The Creative Nest

Hi. My name is Mychelle, and I’m a purse collector. Again. Yes, I know. We’ve had this meeting before. For those of you who are new here, welcome. For those of you who have been here before, thank you for coming back. Clearly, none of us learned anything the first time. I would like to begin by saying that I am not proud of this. I am also not particularly ashamed. Mostly, I am impressed with myself. You see, I had been doing really well. I had reached a point where I could walk past a purse without immediately imagining it hanging from my shoulder. I could browse a website without thinking, “Well, technically I don’t have one in that color.” I was healing. Then I saw one. And that was all it took. It wasn't even an especially dramatic encounter. There was no slow-motion music. No spotlight from heaven. No mysterious voice whispering, “Mychelle… you need this.” I simply looked at it and thought, “Oh, that's cute.” Famous last words. Because “that's cute” quickly became “I s...

There is a special kind of frustration that comes from someone handing you an “opportunity” you never asked for. They are excited. They are enthusiastic. They may even tell you how perfect you are for it. Meanwhile, you are standing there thinking, “That is very sweet, but I would rather be chased through a cornfield by an angry goose.” The problem with a crappy opportunity is that it rarely arrives looking crappy. Oh no. It usually comes wrapped in words like “growth,” “experience,” “exposure,” or “a chance to get involved.” Those words sound lovely until you realize they translate to, “Congratulations! You now have an additional responsibility that nobody asked you whether you wanted.” Naturally, the first instinct is to try to get out of it politely. You explain that you have other commitments. You mention that your schedule is already full. You carefully construct a reasonable explanation that makes it clear you are not available without actually screaming, “PLEASE REMOVE MY NAME F...

Who schedules a three-hour meeting? Seriously. I have questions. Because somewhere out there, a person looked at a calendar, saw an empty three-hour block, and thought, “Perfect. Let’s put a meeting there.” Three hours. That is not a meeting. That is a commitment. Three hours is long enough to drive to another city, have lunch, come back, and still have time to wonder why you went in the first place. Three hours is enough time to watch a movie. It is enough time to start a load of laundry, forget about it, remember it two hours later, and then move it to the dryer while questioning every decision that brought you to that moment. But apparently, it is also an acceptable amount of time to sit in a meeting. I understand that some things require discussion. There are complicated projects. Big decisions. Planning sessions. Important topics. Fine. I will give you that. But three hours? What exactly are we doing in there? Are we solving world hunger? Are we negotiating a peace treaty? Are we ...

I am actually pretty good at small talk. There, I said it. I can talk to strangers, chat with coworkers, make conversation with the person standing next to me in line at the store, and somehow find something to say to just about anybody. Weather? Sure. Weekend plans? Absolutely. Traffic? I can make that work. I can take whatever random little topic is floating around and turn it into an actual conversation. Small talk doesn't bother me. What does bother me is trying to have small talk with someone who apparently did not receive the memo that small talk is supposed to be a two-person activity. You know the type. You walk up and say, “Hey! How was your weekend?” They say, “Good.” That's it. Just good. No follow-up. No additional information. No conversational breadcrumbs. Nothing. So you try again. “Do anything fun?” “Nope.” Oh. Okay. Now I'm doing all the work. At this point, I have apparently become the host of a talk show that nobody agreed to appear on. I start throwing o...

Do you ever lose something and become completely convinced that it is gone forever? Not misplaced. Not temporarily missing. Gone. You search the obvious places. Then you search the places that make absolutely no sense. You check the same drawer three times because apparently the missing item might magically appear if you look at it with a different attitude. You move things around. You mutter under your breath. You accuse everyone in the household of moving it, even though you know perfectly well they probably had nothing to do with it. Eventually, you give up. “It’s gone,” you declare. And that’s that. You replace it. You buy another one. You move on with your life. Then, three weeks later, you open a drawer you haven't touched since approximately 2019 and there it is. THE MISSING THING. Suddenly, it feels like Christmas morning. Forget presents. Forget twinkling lights. Forget the smell of cookies baking in the oven. I found the damn thing I thought I lost! There should honestly...

 Let’s talk about questions. Specifically, the same question. Over and over. And over. And over. How many times can someone ask you the exact same question before you start getting irritated? I’m genuinely curious because apparently there is a number. I just haven’t figured out what it is yet. The first time someone asks me something, I’m happy to answer. No problem. Ask away. I am a wealth of useless information and reasonably useful information, depending on the subject. The second time? Still fine. Maybe they forgot. Maybe they weren't listening the first time. Maybe their brain was busy thinking about something else. It happens. The third time, I might start wondering if we are having a communication issue. By the fourth time, I’m thinking, “We have discussed this.” By the fifth time, my answer may become slightly more concise. By the sixth time? Well… How attached are you to getting an answer that doesn't involve me screaming?   There is something about being asked the s...

Are you a creature of habit? I’m talking about the kind of person who has a routine. A real routine. A carefully constructed little schedule that tells you what happens next and, more importantly, when it happens. Coffee at this time. Shower at that time. Work starts at this time. Lunch at this time. Dinner at this time. Bed at this time. Everything has its place. Everything makes sense. Everything is under control. And then… life laughs.   Because apparently, the universe enjoys taking perfectly reasonable routines and throwing them directly into a wood chipper. Maybe you planned to run a few errands in the morning, but suddenly the store is packed, the drive-thru line is approximately 47 miles long, and somebody has decided that today is the perfect day to reorganize the entire checkout system. Maybe you planned to get something done at home, but your dog needs something, the phone rings, you forgot you needed an ingredient, and suddenly it’s 2:30 in the afternoon and you’re sta...

