Madeleine does this constantly, in ways so small she’d probably be embarrassed I’m writing about them. She meal preps and saves me a plate so I have something real to eat when I land from a trip, exhausted, instead of inhaling whatever’s fastest from a drive thru. She knows I hate coming home to a mess after traveling, so she makes an effort to clean the common areas. When I tell her about something in my life (work, boyfriend, new hobby, etc.), she is just as excited as I am if not more. She’ll pick up the phone even when it’s a bad time for her. And she will let me talk through the exact same problem for the fourth time that week without once making me feel like I’m too much. That’s not a grand gesture. That’s just someone who decided, somewhere along the way, that I’m worth the inconvenience.

My friend Blair helped me put together furniture in my new apartment. All of it. On a weekend. For free, and not because she owed me anything. She made it fun. She didn’t perform helpfulness, she just showed up with good music and good vibes and turned a chore into one of my favorite memories from that whole move.

And then there’s Mary, who helped put together an entire birthday party for me this year. A real one, with a timeline. She made a virtual invites, reservations, and made it so Syd coded. She thought through how to make me feel celebrated in a way I genuinely didn’t expect anyone to put that much energy into, let alone someone who already has a full plate of her own.

Here’s the deal. None of these people are trying to win anything. There’s no scoreboard with Madeleine or Blair or Mary. They just decided, quietly, that I belong at their table, and they act like it whether or not I’m watching.

I used to think the goal was to be a good friend to everyone. Now I think the goal is to notice who’s already being one to you, and stop saving your good chairs for people who never bother to sit down.

Life’s too short to keep standing in rooms where nobody’s looking for you. Especially when you already know what it feels like to walk into one where someone saved you a seat.

♡ Syd

I tried “So, I’ve been gone for a while.” Too casual, like I forgot to text back. I tried “A lot has changed since I last wrote.” Nothing has actually changed. I live in the same apartment. I have the same cold brew order. I tried something that sounded so inspiring I almost convinced myself I’d grown as a person, and then I deleted it because it wasn’t true. And I gave myself the ick.

So here’s what is true.

I stopped writing because life got loud and I got tired and somewhere along the way I lost the thread of what I was even trying to say. I’d have an idea for a post, open a draft, and then think: this is absolute dog shit. And then I’d close the laptop and put on something on Netflix. This happened enough times that eventually I stopped opening the drafts at all. I got more caught up in writing something that was on fire instead of just writing.

It’s not a dramatic story. Nobody got hurt. I just quietly quit a thing I actually loved, which turns out to be one of the more cowardly things you can do.

The reason I’m back is simpler than I wanted it to be. I missed it. Not in the vague ‘I miss that’ way. The specific, annoying kind. As soon as the words didn’t come to me, I instantly got disinterested and went doom scrolling. Or worse… I would get far on a piece, then it would fall apart and get sent to my Notion graveyard. I missed having a place to work things out in words.

There’s also this: I turn 30 in February.

I know that’s eight months away, which sounds like a lot of time, except it also kind of feels like nothing. I keep looking at the gap between here and there and thinking that if I’m going to figure out what I want to be doing when that time comes, I probably shouldn’t spend the whole time on my phone.

I want to build something real. Something that’s mine. And I’d been waiting to feel ready. Great way to never start anything.

So this is me, starting again.

Same niche as before, I think. The slow, sometimes funny, occasionally painful work of becoming someone you actually like. The stuff that doesn’t make the highlight reel. The gap between who you want to be and who you are on a random Tuesday.

The last year of my twenties feels like a good time for that. I want to be clear… I’m not spiraling about 30. But I do think there’s something worth actually paying attention to here, and I’d rather write about it than not.

I’m not going to promise I’ll be perfectly consistent, because I said something like that last time and you know what happened. ADHD at its finest. What I will say is that I have something to write toward now. That’s new. A question I keep coming back to: what do I actually want to take with me into whatever comes next?

I don’t have an answer yet. But I’m going to keep showing up until I do.

If you’re new here, welcome. If you’ve been here since the beginning, thank you for still being here and for not quietly unsubscribing sometime in December when it became obvious I’d disappeared.

More soon. Starting with next week, which is already more than I promised last time.

— Syd

But the reality of time, fear of its speed, and the disbelief that came with it hit harder than I thought it would. Memories from high school, college, and even just my 26th birthday a couple years ago had me focusing on my rapid breathing. Seeing younger versions of myself made me want to give her a big hug and tell her to take it all in.

“No way I’m not 23 anymore?”

Suddenly, I was thinking all too hard about how many years, people, and memories have passed me by without truly feeling the gravity of it all. It was like I had been cruising through life without slowing down…God forbid stopping. For a while, life was efficient. I moved from one obligation to the next without friction. It worked. I have been in “the zone.”

