Bloom

Beautiful things blooming all around: writing without self-judgment, brilliant ideas, sharing the labor of meal-planning, community publishing visions, and adorning your physical space.

(a neighbor’s sweet and sustainable wall garden)

••• A Brief Unfolding

Every year since 2020, I’ve worried that spring might never come. On the still cold and windy days each March and April, I sincerely wonder if I’ll witness the wild budburst among trees and plants and flowers. And then one day, the sun feels warm and strong into the evening, I notice I don’t need a jacket, and my garden is alive and vidid and fresh.

While meteorologically unfounded, my worry feels almost heart-achingly real. And as my anxiety lasts a little longer each year, my gratitude gains depth. When the buds have burst and the light lasts longer and longer, I’m compelled to savor every morning.

And I don’t think the garden loses its ecstasy in winter. It’s quiet, but the roots are down there riotous.

—Rumi

This past winter, my physical garden had very few riotous roots (save the unstoppable Hydrangeas)—but in the garden of my purpose, the roots were unruly in the best ways.

••• Abloom

Beautiful things blooming all around: writing without self-judgment, brilliant ideas, sharing the labor of meal-planning, community publishing visions, and adorning your physical space.

Liminal…Bloom

From unruliness, bloom has emerged—and I’m so wildly excited to officially offer it.

If you’ve been wanting to write, but something (or everything) keeps getting in the way—and you feel stuck, distracted, or overwhelmed—you’re not alone. Writing is deeply personal work, and doing it in isolation can make it even more challenging.

So I’m hoping you’ll join me for bloom: a twelve-week coaching cohort for writers who want to move through creative blocks, make progress with the support of gentle accountability, and root deeper into their voice.

Begins May 14 • Spaces Limited • Sliding Scale

Register here ➜

Community Blooms

When my friend and all around exceptional human, Shannon Amspacher, told me about her brilliant idea, I couldn’t believe this hadn’t existed before—but then I remembered patriarchy and capitalism.

She’s currently heart-fully cultivating Potluck—which aims to ease the mental load of meal planning and the physical labor of grocery shopping, meal prep & cleanup. How, you ask? By connecting local families of similar dietary needs to redistribute this labor and build community and new connections around food.

The best part is that you can have a hand in building Potluck—starting with opting in to a simple survey. Get a snack and then sign up, ok?

Blooming Voices

I’ve had the absolute pleasure of working with the Cha Cha Club—a members’ club for full-time ResearchOps professionals—and founder Kate Towsey, to help bring something truly wonderful to life.

The very-soon-to-launch ResearchOps Review will publish smart, sharp writing on the practice of ResearchOps every two weeks—and the *best* part: articles will be written by community members! ❤︎❤︎❤︎ The Club is one of the most caring, collaborative, and creative communities I’ve encountered and I can’t wait for you to read what they’ve been working on (launching May 1). Subscribe over on Substack!

Interior Bloom

I’ve told you about Leila Simon Hayes’ beauteous wall calendars. And I had to mention her shop again, because it has a bounty of perfect items to adorn every space (all hand made!!!): napkins, pillows, quilts, wallpaper, greeting cards… And if this isn’t a season for buying things for, I highly recommend signing up for Leila’s A Dose of Color newsletter. It alone will brighten your day (and get you 15% off a purchase).

Window Box Blooms, Round Thirteen or So

I do pretty well with indoor plants—I’ve collected too many, according to my partner and dog. But outdoors, it is just a reaaalllll crapshoot if I’m in charge—particularly in the front of our South-facing house.

The place we rent has lovely if not well-worn, wrought-iron window boxes, for which I’ve finally found the exact right type of felt lining—so I’m consumed by visions of lush trailing greens, a variety of colorful blooms, and wispy grasses.

But against all my efforts, I cannot keep anything alive in these things. Maybe it’s the lack of tall (enough) trees to provide adequate shade, the too many hours of blazing summer heat, or my incredibly inconsistent watering habits. WHO CAN SAY. In any case, please send them whatever plant-life-sustaining good energy you can spare.