I live in the city. I feel like that is an important detail to establish because lately I have started questioning whether my address was accidentally entered into the system as “middle of nowhere.” I am not talking about seeing a squirrel. Squirrels are basically the interns of the animal kingdom. They are everywhere, and nobody is particularly surprised to see one. I’m talking about deer, raccoons, and possums. Actual wildlife. In my yard. Like they pay property taxes. There is something particularly unsettling about looking out your window and finding a deer standing there. Deer are not small. A squirrel can run across your yard and you think, “Oh, look. A squirrel.” A deer appears and your brain immediately goes, “WHY IS THERE A HORSE IN MY YARD?” And the deer doesn't even look concerned. Nope. It just stands there eating whatever it has decided belongs to it. Meanwhile, I’m standing inside my house looking through the window like I’m observing a dangerous criminal. Don’t make ...

Have you ever wanted something accomplished so badly that when someone tells you “no,” your first thought isn't, “Okay, I understand”? Instead, your brain quietly responds, “Hmm. Interesting. So that's the answer you want to give me.” 😂 I'm talking about those moments when you feel strongly enough about something that you suddenly become very creative. Not necessarily sneaky in a devious, mustache-twirling, I'm about to commit a crime kind of way. More like a perfectly innocent little detour around an obstacle that someone else apparently thought would stop you. Because sometimes “no” doesn't actually mean no. Sometimes it means, “You're going to have to figure out another way.” And apparently, some of us take that as a personal invitation. There is something fascinating about what happens when the normal route doesn't work. When someone tells you something can't be done, your brain can go from sitting quietly to suddenly running a full-scale strateg...

Do you ever wake up and somehow just know the day is going to be a rough one? Nothing has actually happened yet. You haven't spilled your coffee, nobody has annoyed you, and your computer hasn't decided it needs to install 47 updates before allowing you to do anything productive. Technically, everything is fine. And yet… there it is. That feeling. You look at the clock, take a sip of coffee, and your brain quietly whispers, “Oh, this is going to be a day.” I don't necessarily mean the kind of day where everything goes catastrophically wrong. Those are easy to identify. I'm talking about the weird days. The days where things are just… off. For me, one of the biggest warning signs is work. There are days when the requests coming in are perfectly normal. You read them, understand what someone needs, take care of it, and move along with your life. Then there are the other days. The days when the requests start coming in and you find yourself staring at the screen thinking...

Have you ever found yourself innocently scrolling through TikTok, minding your own business, only to emerge three hours later questioning everything you thought you knew about the universe? Because that's exactly what happened to me. I wasn't looking for ghosts. I wasn't researching the paranormal. I certainly wasn't planning on adding "ghost hunter" to my list of hobbies. But thanks to the mysterious powers of the TikTok algorithm, I somehow found myself watching one spirit box video after another. Before I knew it, I was completely invested. The videos were fascinating. People would ask questions into a little device, wait a few seconds, and suddenly words seemed to come flying back through the speaker. Names. Answers. Random phrases. It was spooky, entertaining, and just believable enough to make me think, "Well... what if?" Curiosity has always been both my greatest strength and my biggest weakness. It has introduced me to wonderful hobbies, crea...

Love is a powerful thing. It can make us laugh until our sides hurt, show up when we are exhausted, and remind us that we are never truly alone. Love can be found in the smallest moments—a phone call just to check in, a favorite meal made with care, or simply sitting beside someone when they need a little extra comfort. But sometimes love asks more of us. Sometimes love means becoming a voice when someone else struggles to be heard. Advocating for someone you care about is not always easy. It can mean asking difficult questions, seeking answers that are not always easy to find, or having conversations that make you uncomfortable. It can mean stepping into situations where you wish you didn't have to be involved, but you know you cannot simply look away. That is one of the hardest parts about caring deeply for someone. Your heart wants to protect them, but your mind knows that protection sometimes requires action. Advocating is not about being difficult. It is not about creating con...

I recently had one of those moments where I realized there is absolutely no point in denying it anymore—I am squeamish. Not the dramatic, movie-scene kind of squeamish where I faint at the sight of blood or need someone to fan me with a magazine. No, I'm talking about the kind of squeamish where certain conversations make me want to plug my ears, close my eyes, and suddenly remember that I have somewhere else to be. For me, one of those topics is toenails. Yes, toenails. I know they're a perfectly normal part of the human body, and yes, we all have them. That's not the issue. The issue begins when someone decides to tell me the life story of one of their toenails. They'll start innocently enough by saying something like, "You won't believe what happened to my big toe." Right about then, my brain quietly whispers, We're in danger. Before I know it, they're describing every detail, and then comes the sentence that strikes fear into my soul: "Wa...

Am I the only one who likes to have a little fun with spam callers? You know the ones I'm talking about. They call out of nowhere and ask if you've ever thought about selling your house. My first thought is always, "Well, you called me." So instead of immediately hanging up, I sometimes decide to see where the conversation goes. When they ask if I'd be willing to sell, I enthusiastically tell them, "Absolutely!" Then I give them a price that would make even the fanciest mansion blush. Let's say $2 million. There's usually a long pause while they try to figure out whether I'm serious or if they accidentally called the wrong person. Eventually they tell me they were hoping for something a little more reasonable. That's when I explain that every minute they spend trying to negotiate, the price increases by another $5,000. "Oh, it's been another minute. We're at $2,005,000 now." If they keep talking, I keep adding to the t...