I understood and partly agreed with the sentiment. The more I thought about this, though, the more I think a loyalty program doesn’t have to be transactional. Points and perks are a component, but loyalty that sticks is built on something hard to package and even harder to measure.

The moments that built real loyalty in my career never lived in a dashboard. My no-budget startup days taught me that a room full of people with similar energies — no ad spend, just presence — could do more than any campaign.*

Today, we’ve optimized so aggressively that we’ve optimized away parts that matter. We’re slowly crawling back, though. There is a trend to get offline, or off social media, at least, so we can be fully present in our own lives. This means marketing needs to meet people where they are: in real life.

I think about this when I shop local. I met the woman behind Naturally Connected at a farmer's market; she taught me everything about her product, and I was hooked. I’ve gifted her products to friends and family, who are now loyal customers, too. I go back to NOLA Brewing regularly — and I don't even really like beer — because the staff is lovely and one of the owners showed me genuine kindness before I even knew who he was.

None of them found me through a retargeting ad. The connection came first, and loyalty followed.

*Just because I appreciate a well-used em dash doesn’t mean this was written with AI- Save the em dash!

Strange Currency

Last month, I attended an author talk at a local bookstore down the street from me. I had no idea who the author was; it was just something to do on a Thursday night. I was intrigued by the topic (historical fiction), bought her book, and got it signed. My friend and I grabbed pizza afterward, and the author, , her editor, , and their friends were at the location as well. My friend invited them to join us on the patio (I wish I were that emboldened), and they enthusiastically joined! By the end of the night, they had invited me to another book event and to Allison’s workshop on writing real characters, which cracked open my own novel.

Elisa later volunteered to join my book club [as a guest] when we read Triage, her novel about WWII nurses, their trauma, and the support they never received when they returned. I’m already thinking about having her on my company’s nursing podcast for Nurses Week 2027.

All of this came from showing up to one Thursday night event. Local businesses profited. My own writing improved. A 2027 podcast episode idea was born. And I connected with people I hadn't known three hours earlier. No algorithm had planned that night.

In My Bag

At the Bottom of the Garden by Diane Purkiss: A dark history of fairies, hobgoblins, and other troublesome things. Ancient fairies were born of fear, not wishes. Slow to get through, but since the author mentioned Marion Zimmer Bradley in her intro, I’m persevering.

.

Yesteryear by Claro Claire Burke: About 80% through. Not what I expected. I thought it would be a complete mockery of tradwives, and I’d be bored by the cheap shots. That’s not what’s happening here; I am far from bored.

Worth Your Time

Five Years Later, My Father's Obituary: Mandi Brazie, a death doula and personal friend, wrote her dad's obituary five years after he passed because grief doesn't have a timeline. Have a tissue handy.

All the Sinners Bleed by S.A. Cosby: Dark, gripping, Southern noir at its finest. Is Southern Gothic Noir a category? If it is, this book is the spokesperson. Bonus that it’s being turned into a mini-series.

Widow’s Bay: Comedic horror that is a genuine breath of fresh air. Think The Office meets Stephen King.

The Future of Connection Is Happening IRL: Eventbrite's 2026 trend report finds that people are turning backyards and bookstores into places where real connection happens. Spontaneity is back.

Before I had an official marketing job title, I was thrown into the deep end at a string of startups and told to swim. In hindsight, I learned the most in these roles because I was operating (mostly) solo with zero budget. What I did have was my time and my relationships. That became my playbook.

One example: I partnered with Lyft, a new ride-share company in our city. Lyft had representatives on the ground, but they needed guidance on the local entrepreneurial ecosystem. Now that I could help with. A few months later, we cohosted an elaborate entrepreneur community event. Lyft provided the monetary funds, and I leveraged my energy, hustle, and knowledge of my community to execute an interactive evening of learning, socializing, and connection with every type of professional - from business leaders to interns. It was human-first marketing in the wild. That lesson has stayed with me. Today I work in healthcare marketing, writing for hospital executives and travel nurses alike. The budgets may have changed, but the people haven't. At the end of the day, we’re all human. The best marketing has always known this.