But when I looked back, there were no chapters, just distance. Somewhere along the way, I realized I hadn’t actually been holding onto the moment. I had just been moving through it.

This scared the shit out of me.

I didn’t want to wake up when I was 29 practicing the same box breathing techniques. Another year of needing a photo to remember. I wanted to begin 29 knowing I experienced what I lived and be present enough to name it later. I didn’t need to overhaul my life. I just needed to start noticing it and participate in it differently.

One workout class became the time I forgot my socks and had to borrow some from a stranger. A simple trip to store turned into the night I made my now famous homemade steak dinner that I’ve tried to replicate since. That random bar we almost didn’t go to? It’s now a story we can’t stop telling.

But not every moment is small. Some are temporary. The sound of my best friend making breakfast in the kitchen. Saying “should we…?” when we know better and doing it anyway. I started booking weekend trips the Wednesday before. The season of life where you only answer to yourself.

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I can feel the edges of this era. I don’t know when it will change, but I refuse to miss it.

I began to create chapters on purpose. I would plan for the kind of stories I wanted to tell. When I daydreamed, they weren’t allowed to stall in my consciousness. I reverse engineered them. I’d pre-save for trips that I hadn’t imagined yet so I could book them later on a whim. I imagined the laughs and insides jokes made around a Friendsgiving table and would text the group chat to make them real.

I quit hoping I’d remember later. I started shaping it while I could.

This year, I woke up on my 29th birthday with the same headache, the same puffy face, and stream of notifications lighting up my phone. This year with a smile before even opening them. I remembered the photos without needing a caption. I didn’t feel behind. I felt inside of my life.

The last year hadn’t slowed down.

I just decided to attack it differently.

Planning backward freed me to live forward.

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I have a weakness for comfort food. I think that I deserve it as a treat for being a good, hardworking adult throughout the week. This kind of habit can get expensive, and if you read my post Simple Habits For People Who Don’t Have Time For Habits you know that I have a hack for keeping myself from overspending and overindulging.

While I save at least $30 per week from deny my own flesh, I still wanted my chicken or shrimp pad thai, in my bed, with a movie on. That’s when this recipe came to life!

After a few trial and errors, picking and tweaking from a handful of people on the internet trying to give me the “BEST RECIPE,” I found that this one was the most simple, took the least amount of time, and could be made of mostly things I already have.

Without further ado… here’s my pad thai recipe:

Ingredients:

• 8 ounces flat rice noodles

• 3 Tablespoons oil

• 3 cloves garlic , minced

• 8 ounces uncooked shrimp, chicken, or tofu , cut into small pieces

• 2 eggs

• 1 cup fresh bean sprouts

• 1 red bell pepper , thinly sliced

• 3 green onions , chopped

• 1/2 cup dry roasted peanuts

• 2 limes

• 1/2 cup Fresh cilantro , chopped

For the Pad Thai sauce:

• 3 Tablespoons fish sauce

• 1 Tablespoon low-sodium soy sauce

• 5 Tablespoons light brown sugar

• 2 Tablespoons rice vinegar , or tamarind paste (I typically use rice vinegar)

• 1 Tablespoon Sriracha hot sauce , or more, to taste

• 2 Tablespoons creamy peanut butter* (optional)

Instructions

• Cook noodles according to package instructions, just until tender. Rinse under cold water

• Make sauce by combining sauce ingredients in a bowl. Set aside.

• Stir Fry:

  • Heat 1½ tablespoons of oil in a wok or large saucepan over medium-high heat. Add the shrimp, chicken or tofu, garlic and bell pepper. The shrimp will cook quickly, about 1-2 minutes on each side, or until pink. If using chicken, cook until just cooked through, about 3-4 minutes, flipping only once.

  • Push everything to the side of the pan. Add a little more oil and add the beaten eggs. Scramble the eggs, breaking them into small pieces with a spatula as they cook.

  • Add noodles, sauce, bean sprouts and peanuts to the wok (reserving some peanuts for topping at the end). Toss everything to combine.

  • Garnish the top with green onions, extra peanuts, cilantro and lime wedges. Serve

    

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The feeling of being supported by your chosen village and showing up for them just the same. This is a feeling that I don’t think is talked about enough. The one that hits you when a familiar face walks into the room, or when someone rearranges their whole day just to stand in your corner. It’s grounding, gentle, almost holy.

A lot of people love the feeling of being shown up for, but rarely pause to reflect if they’re offering the same grounding for others. The same “I’m here” energy to the people in their lives who need it. I’ve realized how often people wish for the kind of presence that could steady them… without noticing whether they’re offering that same kind of presence to the people who quietly need them too. Once I started paying attention to that, I couldn’t unsee it. Presence was everywhere from then on. Moments that showed me, firsthand, what it means to truly show up for someone.

