The Creative Nest

There are moments when you realize that holding onto “what’s accurate” matters a lot less than holding onto connection. Sitting across from someone you love, listening to a story that doesn’t quite line up the way it used to, you’re given a quiet choice—correct it, or simply be there with them. And sometimes the most loving thing you can do is smile, follow along, and meet them in that version of the moment. Not because you don’t notice the differences, but because you do—and you choose kindness anyway. Caregiving in these moments isn’t about fixing or guiding someone back to where they were. It’s about stepping gently into where they are now. It asks for patience, softness, and a willingness to let go of needing everything to make sense. And surprisingly, there can still be laughter. Real, shared laughter. The kind that reminds you that even as things change, the connection doesn’t disappear—it just takes on a different shape. There’s a quiet strength in choosing compassion over cor...

Somewhere along the way, adulthood quietly added a new responsibility to the list: video repair appointments. And I would just like to know… who approved this? There was a time—not that long ago—when something broke, and a person showed up, toolbox in hand, ready to fix it. Simple. Clean. Efficient. Now? Now we schedule a video call and suddenly I’m holding my phone like a camerawoman while being gently coached through what is apparently my role in the repair process. This all started with a bed frame that hasn’t worked properly since day one. So naturally, the solution was not “we’ll send someone out,” but instead, “let’s hop on a video call so you can show us the problem.” Show you the problem? I live with the problem. I am the problem at this point. “Can you angle your camera a little lower?” “Can you zoom in on that part?” “Can you try pressing that again?” I’m sorry… are we filming a documentary or fixing furniture? There is something wildly humbling about standing there, phone ...

Let’s talk about dog anxiety… but specifically, the kind that shows up around food. Because apparently, some dogs don’t just eat —they emotionally process every meal like it’s a life event. And yes, I’m talking about Bear. Now tell me—does your dog get weird about food? Not just excited (because that’s normal), but like… deeply concerned about the entire situation? Because Bear? Oh, he has thoughts. Big ones. You would think this dog has experienced famine in a past life the way he reacts. We’re talking pacing, hovering, checking in, circling back, and then checking again—just in case the food has mysteriously disappeared in the last 30 seconds. Sir… it’s in the same place. It has always been in the same place. And don’t even get me started on timing. If dinner is even slightly off schedule? The anxiety kicks in like, “Excuse me, I noticed we are running behind. Should I be worried? Are we okay? Is this the end?” Meanwhile, the bowl is literally being prepared. It’s funny, but it’s al...