Strange Currency

What I’m listening to: Mort Garson’s Mother Earth’s Plantasia — a 1976 synthesizer album made specifically to be played for plants (and of course the humans who love them). The album even comes with seeds - nice touch!

This week: I saw Jon Batiste at Jazz Fest on Friday. The man is just pure joy in human form. There’s something about being in a crowd of strangers all feeling the same thing at the same time, led by one person who chose happiness. His shirt said it all: “I Love You Even If I Don’t Know You.”

In My Bag

The Other Bennet Sister by Janice Hadlow - “Mary, the bookish ugly duckling of Pride and Prejudice’s five Bennet sisters, emerges from the shadows and transforms into a desired woman with choices of her own.”

Worth Your Time

The sound of rain makes seeds grow faster — MIT researchers discover plants respond to sound. The botanical world continues to blow my mind.

The Creative Genius of Procrastination — Writing Living Sanctuary is my favorite task-oriented procrastination.

I love you even if I don’t know you. See you next time. 🌿

Mardi Gras Day, 2019: I met my dear friend in the French Quarter, and we were both wearing heavily embellished boots to match our outfits. Neither of us was a member of a krewe, but when MG rolled around, we quietly wished we were part of something… so we made our own.

That was the birth of Krewe of Boots, a loose tradition of ladies meeting for lunch in the French Quarter and dancing around the streets in decorated boots the Friday before MG. (Mostly photos from here on — scroll on.)

In 2022, we added a theme: manifestation. I decorated my boots with plants I foraged and pressed to manifest moving to the woods.

In 2023, the move became a reality and changed my life, prompting a fresh perspective (you can read about it here) and a move back to New Orleans two years later.

I didn’t always stay on theme after 2022. Some years, I chose aesthetics over intention (I have some super cute boots I still wear from those years…). Here’s an example:

It wasn’t until I started brainstorming the 2026 boots that I realized my 2022 boot manifestation had worked. This year, I returned to putting intention behind the creation.

I refocused and thoughtfully planned my boots to manifest what I want. I usually keep my creative projects private. Maybe it’s superstition. Maybe it’s my cultural fear of the evil eye (Greek life). I pushed those concerns aside for my creation.

My Mardi Gras 2026 boots will manifest completing my first book. Here’s a look:

The back of the boot is a bookshelf theme, featuring the spines of my favorite novels. Tucked in between those favorites are my future books, called Working Title on the boot. It’s kind of cool to see my last name next to Rowling and Verghese.

I was unsure what to do with the rest of the boot. I couldn’t bear to cut up a book just for one day in the quarter. Then, a few weeks before MG, I made my weekly trip to the used book sale at the library around the corner, where they had a shopping cart outside with free books. Even if the book was free, I still didn’t want to destroy it, but I sifted through the assortment anyway. On top was a rough-shaped book, 21st Century Dictionary of Quotations. I knew it was meant for me to pull the inspiration from the pages to help make my dream come true.

With Lonesome Dove playing in the background, I cut and glued touching quotes across the leather, casting spells…

Final look before they’re sacrificed to the MG gods…

Cheers to another Mardi Gras for the books. Now it’s time to make the magic happen. ❤️

Update: Some folks asked which books (poetry and short story included) I painted on my “boot shelf.” Here’s the list:

My Brilliant Friend by Elena Ferrante

Middlesex by Jeffrey Eugenides

The Yellow Wallpaper by Charlotte Perkins Gilman

The Giving Tree by Shel Silverstein

Harry Potter by J.K. Rowling (didn’t have enough room to add and The Sorcerer’s Stone)

The Covenant of Water by Abraham Verghese

Bear Town by Fredrik Backman (my favorite Backman book is My Grandmother Asked Me to Tell You She’s Sorry, but again, I didn’t have room)

Crying in H Mart by Michelle Zauner

The Rules of Magic by

The Firebrand by Marion Zimmer Bradley

And some Working Titles by me!