The Expectation

I’m fortunate to have parents that support and are present in just about everything me and my three siblings do. Any sporting event, choir concert, piano recital, graduation, first shift at a new restaurant, you name it… they were there. If they couldn’t make it happen, they would recruit a grandparent, aunt, uncle, or family friend to fill their spot. When I was much younger, I didn’t realize the impact of this. It wasn’t until I was in high school and beyond that it really clicked for me how much effort that took amid all the other stressful things that they were going through, yet they still made it happen. Because of this example, it has translated tenfold into not only how I try to show up for others, but also knowing that’s the kind of support that I deserve from anyone.

Showing up and supporting isn’t—and shouldn’t be—a dramatic act or tally board. That’s a type of toxicity I’m not referring to. I’m talking about steady presence that made something inside of me shift. Luckily, because this is how I try to show up for people who mean the most to me, just like my parents did, I’ve attracted some really fantastic people. The type of people who also understand how important the art of showing up is.

The Marathon Moment

These feelings came up not long ago during the NYC Marathon. My friend, and fellow villager, Tory had been training for just 14 weeks when she showed up on race day. I coordinated with her husband to make sure we were at the right mile markers for Tory to be able to find us. The first was a mile 17 and second was mile 23.

When I saw Tory coming down 1st Avenue, I was overwhelmed with extreme pride. THAT’S MY FRIEND. As she was getting closer to where we were set up, I felt a sense of home seeing her. We both live busy lives, all over the map, but remain close and show up for each other whenever we can. Seeing her in the middle a huge event she had been training for, I felt so proud that she had pushed herself in ways I simply couldn’t imagine. I was in awe of her.

It was on a whim that I was in the city, so to be able to watch her accomplish something so huge felt like divine intervention. Her joy in what she was doing and also the determination in her to complete something so big inspired me and took “just showing up” to a whole other level. The smile on her face when she saw us was a reminder of how solid our friendship is and hopefully reminded her of how loved she is. It didn’t make the miles shorter, but maybe it made them feel lighter.

Showing up for someone in their big moments can feel like the smallest act and the biggest gift all at once. There’s power in witnessing someone you care about accomplish big things. It strengthens your village and inspires you to keep going in what matters most—when you see your fellow villagers doing the same in their own lives.

Presence

That kind of inspiration doesn’t just come in the form of big moments that feel like a huge gift. Sometimes it comes from the people who show up in what seems like ordinary ways. The moments that are “just because.”

About a month ago, my parents flew down to see me for the whole weekend just to be with me. There was no agenda, no big event, and nothing specific that they wanted to do. The only objective was to spend quality time together.

We sometimes can get so caught up that showing up for someone needs to be this whole production. That we have to do the most for them to feel seen—to make it memorable through tangible gifts or grand gestures—when often it’s the quiet act of being present that speaks loudest.

What seems like a small gesture actually encapsulates what I view as the biggest gift we can give someone—presence. Once you can see this clearly, you can’t ignore the tiny, consistent way people show up. The ones that don’t make a big splash but still leave a mark.

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Intention > Attention

There’s another layer to showing up that’s even softer. The small, steady gestures that weave themselves into your life without fanfare. The ones that rarely get acknowledged but linger the longest. It lives in the quiet, almost invisible acts that shape our relationships.

It’s that friend that texts you out of the blue simply because you came into their mind. It’s the small trinket you pick up because you think someone might find joy in it. It’s showing up for someone without them asking because they needed it. No context or explanation necessary.

The intention behind these small acts often matters far more than the attention from grand gestures. This kind of presence is like mini deposits of love that compound over time. They represent consistency and steadiness in a relationship—and truthfully, they’re what keep the foundation strong enough to withstand any storm life will inevitably throw at us.

We often overlook these acts because they can slip under the radar. They’re woven into everyday life, which ironically, makes them even more meaningful. They create safety in friendships and reassurance that we’re not doing life alone. They strengthen trust without uttering a single word. Small gestures towards someone gives us evidence to look back on when life gets hard, and they are truly the anchor of relationships.

They provide a sense of calm that settles into our body. We don’t realize they’re happening until we need it. Seeing presence show up in such quiet ways made me think about the bigger picture-what it does for us, how it changes us, and why it matters more than we realize.

What Presence Actually Does

Presence, in all its forms, has a way of speaking louder than any words ever could. It communicates something far deeper than support or encouragement. It tells us that we are worth showing up for. A reminder that someone is choosing us and choosing to care. Presence from someone else is sometimes all it takes to keep going.

There’s a steadiness that settles in when someone is simply there. It grounds you in a way that nothing else can. It softens the edges of whatever you’re carrying, and it creates a quiet confidence that you’re not in it alone. Someone is standing beside you, shoulder to shoulder, in your corner, even if nothing else is said out loud. Presence can provide a subtle surge of energy that could be all we need to continue progressing forward.

