Writing

Most people who find their way to this work aren't lacking information. What they don't have is an embodied orientation — a way to be in the experience without being consumed by it.

There's a man sitting in an office right now watching a machine do in nine seconds what used to take his best analyst a week. The thought he won't say out loud: If it can do what I do, then who am I?

There's a version of transformation that gets all the airtime. The silent retreat. The sabbatical. It's beautiful. And for most mothers, it's fiction.

One camp running backward to the land. The other running forward into optimization. Both responding to the same fracture. Neither wrong about what they're feeling. Both wrong about the direction.

Did you know your nervous system would become the very fabric that forms your child's connection to the entire world? Did you know the rebuilding would be the most sacred work of your life?

Is this resistance — or is this knowing? The difference isn't in the no itself. It's in where it lives in your body.

I build in rotation. Not because I've lost interest. Because my daughter just woke up from her nap, or the chickens need water, or it's Tuesday and Tuesdays are for being in the sandbox.

Where there used to be tubes and slides and the beautiful chaos of children learning to negotiate space with their bodies — there's now a row of screens. Each kid in their own little pod.

If I made candles, this would be simple. But I don't make candles. I write books with my blood in them. So when I put the work into the world, I'm not shipping a product. I'm shipping myself.

I learned to ferment by feel. I learned plant medicine the same way. I'm learning to build a website this way. A database is a root cellar. A commit is a fermentation log.

From the outside, this looks scattered. From the inside, it's a rotation — and the rotation is the only system that actually works for the life I'm living.