If you want to join Krewe of Boots next year, let me know! We can make room☺️

I was visiting Blue Cypress Books (again) and asked one of the clerks for a recommendation. I told her I love the Neapolitan Novels (My Brilliant Friend is the first book of the series, and also a very good show on HBO), written by Elena Ferrante. She browsed the shelves, pulled out a thick, heavy hardcover (I forget the title), and handed it to me. I explained that the book I’m looking for was meant to be read during my flight and trip to Italy. With the travel and multiple layovers, I needed something lighter. I asked if she had it in paperback. She said no, and eventually handed me option two, a paperback, which actually included travel in the story…eh, potential travel, I should say.

She handed me All Fours by , saying, “It’s different and has that messy female protagonist we love.” (For context, the clerk also loved the Neapolitan Novels, which are filled with the messiest ladies.)

I’ve never read romance or smut. This isn’t exactly either, but explains my shock when the sexual encounters of a very real perimenopausal woman started unfolding on the page. To be clear, the age and hormones weren’t the shocking part. Some scenes were so unexpected, I had to stop and reread, thinking, She did what to whom? It wasn’t what I thought I was walking into. But after the initial shock, it faded. Soon, it didn’t even faze me - just as the protagonist’s own absurd actions don’t faze her. I kind of fell in line.

I also ended up falling in line after my initial frustration with her choices. I would never make the decisions she made, which mirrors exactly how I felt about Elena Greco from Neapolitan novels. Why are you doing this to yourself and your family?

As much as these messy female main characters frustrate me, I keep coming back to them. Obviously, they resonate even if I wouldn’t be friends with them in real life. Perhaps their warped views and poor decision-making aren’t as foreign as I think. It may be (and upon reflection, certainly is) quite close to home. Do any of us knowingly make a bad decision? Probably not.

After sitting with these characters and my feelings, I have decided that these fictional ladies are a form of nurture and assurance. Assurance that even if you make the “wrong” choice, life goes on. Your loved ones adapt. Even if the decision is blatantly self-interested, even if the feelings behind it seem frivolous to outsiders, they are still real to the person making them.

Want to know something embarrassing? It wasn’t until right now, while writing this, that I realized Miranda July never gives the protagonist a name in All Fours. I assumed I’d forgotten, so I Googled it and learned she’s intentionally nameless. I love this choice and may borrow it one day. Without a name, I don’t have preconceived associations. She exists in my mind based on her actions, not through whatever expectations a name might carry.

Maybe that’s part of why these messy women keep finding me: they aren’t here to be liked, associated with, or approved of. They’re here like all of us: to just be.

This is where the essay was supposed to end.

However, while I was lying in bed last night trying to fall asleep, I remembered an embarrassing moment from 14 years ago that still makes me cringe. A realization soon came over me: My essay is wrong. I would be friends with these women. I am friends with them. I am them! We are all flawed, unreliable narrators doing the best we can with what we have. Do we all make emotional, half-baked decisions? Yes. I extended grace to these fictional characters and accepted them despite their flaws. I forgot to apply the same grace to myself.

❤️,
A Messy Lady

It was an intense interview process. I prepared in the same way many marketers do: revisiting frameworks, studying growth models, and reading work by respected individuals. One idea that stayed with me was the idea of creating momentum upstream instead of waiting for demand downstream.

At first, I took the idea very literally. I was interviewing for a senior marketing role and would report to the CRO, so this nugget of information was immediately relevant. It’s a sticky idea that ended up penetrating other areas of my life.

Create momentum upstream became my mantra.

What Momentum Upstream Means

In business, momentum upstream is straightforward but not simple. It’s about investing ahead of need. Create energy and movement before urgency appears. In business, it could look like holding webinars despite two viewers. Or publishing weekly podcast episodes even if the only subscribers are your team members. Keep it going and keep it consistent. Teams waiting for demand tend to operate reactively. Teams that build momentum upstream shape outcomes instead of chasing them.