It’s truthfully in the heavier moments, the ones we rarely speak out loud, where presence becomes its own unique lifeline. It doesn’t erase the struggle of hardships, but it helps carry the heavy load. It can give you just enough courage to take the next step, breathe a little deeper, and keep going when the road is looking extra long. Presence offers us a stability we didn’t know we needed—until it arrives unasked, expecting nothing in return.

Words can comfort, advice can help, but presence carries. It steps into the moment with you instead of standing on the sidelines offering commentary. Presence stays when things get messy, and it listens without trying to fix. It speaks in a language that feels more trustworthy than anything else someone could say.

We’re all wired and long for this type of companionship. We want to feel seen, chosen, remembered, rooted for, and cared for. Presence comforts the part of all of us that is deeply human—the desire the matter to someone else. Even in the smallest of ways. This is one of the few things that feels both powerful and simple, rare and accessible, intimate and universal.

Recognizing this so many years ago made me look at presence differently. It’s not just something that fills me, but it’s something I’m meant to pour back out. We often crave this kind of steadiness from others, and makes me think of how easily we forget that others might be craving it too.

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The Mirror

Presence isn’t just a one-way experience. We’re designed for community and compassion, and that includes giving the kind of care that we are craving to receive. It doesn’t have to be perfect every single time—just consistent and intentional.

It’s easy to sit back and hope that someone shows up for us in the big moments and also when we need it. It’s human to long for support, steady energy, and to have someone in your corner. But somewhere in that longing it’s easy to overlook the people in our lives who might be quietly hoping for that same energy from us.

Presence flows best when it moves in both direction. Not in a scorecard or an expectation, but as a natural exchange of care. Showing up for someone else without being asked, without needing an applause, strengthens something in us also. It reinforces the kind of person we want to be.

Most of us aren’t asking for grand gestures. They’re often hoping for something simple: a check-in text/call, a moment of being remembered, a sense that they matter beyond convenience. I’ve seen how good feels when someone shows up for me, and I’ve learned how meaningful it feels to do the same for others. Both experiences teach the same lesson: showing up doesn’t require much, but it makes a lasting impact. One we often don’t notice until much later.

Presence is less about effort and more about intention. Less about doing the most and more about noticing the people who could use a reminder that they’re not flying solo in life.

These thoughts have stay with me, especially as I think back to that moment on the marathon course—the look, the relief, the steadiness, that washed over someone I care about simply because we were there.

Where Presence Matters Most

Thinking back to that moment in New York, I can still picture the look on Tory’s face when she saw us—tired, determined, relieved all at once. Presence didn’t change the miles she had to run, but it could’ve potentially changed the way she felt running them. That’s the thing about presence, it won’t finish the race for you. It makes the hardest parts feel a little lighter. It reminds you that you’re not carrying the weight alone, even when the finish line still feels far away.

We all have our own mile 17s and mile 23s where we could really use a familiar face in the crowd. And we all have people in our lives who might be quietly hoping for the same from us. Showing up doesn’t require perfection or planning or grand gestures. It asks only for willingness. A steady, intentional presence that says, “I’m here. Keep going.”

Presence doesn’t fix anything, but it changes something for someone. And most of the time, that’s enough. Mile by mile, gesture by gesture, presence is what carries us forward. Keeping showing up for people. It matters more than you think.

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Some weeks feels like I’m thriving. Others, I’m just lucky my laundry basket isn’t spewing over with last week’s clothes. It’s never the big things that seem to throw my week off. It’s realizing I forgot to thaw out the chicken (and now I know why our moms would get so mad). The difference usually comes down to small, low-maintenance habits that quietly keep my weird system working on all cylinders.

I’ve realized the weeks that run the smoothest aren’t the ones where I’m doing the most, rather, the ones I quietly prepare without overthinking. These tiny systems dont make me feel like I have my life together; they make the chaos and unknowns a little easier to manage.

These aren’t necessarily “hacks” or 5:00 a.m. routines or groundbreaking information - just the things that quietly keep me sane and a functioning like a high-achiever during the week.

Turns out, ease is something you can plan for.

Planning for ease doesn’t mean doing the most, it just means doing what matters quietly, on repeat.

Food System

If food takes too much brainpower, I won’t eat well. So I keep it simple.

• Default breakfasts - eggs + fruit or Greek yogurt bowl

• Lunches - rotisserie chicken salads (+ chopped celery, onion, cilantro, and dressing of choice) or dinner leftovers

• Dinners - lean protein + roasted/baked veggie + rice/sweet potato

• Secret Hack: Walmart+ is $50/year with free delivery for orders $35+. This is a GAME CHANGER for time and budget. Walmart has great options even for organic produce.

Taking the thinking out of food gives me energy for everything else.

