The Creative Nest

I keep seeing these articles pop up lately — “Each State’s Favorite Snack,” “Each State’s Favorite Meal,” “What Every State Loves the Most.” And every single time, I click. Because I’m optimistic. And then immediately disappointed. I won’t name names (okay, I will — my own state), but how is it possible that this is what we’re collectively known for? I read the list and thought, That’s not a favorite… that’s a compromise food. You know the kind. The “it was available” food. The “we were already there” choice. The “nobody complained loud enough” option. Are we being surveyed under duress? Is someone asking these questions in a gas station at 11:47 p.m.? Because I refuse to believe that millions of people woke up one day and agreed, “Yes. This represents us.” What makes it worse is knowing the food options we actually have. We have: incredible comfort food foods people travel for foods that require stretchy pants and zero shame And yet somehow, the title goes t...

I’ve been thinking a lot about what happens after something heavy loosens its grip. Not the crisis itself. Not the stress while it’s happening. But the quiet moment when you realize: oh… this might actually be okay now. That kind of relief can feel strange. Sometimes it shows up as a deep exhale you didn’t know you were holding. Sometimes it looks like tears — even though nothing “bad” just happened. Sometimes it’s a burst of energy. Other times, total exhaustion. I’ve noticed that big relief doesn’t always feel joyful right away. It can feel disorienting. Like your nervous system is still pacing the room, waiting for the other shoe to drop. And then there’s the mental part: Do I celebrate? Do I rest? Do I stay cautious? Do I finally let myself imagine what comes next? I think we don’t talk enough about this in-between space — the space where something important resolves, but your heart and body haven’t quite caught up yet. So I’m curious… How do you process...

There is something no one prepares you for when you adopt a small pet. Not the zoomies. Not the side-eye. Not even the dramatic sighs when you dare move during cuddle time. It’s the snoring . Somehow, in a body that weighs less than a bag of flour, lives the lung capacity of a mid-size man who just finished a long shift and has earned his rest. Enter: Lola . Lola is tiny. Adorable. Sweet. And when she sleeps? She sounds like she’s sawing logs in a forest she personally owns. I’ll be sitting there in complete silence — no TV, no music — and suddenly… RRRRRNNNNKKK… snffff… RRRNNNNKKK. I look around like, Is there a stranger in my house? Did someone break in just to nap? Nope. It’s Lola. Curled up. Living her best life. Completely unbothered. The funniest part? She snores with confidence . There’s no hesitation. No apology. Just full commitment to rest. And honestly? I respect it. Because here’s the thing — that loud snoring means she feels safe . Safe enough to let ...

 Let me ask you something important. Are you the kind of person who sees a new, high-tech gadget and thinks, “Wow, that’s impressive,” or do you immediately think, “That’s impressive… but what happens when it breaks?” Because same. The Rise of Fancy Everything Apparently, everything now needs: Wi-Fi an app a software update and emotional support when it disconnects We have refrigerators that talk to us. Washers that “learn.” Toasters that probably judge us silently. Meanwhile, I’m over here like: “I just need it to turn on.” Is that too much to ask? Tried and True Has a Track Record Here’s the thing about older, simpler technology — it’s loyal . It doesn’t need updates. It doesn’t freeze. It doesn’t suddenly decide it needs a subscription. You push a button. It does the thing. End of relationship. And honestly? That’s the kind of reliability I’m looking for in everything right now. Fancy Tech Has Trust Issues I don’t hate new technology. I ju...

Let’s talk about goals for a second. Not the cute, Pinterest-board kind. The heavy ones. The ones that start off optimistic and somehow end up feeling like a personal failure by mid-month. You know the ones: “I will do this every single day.” “I must finish this by Friday.” “If I don’t hit this goal, what am I even doing with my life?” Ma’am. Sir. Calm down. Here’s the thing I’ve been learning (and slowly accepting): Goals feel heavy because we treat them like contracts instead of conversations. Enter: Intentions Intentions are goals that went to therapy. They still have direction, but they don’t come with shame, guilt, or a tiny internal drill sergeant yelling, “YOU SAID YOU WOULD.” When you say: “My goal is to work out 5 days a week,” and life says, “Cool story, here’s exhaustion, weather, and a random emotional spiral,” a goal makes you feel like you failed. But an intention says: “I intended to move my body more — and today that looked like...

At first, I thought nothing of it. Then I noticed the movement. People weren’t walking through their house — they were skating . Room to room. Full speed. No hesitation. No traction. At that point, my brain made a decision and never looked back. They had every light on in the house, which basically turned their place into a live-action set. If you don’t want to be observed, you can’t turn your home into a glowing fishbowl. Those are the rules. I swear their floors are made of roller skate rink material. These people were zooming from room to room like they were late for something very important that did not involve me. And twice — twice — it looked like someone took a fall in the dining room. I saw rapid movement… and then suddenly… nothing. Just gone. Did they fall? Did they slide into another dimension? Was the dining room claimed as a casualty of the rink? We may never know. What really got me was the commitment. No phones. No pauses. Just frantic, purpose-filled mot...