I liken it to Newton’s Law of Inertia: An object at rest stays at rest, an object in motion stays in motion…

Creating momentum upstream takes creativity, discipline, and sustained energy with very little external reinforcement.

Where Energy Goes

I’ve always said I’m an entrepreneur at heart, I just don’t have my big idea yet. The type people say is “genius” and has a clear path forward. That belief made sense in a business context: validate demand first, then build.

Through the lens of momentum upstream, I realized I wasn’t waiting for an idea. I already had ideas (and an equal amount of half-finished projects…) I was waiting for justification, and without it, I was frozen. No creating, no momentum. Just a backlog of ideas waiting to be blessed.

Turns out, I didn’t need the idea to be “genius.” I needed movement, but I was stuck and mistaking validation for momentum.

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It Was Never Just About the Idea

My realization: being an entrepreneur at heart was never really about ideas at all. For me, it was about autonomy.

I’ve always struggled with giving my best creative energy to things that belong to someone else; even when the work is meaningful and the people are good.

Working for yourself requires momentum upstream by default. No one assigns urgency. No one asks for the work. If you wait to be needed, nothing happens. Creation has to come first.

The Job I Didn’t Get

Before my final interview, I felt conflicted. On paper, the role was impressive, the title would be a career-changer, and it was financially motivating.

But I wasn’t fully convinced, especially when the CRO kicked off the interview (first time meeting him) with, “Hope you’re ready to work long hours.” Red flag.

Post interview, while I was out for a walk, I asked the universe for a request: If the role would turn out to be toxic or interfere with my happiness in ways I couldn’t foresee, please don’t let me get it. And if I didn’t get it, I promise to take it as a sign to jump headfirst into my art.

I didn’t get the job.

As Matthew McConaughey would say: green light.

While I was disappointed I was missing out on a steep salary, I felt a hint of relief (and was proud of myself for making it through five rounds of interviews, toot toot). I know we don’t need permission to create, but apparently, I did.

Applying the Framework to Life

Bruce Lee said: “It is not what happens that counts; it is how you react. Your mental attitude determines what you make of it — either a stepping stone or a stumbling block.” (aside: highly recommend Shannon Lee’s (Bruces’s daughter) book, Be Water, My Friend)

I turned the momentum upstream inward. It stopped feeling like a business framework and started feeling like personal motivation.

If I want to build anything of my own, I have to invest energy first. Finish things before they’re needed. Create motion where I’ve been waiting.

That doesn’t mean abandoning strategy or discipline. It means changing the order of operations:

• Energy before validation

• Momentum before permission

• Ownership before outcomes

I didn’t get the job.
But I know where my energy belongs, and I can’t wait to see what happens.

💗

Here’s what no one told me: it hurts a lot, way more than I expected. I was lying there, smelling my burning skin, trying to pretend it was fine. I even rationalized it, thinking, at least I’m not injecting a toxin near my brain. And if you’re anything like me, someone who tries to be easy and polite, you might downplay the pain. When asked, I told the esthetician it was “about a seven” on the pain scale when it really was a hard ten.

Then there’s recovery, which is a whole different beast. You can’t go outside. You can’t exercise (this was the biggest and most unexpected limit for me). You shouldn’t even be near a window without sunscreen. My face was so swollen that I thought I was losing my vision because of the pressure around my eyes. No one told me that part. It was first-aid wound healing.

The downtime was longer and lonelier than I expected. It’s not just “a few days of redness and peeling.” It’s more like living in limbo, waiting for your face to return to normal, hoping there isn’t permanent damage once the new skin is revealed. In the time I couldn’t leave the house, I wondered why I felt okay with literally wounding myself in the name of beauty.