Weekend Systems

Saturday mornings are my new “Sunday Reset.” Why wait an entire day to do all your laundry or deep clean or grocery shop? Taking an hour or two to do all my deep cleaning projects, a load of laundry or two, etc. gets it out of the way and let’s my Sunday be saved for true rest.

• Bedroom is vacuumed and tidied up

• Bathroom gets a wipe down, trash disposed of, and light a candle

• Kitchen gets the same when breakfast is over

• Place Walmart+ order to be delivered for Sunday morning

• DONE

It’s easier to show up for your week when you aren’t spending half of it recovering from the last one.

Movement & Energy

Ease and joy is how I move and reset each day. Every day also looks a little different. Over the years I’ve found that there are seasons where I find joy in the rigid, follow-this-split, do-this-weight layered workout routine. Other seasons, I’m happy with just a walk. Exercise doesn’t have to be the worst thing ever or full of guilt if not accomplished. The sweet spot is giving myself a Movement Menu to choose from based on how my body and mind are feeling that day.

• Waking up = phone-free and morning sunlight. PERIOD.

• Pilates class 1-3x/week

• Strength training, roughly 30-60 minutes 2x/week

• Hack - plan something mid-week to look forward to. A favorite class, a sunrise walk, meeting a friend at the gym

Movement based on energy, not guilt, keeps me consistent. Don’t overcomplicate it!!!!

Environment That Supports You

I’ve learned the environment you create becomes the energy you keep. Visual calm equals mental calm.

• Reset Rule - clear the counter of dirty anything, nightstands, dressers, etc. Take the three minutes and put everything back where it belongs

• Seasonal swaps - a scent can really determine the whole vibe. Rotate candles, playlist, etc. to switch up the energy every now and then

• Background playlist - I associate eras of life with music. Changing up my playlist gives life a mini refresh

You are the energy you curate - might as well make it a cam one.

Decision & Time Hacks

Keeping decision making to a minimum is the key to freeing up mental space. By hacking decisions, I free up energy for things that actually need it.

• Outfits prepped the night before, sometimes with backup options

• Coffee or lunch prepped (I love cold brew, so I make it the night before)

• Errand stacking - if I have to get out to go to the store, I’m also doing returns, getting the mail, etc. Plan for multiple things in one outing to save the time for other important things

• Default “chaos meal” for off days - have something in the fridge or freezer ready to go for those unexpected busy days when you don’t want to cook

Less time deciding means more time doing.

Financial Flow

I used to love treating myself, and I still do. I used to be a little crazy with it though. That’s until I started to hack myself. When I want to treat myself on something I WANT instead of NEED, here’s what I do:

• Open a “Vault” in my SoFi savings account (label it something creative)

• Check my budget - see if I can actually afford to splurge on said item/activity

• If not, transfer - I will transfer the amount the item/activity/treat would’ve cost me into the separate savings account

It’s giving side hustle, but for future me. Now, I’m basically getting paid for not spending money + 4% APY.

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Most of these things aren’t impressive, but that’s kind of the point. It’s not flashy to transfer money you want to be spending or eating ground turkey with rice and a veggie, but doing these things periodically through the week can have a huge impact on the flow of your life. Small changes compounded create big effects in the grand scheme of life.

The best routines aren’t the ones that change who you are - they’re the ones that make it easier to keep showing up as yourself.

What’s one low maintenance habit that makes your week feel smoother?

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Some seasons of life feels like standing in the dark wondering if we’ve been planted or are being buried. You can’t breathe, see the light at the end of the tunnel, and constantly wonder, “Is this purpose or punishment? Was this a mistake?”

It seems like everyone else knows what they’re doing while you’re just hoping and praying that they dont notice how unsure you feel. You tell yourself you’re not cut out for it, someone else could’ve done it better, they’re more qualified, or you’re not ready. You reread texts, replay conversations or scenarios, overanalyze every move trying to prove that you belong or trying to pinpoint where it went wrong. The longer you sit in this never ending cycle of rumination, the heavier it feels.

But what if what feels like a burial is actually planting? What if this punishment is actually preparation?

Isn’t it strange how this fear doesn’t show up at the point of failure? It usually holds us captive right when we’re about to succeed. This incredibly nasty feeling is what the world refers to as imposter syndrome. Spiritually, **I think this the the moment right before a seed plants its roots.

Where the Work Really Begins

Imposter syndrome shows up when we doubt ourselves despite the successes we’ve had. Even though we have concrete evidence that we are indeed not a loser and a failure, something within us convinces us otherwise. Our brain starts to associate new with unsafe.

