I’ve been in a reflective state lately, not just over the past six months, but really the last two years if I’m being honest with myself. Maybe it’s because I’m approaching ten years of reflecting on my body of work as a creator, a journey that began with a simple blog and has now blossomed into so much more. Maybe it’s because I’m settling into motherhood, feeling the profound shift from the girl who started with a dream to the woman who now holds her children and imagines a future filled with endless possibilities.
I want to inspire my girls, showing them that dreams evolve and growth is constant, and that they, too, can create a life full of passion, creativity, and purpose. Perhaps it’s my evolution into a designer, embracing a role I’ve dreamed for myself since I was young. Or maybe it’s the sense that I’m on the cusp of a new chapter in my life, standing at the edge of a new adventure, a new home, wondering what it will inspire me to create next.
Whatever it is, there’s a deep shift in my soul, a transformation. Some compare this transition to that of a butterfly, emerging from a cocoon after a period of intense change. I do feel like I’ve been in a proverbial cocoon, wrapped up in the experiences and lessons of the past few years, slowly transforming.
A dear friend once compared this phase to being between trapezes, flying through the air, having let go of one and not yet grasped the next. I let go of the familiar a few years ago, and now, I finally feel like I’m gripping onto the next trapeze with this new chapter. And while so much has changed—my roles, my aspirations, my perspectives—one thing remains steadfast and true to my core.
It’s what inspires me to create, to share, to tell stories—this incredible community. It’s each of you, who have journeyed with me through every high and low, every twist and turn. Your encouragement, your support, your belief in me have been the pillars that have held me up and pushed me forward.
This next chapter will be a welcomed return to nature—a place my youth is deeply rooted. I keep dreaming of a memory I have of my 8-year-old self in this old oak tree I used to love climbing in Northern California where I grew up. The sounds of the birds, the smell of the oak. I’m not quite sure what the symbolism there is yet, but I can’t wait to find out.