I want to be clear — I’m not against aesthetic treatments, and I’m not blaming anyone who loves them. But I wish someone had told me what it’s actually like: the intensity, the isolation, the way it makes you question your relationship with vanity. I paid good money to set my face on fire, then I sat inside and watched my life pass by. I know I sound dramatic, and I’m acting like this was a near-death experience. It definitely wasn’t; I never felt unsafe. I was just massively disappointed in myself for letting my vanity go this far.

What I Wish I Knew:

• It’s not just light. The lasers are powerful, and everyone’s pain tolerance is different. Don’t minimize what your body’s going through.

• Avoid sun exposure before treatment. I didn’t, and my skin was more sensitive than it needed to be.

• Schedule it around your cycle. Hormonal fluctuations can make it more painful and affect how your skin reacts and heals.

• Plan for real downtime. You won’t be meeting friends for lunch the next day. I had to cancel my 10-year anniversary dinner, which added a new layer of guilt. You’ll want to stay home for at least a week. If you don’t work remotely, you’ll want to take time off - I was so grateful I wasn’t in this situation.

• Be honest with yourself about why you’re doing it. Prevention is part of it. Keeping up with the Joneses is another.

• The results aren’t always dramatic. I still don’t notice much of a difference. In fact, new white spots appeared, which I hope are just part of the healing process. Sometimes it’s not the skin that needs resurfacing, it’s our priorities.

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When I go in for my follow-up next month, I hope I have the strength to be honest and say, “It wasn’t worth it.” Tell the esthetician I was completely unprepared for how much my life would stop while I recovered, and that I don’t notice a difference in my skin. I already know her response: You just need two more treatments to see the full effect.

Do I really want to spend another two weeks burning, peeling, hiding, wounding myself and healing again, all to erase a few sunspots and spark (temporary) collagen production? No. At least not at this level.

If you’re thinking about getting a laser treatment, know what you’re signing up for. It’s not all glow and whistles. There’s real pain, real healing, and sometimes, a very real realization about what you value most.

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Before I dig in, I need to make it clear that I love my sisters (there are two of them). They’re brilliant, strong women whom I’d do anything for. But just because I’m a little obsessed with them now doesn’t mean we had the idyllic family life growing up. I feel like when people hear of “three sisters” or “three daughters,” they think, “how sweet!” But, IYKYK. For us, it was much less Full House and more Succession.

Our skills were in psychological warfare. Yes, there were screaming matches and slamming doors, but those rolled off the back. They were basic moves and ineffective. Plus, they got you in trouble. To really cause a wound, you had to play it smart: silent treatments, side-eyes, passive-aggressive digs disguised as compliments. A house of girls was a masterclass in sly delivery, one-liners that slice like a papercut, and timing that stings.

I am a copywriter at a corporate healthcare company. After reviewing the results of our Q3 marketing campaigns and identifying the top-performing social media posts, the top two performing campaigns were written by me. Both hooks sparked curiosity and got the audience thinking, which in turn engaged them and resulted in high performance. I connected the dots during the meeting: Did my childhood practice in psychological warfare make me a better copywriter? I think so.

Every piece of copy needs an angle, a hook. Otherwise, you’re just telling a story when the real point is selling the story. If it walks the line of “too salesy,” then I’ll probably like it. Writing hooks is oddly the same, or similar, muscle I flexed 25 years ago. Essentially, it’s coming up with creative ways to say, “I’m better.” There needs to be some cleverness involved, but since these particular campaigns I’m talking about today are B2B, it has to be primarily diplomatic. It also has to have a flair of wit to stand out. Like battling sisters, if the jabs weren’t pithy, they’d roll their eyes, sarcastically comment, “good one,” and walk away. Brutal feedback loop, but highly effective training.

Throwing money behind a campaign is like yelling louder at your sister: it doesn’t mean you’ll win. Good marketing isn’t about volume, it’s about perspective. It’s about saying something sharp enough to cut through and keep your audience thinking (and clicking).

Sometimes we think our professional strengths come only from formal training or years of job experience. Both can be true. The things that make me a strong marketer today were formed long before I ever opened a brand style guide. They were forged at the dinner table… in long car rides… in the basement hang-out room…skills perfected when words had to count.