From ages 23 to 27, my confidence was overthrown day by day with what felt impossible to describe at the time. I was a young woman selling to world-class surgeons and sharp, seasoned business professionals who’d been doing this longer than I’d been on this earth. Each time I went to have a conversation, there was a little voice that would send me into a panic, telling me that they knew I wasn’t equipped for this job. It was like going into a test every single day that I hadn’t studied for. Day in and day out, I was trying to prove I belonged in these giant rooms where I felt small.

Looking back on it, this is where the real growth began. I wasn’t drowning. I was growing roots. The pain in every conversation was growing pains I had never felt before. This pressure was the weight of new soil around a seed that hadn’t yet taken its roots.

When I got the sales job that moved me to my dream location, the feeling only intensified. I was 26, up against a competitor who had twenty years of relationships and influence in my territory. Each day was its own battle between faith and fear. Some days, gratitude was all I had. Thanking God that He was still providing.

It wasn’t until I stopped fighting the discomfort and started trusting the soil I was rooting myself into that things started to shift. Once I focused on tending to it with my faith, consistency, and mindset, He gave me what had been on my heart all along.

Imposter syndrome is just insecurity and resistance. That sneaky thief doesn’t show up when you’re failing. He shows up when you’re growing. The enemy knows if he can make you doubt your own worth, then he can keep you from blooming where you’re meant to produce, “…a hundred, sixty or thirty times what was sown.”

The Soil Beneath the Seed

Heres the truth of the matter: the enemy doesn’t waste time on seeds that have no potential. He attacks what’s growing and important to us. Imposter syndrome is one of his most convincing lies, whispering, “you’re not good enough. you’re not qualified. you’re not ready.” That voice often disguises itself as our own.

But think about it…

If you’re stepping into something that aligns with your soul, why would your own mind try to talk you out of it?

That’s when I started to recognize the pattern. A seed can fall on different ground, and our growth depends on the quality of soil we’re rooted in.

The Parable of the Sower has been heavy on my heart lately. The same seed has the same amount of potential every single time it’s planted. The difference is in the soil.

Some of us seeds fall on the path and get swept away by the enemy (that’s why he doesn’t need to go after them folks…). Some fall on rocky ground, excited at first but in soil too shallow to survive the elements. Things will look and feel fantastic for a bit when it’s all easy and we’re confident. Others fall on thorny grounds where fear, comparison, and distraction reside. Where we want to grow, but those weeds choke out our faith and potential before it even gets a chance.

Then, there are the seeds that fall into good soil, where faith takes root and holds them firm feeding into them to grow strong. Good soil looks different. It’s not easier, but it’s tended to with intention. It’s rich with patience, consistency, humility, self-confidence, and mostly importantly, prayer. This is where faith is watered daily, even when nothing has sprouted yet.

When imposter syndrome decides to make its grand appearance, it’s a sign that we’re still in the in-between stages and underground. Where growth is happening but we can’t see it yet. This is when the soil matters the most. If we stay rooted in the good soil (truth, discipline, and faith), the seed we planted will always break through and sprout to who we’re becoming.

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Staying Rooted

So how do we beat this guy? There are three things you can do today to win:

1. Call it what it is

   Start by calling it what it is. You’re a beginner, not an imposter. Beginners belong exactly where they are. At the start of learning what they’re meant to learn.

   The enemy thrives on confusing us. When he can’t turn truth into insecurity, he’s going to try and keep you from realizing that this discomfort is the evidence of growth. It’s not the proof of failure. Naming it for what it is will take away its power.

2. Reminders of what’s true

   Tell yourself what is factual. If you took all of your thoughts to court, what would the jury say? Root yourself in facts not feelings. You’ve been placed, not misplaced. You’re growing, not failing. You’re learning, not pretending.

3. Stay rooted in the process

   Once you’ve named the lie and reminded yourself of what is true, you now must stay rooted where God has planted you. Growth takes time, and being consistent is how you prove your faith. Keep showing up. Keep tending to your own soil through gratitude, prayer, discipline, and obedience. Even when you can’t see progress, trust that the roots are forming beneath the surface.

Anytime we take the leap into something new, our first instinct is to look around and question ourselves and our qualifications to be there. Faith tells us we’re being planted, not buried. This is why the soil matters so much. Rooting yourself in good soil curates an environment where your confidence grows deeper than your fear. The work itself might feel unseen for awhile, but that doesn’t mean it’s not working. One day, what felt like a weight will reveal itself as the thing that helped you grow stronger roots.

Imposter syndrome will always, without a shadow of a doubt, meet you in the middle of who you’re becoming. He’ll show up when you’re on the cusp of growing stronger, whispering doubt into places where blooming is finally starting to take place. The next time that voice creeps in, just remember, pressure means something is happening below the surface. Roots are forming and strengthening. Faith is deepening.

You’re not being buried; you’re being planted. Someday, when what’s been growing in the dark finally breaks through the surface, you’ll see that every bit of doubt was proof that you were standing in the middle of your transformation all along.

