The Architecture of My Creative Life
I lean down and scratch Margo behind the ears. She squints her eyes and begins to purr. A moment ago, I was still in bed. Now I’m making my way downstairs, moving through the small rituals that begin the day: grinding the beans, filling the kettle, opening the shades to let the morning in. The windows are a little hazy and could probably use cleaning, but I’ve grown to like the way the light comes through, softened and quiet.
What If We Didn’t Need to Escape
We’ve been sold a shallow version of the good life.
It looks like a beach chair. A plane ticket. A glossy brochure offering two weeks of escape from a routine that quietly wears us down. The structure remains untouched, but for a brief moment, we are allowed to step outside it, if we’ve earned it, if we’ve saved enough, if we promise to return.