Thank you to my sisters, I owe you one.

Out of that magic, the Marshall Relief Alliance was born. They’re not a bloated nonprofit; they’re Marshall neighbors, regular people who were boots on the ground since day one. This video is from a community dinner they hosted, when the warm autumn sun gave way to frosted winter nights. With no restaurants, no coffee shops, nowhere else in town to gather, these dinners became our hearth. Neighbors came together to break bread and share stories, and thanks to the Appalachian ballad singers who joined us, we ended the night in song.

Although it’s a simple song, it gave me chills when everyone chimed in. Even in hardship, there is joy.

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Fortunately, I have a tool. In weeks like this, I am grateful for the anchor that pulls me back to center. It tugs my mind when I drift into hopelessness, as if saying: remember what you witnessed!

That anchor is the recovery after Hurricane Helene.

It’s been almost a year since Helene tore through the Southeast, bringing destruction and severe flooding to Appalachia. The mountains aren’t supposed to suffer hurricanes, or so I thought when I moved there from New Orleans two years ago. However, in a tale of twisted irony and some coincidence (I can’t decide which, let it be both), I ended up at ground zero.

Communities were submerged, roads crumbled, and homes and people were swept away. Even though it was the deadliest hurricane since Katrina, what struck me most wasn’t just the devastation itself; it was what came after. It’s the way people showed up.

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Strangers worked side by side. These were people who might never have spoken otherwise, who looked and lived nothing alike. Yet, they cooked for each other, cleared roads, delivered supplies, and repaired each other’s businesses and homes.

People came from everywhere. Local farmers were the first to roll into downtown with their heavy machinery, clearing mud before anyone from the federal government arrived. A man from a few states over arrived with a trailer full of ATVs to reach places where the roads had washed away. And a family of Mennonites camped nearby for a week just so they could spend their days rebuilding with us.

Those were just a few of the hundreds who passed through the revolving door of volunteers who appeared, unasked, every single day.

Although I have never witnessed this kind of heroism and sacrifice for total strangers, there is a science behind it. Research on prosocial behavior has found that in crises, stress doesn’t always lead to chaos. It can actually trigger care. When people see others in need, they’re more likely to help. The broaden-and-build theory explains how moments of positive emotion—hope, love, generosity—can soothe us and expand our minds. It ripples outward (re: karma).

That’s what I saw after Helene: kindness spreading faster than fear.

After the experience, whenever the world feels lost, I return to that memory. Because in the disaster, when it would’ve been just as easy to turn inward and away from each other, people turned toward each other.

It reminds me of what we’re capable of. It reminds me that the quiet strength of ordinary people is greater than the noise of fear. It reminds me that there is proof of humanity.

In the hell of the past year(s) we’ve had, where it feels like everything is burning, I cling to those memories more than ever.

IMO: The world doesn’t need us to harden, it needs us to soften. We need each other more than ever. We need to keep turning toward each other. 💙

☕️ If you enjoyed this post and want to help fuel more words and stories, you can buy me a coffee and keep the wheels turning!

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That, apparently, everyone knows except for me

I would remove “just.” We are all stars, not just stars, and we should treat each other as such.

2. Substack Continued

I’m not a one-and-done Substack creature! I shared a “cool” take in July. If you missed it, it’s a quick read: No One’s Waiting on Your Hot Take.

3. Testing Mocktails

I was determined to use a zero-sugar THC seltzer for a new mocktail…then realized the ginger beer I had been using had 20 grams of sugar.🍭🤪 Delicious recipe below.
Recipe:

• ½ can chilled THC seltzer

• ½ can spicy ginger beer (sugar included, apparently)

• Squeeze of fresh lime

• Ice + mint or basil garnish

4. Funky Football

The high school football team across the street blasts ’70s funk-disco music at practice. I half-expect (and am secretly hoping for) a Soul Train line to break out on the field.