This essay was just the beginning.

Growth Beneath the Surface is the guided reflection version — designed to help you put these words into practice through journaling, Scripture, and faith-based mindset work.

It’s one of several digital guides I’m creating exclusively for annual subscribers — little companions for every season of growth.

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Living for the Weekend

Majority of us are out here living for the weekend. That precious two days we get for freedom, for family, for self-care, and for taking a deep breath from the rat race of the work week. But there is a small group of us that live for that 48-hour adventure.

A Friday evening flight. Full tank of gas. A sunset somewhere new. We are Weekend Warriors. Being a Weekend Warrior isn’t about running away. It’s more about squeezing the most out of the life you already have. This starter kit is what keeps me ready for my next adventure at a moments notice.

The Mindset

To travel and get the most out of where you’re visiting, you dont need a full week or two off. All you need is a good plan to enjoy it but not such a rigid plan to stress. The key to any sort of travel is the mindset that you have an idea of what you want to see/do, but will always just go off of the vibes. That’s when the most memorable experiences happen and when your cup will feel like it’s full to the brim.

Here’s what I keep in mind every time I book something impulsive (this is typically monthly):

• Money comes back. Time doesn’t.

• You’ll never regret going. Only not going.

• Flexibility is your superpower.

It’s hard to be spontaneous if you’re always unprepared.

The Essentials Checklist

I’m giving you a Cliff Notes version of my travel Bible. This checklist guides me to a successful trip every single time without fail. Well, except for one time…

Not too long ago, I was 3.5 hour away from home on a work trip when I found myself utterly unprepared. I got all the way to my destination to realize that I left my entire suitcase at home. Yep. Clothes, shoes, toiletries, makeup. You name it. It was not with me. A mistake I will NEVER make again. This is everything I always keep packed and ready that’s gotten me to almost 15 cities this year alone with minimal stress.

Let’s break it down

The Basics: This foundation is key to the rest and we’ll work upwards from here

• Backpack of All Backpacks - It has the perfect amount of pockets and zippers, fits under the seat perfectly. If I didn’t love a good pair of knee high boots I could fit everything for the entire weekend in this bag. Underrated feature: strap on the back to slip it onto a rolling suitcase

• Carry-on suitcase - Trust me on this… get a dark colored suitcase and this is where you want to splurge a little. Nothing ruins a weekend trip more than busted wheels and a dusty looking suitcase.

• Cords Organizer - Having all your chargers packed and at the ready gives me the most peace of mind even though getting lost with a dead phone has me feeling 90s nostalgia on vacation.

• 3 in 1 Portable Charger - Fits perfectly in the cords organizer and the entire contraption is kept in the laptop compartment of the best backpack in the world (above)

• Toiletries/Makeup Bag - The perfect, not bulky, fits everything you need bag that fits in the backpack.

• Packing Cubes (optional) - I lowkey think packing cubes are overrated sometimes. Especially with companies selling some for $140+?! You got me messed up. I can find a flight ROUNDTRIP for $140 for 48-hours (girl math).

Clothing Staples: Don’t overcomplicate it

• Neutral basics - Think Time Capsule Wardrobe. Pack things that you can easily dress up with accessories (aka small things that dont take up square footage in the bag).

• Light jacket / cardigan sweater - Neutral color that could easily go with any of the neutrals that are packed.

• One-pair rule - One pair of tennis shoes worn on the plane that can also be used to workout/walk around in and one pair of nicer shoes for a dinner/night out. Again, BIG BOOTS GAL.

• Pro Tip - Be strategic about outfits to not stuff the carry-on full. Leaving extra room will allow for one side of the suitcase to be packed with dirty clothes and the other for clean clothes/toiletries bags for easy access once you return home on Sunday night.

Toiletry Kit - Remember the lesson I just recently learned…

• Supplements (lecture incoming)

  • Planes, different sleep schedules, and enjoying new foods are part of the Weekend Warrior lifestyle. This doesn’t mean that I want to compromise my goals and health. PACK FOR SUCCESS. Here’s my go-tos:

    • Bone Broth packets - Soothes the tummy, great in the morning, and feels like a hug for a hangover (comes in chicken or beef)

    • Collagen packets - Mix with Bone Broth in the AM. Since we’re leaving the 7-step skincare routine at home, we need to still support the skin. These packets come out to $1.56/packet, which is the best price I’ve found for actual quality processing. Comes in a box of 30 which if you think about it gets you prepared for 10 Weekend Warrior trips.

    • Emergen-C: Zinc + Vitamin D - Immunity support just in case. I’d rather have it that be sorry I didn’t!

• TSA-friendly skincare - Let me hold your hand when I tell you this: you’ll live without your 7-step skincare routine for two days. Travel sized cleanser, moisturizer, and sunscreen is really all you need. Micellar water is a good addition along with pimple patches if need be!

