Years ago, I decided to trade the high-stakes world of banking for a career at SeaWorld. I arrived for my "audition" in a suit and heels, convinced that a degree in Theatre was basically the same thing as a Master’s in Marine Biology. I was wrong. Very, very wrong.

I miss my husbands. The work kind. This is a love letter to Wing Men, steady partnerships, and the people who always remembered the ice.

Some people bring joy when they enter a room. Others bring… a word count. This one’s for anyone who’s ever survived coffee with an Extrovert With No Self-Awareness (EWNSA). ☕️😵‍💫

Some families pass down recipes. Others pass down drama. This essay is for everyone who’s ever survived the holidays by smiling through gritted teeth and counting the hours until they can take home some leftovers. 🍗 #humorwriting #holidayfamilydynamics #writingcommunity #blogessay

Every year, one tree in my neighborhood jumps the gun and starts changing color in the middle of July. And every year, it sparks something in me — not dread for the end of summer, but joy for the season ahead.

From misplaced keys to rekindled purpose, contractor no-shows to acts of kindness, this post offers a warm, witty, and very human New Year’s wish list. A reminder that it’s never too late to start again — with grace, humor, and maybe a pair of pink stilettos.

From awkward gifts and impossible-to-shop-for friends to a heartfelt text about a simple cup of tea, this is an essay on the unexpected ways we show up in someone’s life — and how being remembered might be the best gift of all.

In this essay, I write about the magic and melancholy of Christmas music — from classic carols to Broadway ballads — and why one song in particular has come to mean more to me with each passing year.

The quiet power of letters and the way art — even in miniature — can carry messages of trust, balance, and open-heartedness. A gentle reminder of what still matters most.

Before Zillow and Instagram listings, real estate dreams were sold one mysterious code at a time. One of my earliest freelance jobs involved decoding cryptic listings and turning them into storybook homes—without ever seeing a single one. That $3 gig taught me the most valuable lesson of all: show up, write anyway, and trust that words can build something real—even when you’re working with an empty lot.

What began as a temporary shift upstairs became something more: a daily front-row seat to nature’s grandest performance. From summer’s green pirouettes to autumn’s curtain call and winter’s glittering encore, one red maple tree outside my window reminded me that beauty, strength, and renewal are always in season—if you’re lucky enough to be watching.

I didn’t win a Tony. I didn’t direct on Broadway. But I built a life on my own terms, telling stories that matter, working with actors I believe in, and saying “yes” only when it counts.