5. Sister Seeds

She sent me home with seeds from her New Jersey garden’s harvest, and I planted them when I got home. We’re co-parenting 10k miles away!

6. Plants Talk Back

Speaking of gardens, there’s a discovery in the plant world. We knew plants communicated, and Cornell scientists figured out how. Plants communicate stress (read here) via internal water pressure. Moral of the story: Keep talking to your plants. They hear you.

7. Book: Deacon King Kong

Funny, chaotic, and a little sad. The characters feel like they might wander into your house and make themselves at home. If you like dirty NYC in the 1960s-70s, this book is for you.

Current read: The Red Tent.

8. Substack Posts I Loved

• Letting Down Your Guard by Toko-pa Turner — reflections on softness and protection.

• Let Your Magic Shine by Jess Ann Creates — a reminder to let what’s inside glow outward.

9. Move the Furniture

My office/guest room felt dark and cramped. I ditched the massive headboard and frame, rolled up the rug, rearranged the furniture a few times, and finally found a composition that feels just right.

10. Kelly and Lee

Kelly and Lee started teaching yoga in the park during the pandemic, and it stuck. They started Crescent City Yoga and foster a loving community where everyone feels seen. Cheers to five years of yoga in the park!

11. Estate Sale Treasure

A mahogany sideboard with brass labels of plant genus (in French, I believe). Not pictured: the fruits from my continued endeavor to fill my bookshelves with intention, not in bulk.

Thanks for joining me for some of the unsuspecting joys of summer. I’m carrying all of these into September, along with something new I’m working on. Can’t wait to share it when it’s ready.

🌿

As it picked up steam, the spontaneity disappeared. Now the guests are mostly comedians*, influencers, and the occasional celebrity. The takes are still hot—but clearly rehearsed. Written, practiced, and rewritten. You’ll hear things like “No more potlucks,” or “Abolish wi-fi on airplanes,” or “Naps are disgusting.”

Some of the takes are good, like “Normalize comfortable silences and eye contact.” Sometimes the takes are funny. But most of them…kind of suck.

That got me thinking: What if not having a take is the more interesting take?

A year ago, I joined Toastmasters. It’s a group where people stand up and give speeches on purpose. I waited a full year before giving my first speech - less because I was intimidated to speak in front of people, but more so because I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t want to push some point just to fill space.

Turns out, that was the right instinct.

When I finally gave a speech (based on one of my Substack posts about tending to my azaleas), it was quiet. Thoughtful. Not hot at all. But it resonated and people told me it felt real.

Maybe not every take has to be sharp. Some of them can just be true.

I’d rather share something slowly and fully than toss out something fast and forgettable. Or worse, say something unforgettable that you can’t take back.
I’d rather speak when I mean it or not speak at all. And I’d definitely rather read a long, meandering story about someone’s garden than another video about how brunch is a scam.

Easier said than done.

Don Miguel Ruiz calls it being impeccable with your word. It’s one of the Four Agreements to achieve peace and happiness.

It’s about using your voice with clarity, care, and purpose. Not wasting it on noise and gossip. Not mistaking cleverness for meaning. Let something sit, stretch out, or even go unspoken.

So no, I don’t have a hot take.
But I do stay up replaying the cringey things I’ve said when I should’ve stayed quiet.
And I have a plant that might survive August.
And a greenhouse that’s too hot to keep anything green.
And a few slow thoughts I’ll share when they’re ready.

Thanks for waiting 💕

1*Shout-out to girlies 💗 Loved seeing them in the spotlight!

For those of you who read my first (and right now, only) post about my azalea plant journey, here is a walk-through of the azaleas lining the front of my house. Don’t they look fab?! I miss them. To learn the lessons they shared, check out this post:

A closer look at the blossoms with a refreshing morning dew.

In the works: This free eBook, Shorter posts :) and a newsletter filled with everyday magic.