• Refillable travel perfume - Smelling good is IMPORTANT. But you won’t catch me wearing no $5 body spray... Love putting my signature scent in these and not having to stress if TSA will throw the whole bottle away.

Comfort & Productivity - Day of packing

• Headphones - Noise cancelling is necessary

• Sleep mask + neck pillow combo - Optimal setup for a chance at sleep on a flight

• Journal / Book / Downloaded playlists - The feeling of being productive while traveling is unmatched. I always bring something to do.

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My Packing Formula

Now that you know exactly what you need to be a successful Weekend Warrior, let me tell you how to make this work*.*

Live by one rule and one rule only: the 3-bag rule. If it dont fit, it ain’t comin’. We’re aiming for efficiency here. With the items above, there are many ways to fit more than what you’d need in a weekend with a few simple hacks.

1. The Rolling Method will make fitting everything and then some into the carry-on. By rolling up clothes, you can not only fit more, but there will be less creases/wrinkles this way. Multiple outfits have been packed with this method.

2. Packing rolled clothes on the bottom of the suitcase and layering the shoes on the top will allow for a smooth zipper-closing experience and mitigate the sit-and-zip maneuver we’ve all had to do with an overfilled bag.

3. Utilize the pockets/compartments of the best backpack in the world. Hair brushes, deodorant, makeup bag, toiletry bag, cord organizer, books, laptops, etc. If it can fit, put it in there!

My Pre-Trip Routine

This list is very quick and very simple

• [ ] Check-in + add boarding pass to Apple Wallet the day before

• [ ] Pack any toiletries/makeup used day of - leave suitcase unzipped with a space for said toiletries bag to go in before zipping up

• [ ] Snacks are packed in my backpack (Chomps sticks, banana, protein bar, something sweet)

• [ ] Check how long it will take to get from the airport to wherever I’m staying

• [ ] MOST IMPORTANTLY - Clean apartment. Make your space peaceful to come back home too after being out in the world being a warrior all weekend

And last but not least, pack a good attitude. Chaos is part of the story. “How blessed am I that I get to do this?”

In Conclusion

Here’s to Friday flights, the spontaneous trip you thought you’d be too stressed to go on, and proving that the weekend is more than enough time to feel revived.

If you have a go-to item I should add to my list, drop it in the comments. I’m always looking for a new favorite!

PS: I made something special for my annual subscribers — The Weekend Warrior Starter Kit.

It’s my first digital guide, built for people who crave travel, but still have real-life schedules.

You’ll get:

• My exact weekend-packing formula

• Clickable links to my go-to travel items

• A mindset reset for how to travel more often (without quitting your job)

And this is just the beginning — annual subscribers will get access to exclusive downloads, future guides, and my upcoming recipe book that’s currently simmering behind the scenes.

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The Hawthorne Effect is the phenomenon where individuals change their behavior because they know they are being observed. We tend to try harder when someone is watching. It’s human nature, and honestly, I’ve learned to use that to my advantage.

Body doubling is having someone nearby, whether that be physically or virtually, while you’re doing that thing you really don’t want to do. It’s tricking your brain into staying accountable for what you have to do. My sisters, brother, and I used to sit on each other’s beds while we cleaned our rooms to have some company (and to get it done in a timely manner before mom got mad). Somehow, folding laundry doesn’t feel like getting your toenails ripped off when someone’s there to talk to, keep your mind busy, or do their homework. Fast forward to today, I FaceTime any friend that will answer, just to clean my apartment. Modern problems require modern supervision. I believe, in some capacity, we’re all looking for someone to witness us, hold us accountable, and keep us moving.

This got me thinking… the Hawthorne Effect might not just be psychological, but also spiritual. If I work harder when someone is watching, how hard would I work if I remembered that God always is? As a young girl in Wednesday night Catholic class (CCD shoutout), this used to always be a scary thought. “Wait, I need to fear God? I thought He loved me.” “You mean if I sin, I have to go confess to the priest, who tells God, and I have to pray certain prayers?” Even then, it felt very Big Brother-ish, and for an 8-year-old that’s horrifying. It really wasn’t until I was an adult when I saw God and His Hawthorne Effect for what it was: unconditional love. We aren’t performing for Him; we’re partnering with Him. He isn’t here to punish us every time we screw up, hovering to critique, or waiting hand and foot to see what dumb thing we do next. He’s sitting on the bed while we clean up our mess, wanting us to talk to Him about it, and reminding us that we’re not alone.

The key to motivation isn’t self-discipline; it’s connection. The reminder that someone, or Someone, is right there with us. The next time you find yourself struggling to get started, extend an invite. To a friend, sibling, or the One who will never leave your side. Allow them to see you show up and just watch what happens. Being watched isn’t so bad when someone is cheering you on.

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