Plants started to reveal themselves: blueberries, azaleas, hydrangeas, and one lone lavender in a framed garden bed near the front door. I took the lavender as a positive sign. In folklore, planting lavender brings good luck and wards off evil spirits. I call this particular plant friend my “zombie lavender” because it constantly looks like it’s about to croak. Lavender is a Mediterranean plant, and this one was living in poorly drained Appalachian soil (the opposite soil and nutrients it should have). Yet, it continuously survives the harshest of winter freezes. Just when it looks like it’s seen the end, new buds emerged.

The azaleas, however, were underwhelming. Lining the stone walkway to our front door, they barely bloomed the first year. They were leggy and sparse, and looked more like tired boxwoods than bright azaleas. They needed someone to care for them. It would’ve been a sweet story if I had intervened early and helped the azaleas come back to life. But, true to my form, I was distracted and the azaleas were temporarily forgotten.

Over time, when I listened, the garden taught me lessons. The most impactful was pruning. Pruning wasn’t only for appearances and to keep the landscaping neat and tidy. I learned that pruning, especially the fruit bearers, encourages healthy growth. Not everything that grows deserves to stay. Some branches pull energy from the rest. Some block the light. Some take up space without giving anything back.

In late summer of 2024, I watched (more like skimmed) YouTube videos about pruning. Empowered with shears in hand, I conducted a timid trim, cutting only what was blatantly dead or damaged. But when it came to the questionable branches, I hesitated. Was this one too leggy? Was that one really blocking central airflow? I second-guessed because I didn’t want to hurt the plant. Although I started hesitant, as the pruning day went on, I felt comfortable taking off more and more. To the point where I was concerned I took off too much.

During my pruning endevers, I made the connection between physical pruning and the emotions is evoked. Pruning is emotional work, especially since I talk to the plants and let them know what I’m doing and why. It’s about releasing what no longer serves, even if you’re unsure you’re doing it right. And sometimes, you don’t realize you’ve pruned at the wrong time of year until it’s too late. (Yes—if you're a gardener, you’re probably wincing. I should’ve pruned the azaleas right after they finished blooming and pruned the blueberries in winter… oops.)

Then, in September, came Hurricane Helene - a sudden and devastating storm that reshaped our entire region. Our town was submerged under the French Broad River and took on 27 feet of water. The deadliest hurricane since Katrina, people and homes were lost across the Southeast. And yet, the azaleas I had pruned without confidence held on.

What I thought might break them could have actually prepared them for the hurricane's high winds. In the spring following the storm, my azaleas bloomed stronger and more vibrant than ever. While I praised the resiliency of the garden, I was unprepared for my own reaction

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What I didn’t realize back in the fall was as I pruned the azaleas, I was also tending to something in myself. Beneath the surface, I was carrying emotional turmoil—quiet, heavy, and unresolved. When the azaleas burst into bloom this spring, they felt like a sign: a living reminder that I needed to let go of what no longer served me—people, patterns, even parts of myself—so I could finally begin to thrive.

This realization hit me hard. I texted my best friends. I jotted down thoughts in my journal. But every morning when I walked through my garden with coffee in hand, more blooms appeared. I like to think this was a way the plants talked to me as I had spoken to them, saying, “thank you for releasing the extra baggage so we could weather the storm.”

Every morning felt like Christmas- I looked forward to seeing what plant friends would make an appearance to the garden party! The bulbs I planted in the fall started to sprout, the bearded irises began to steal the show, and the hostas and yarrow I planted when I moved in had multiplied.

The message was rooted: listen to the plants, follow my intuition, and stop clinging to what needs pruning.

Last month (June 2025), I returned home to New Orleans and have a neglected greenhouse I’m working to bring back to life. I have a new challenge to tackle and a fresh perspective in my heart. The wild Appalachian garden may have been left behind, but its wisdom came with me. I look at the flora around me differently. This city may be familiar, but it is a place where I can cultivate new growth and a botanical business. I brought seeds, both literal and metaphorical, with me from Appalachia. I’m planting from scratch again, knowing this time that beauty comes from what grows and also from what you’re willing to release.

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