by admin | Jan 24, 2026 | Holism, Lifestyle & Work, Minimalism, Well-being
We’ve all been there. The calendar is packed, the to-do list keeps growing, and somehow we still feel like we’re not doing enough. We fill our days from morning until night, convinced that productivity equals a life well-lived.
But what if the secret to having more time isn’t about managing it better—it’s about creating it differently?
The Paradox of Busy
Here’s something curious: the busier we become, the less time we seem to have. Not because the hours disappear, but because we’ve trained ourselves to fill every available moment with something. Anything. Everything.
We schedule back-to-back meetings. We sign up for classes we never attend. We commit to projects that drain us. We scroll through apps to “relax” and wonder why we feel more exhausted.
The problem isn’t that we lack time. It’s that we’ve lost the ability to let time be.
What Does “Creating Time” Actually Mean?
Creating time isn’t about finding hidden hours in your day or becoming superhuman at multitasking. It’s about something more fundamental: recognizing that how you feel about your time matters more than what you fill it with.
Think about a moment when time felt just right. Maybe it was a Sunday morning with nowhere to rush. A conversation that flowed naturally without checking the clock. A project that absorbed you completely, where hours passed like minutes.
That feeling—that ease—is what happens when your time aligns with what truly matters to you.
The Things That Fill Our Days
Most of us pack our schedules with three types of activities:
Obligations we think we should do (but resent doing)
Distractions that numb us (but leave us feeling empty)
Genuine pursuits that enrich us (but somehow get squeezed out)
The last category—activities that bring happiness, gratification, purpose, and genuine connection—are what make time feel abundant. Yet they’re often the first things we sacrifice when life gets “busy.”
The Shift: From Filling Time to Creating It
Creating time starts with a simple but uncomfortable question: What if I stopped doing most of what I’m doing?
Not forever. Not all at once. But what if you paused and asked yourself which activities actually contribute to the life you want to live?
This isn’t about minimalism for its own sake. It’s about making space for what matters by removing what doesn’t.
When you clear away the obligations that drain you, the distractions that numb you, and the commitments you never truly chose, something remarkable happens: time expands. Not literally, of course—you still have 24 hours. But those hours feel different. Lighter. More spacious. More yours.
What Fills the Space You Create
Here’s what people often discover when they stop over-scheduling their lives:
Presence becomes possible. When you’re not rushing to the next thing, you can actually experience this thing.
Creativity returns. Boredom—that feeling we run from—is actually where new ideas emerge.
Relationships deepen. Connection requires unstructured time, the kind you can’t schedule in 30-minute blocks.
Purpose clarifies. When the noise quiets down, you can finally hear what matters to you.
Gratification becomes real. Instead of checking boxes, you experience genuine satisfaction from activities chosen deliberately.
This is the life that exists on the other side of busyness. Not emptiness, but fullness of the right kind.
The Permission You’ve Been Waiting For
You don’t need permission to create time, but I’ll offer it anyway: you’re allowed to do less.
You’re allowed to say no to opportunities that don’t align with who you’re becoming.
You’re allowed to have evenings with nothing planned.
You’re allowed to prioritize peace over productivity.
You’re allowed to choose enrichment over exhaustion.
The world will tell you that more is better, that busy equals important, that rest is something you earn after everything else is done. But those are stories, not truths.
Where To Start
Creating time doesn’t require a dramatic life overhaul. It starts with small, intentional choices:
Notice what drains you versus what energizes you. Pay attention this week. Which activities leave you feeling depleted? Which ones make you feel more alive?
Remove one thing. Just one. Pick something from your schedule that you do out of obligation rather than desire. What would happen if you stopped?
Protect emptiness. Schedule nothing for one evening this week. Let yourself be bored. See what emerges.
Choose deliberately. Before adding anything new to your calendar, ask: “Does this align with what I find enriching and meaningful?” If not, it’s a no.
The Invitation
This is just the beginning of understanding how to create time rather than constantly search for it. The principles run deeper than quick tips or productivity hacks—they touch on how we think about our lives, what we value, and who we want to become.
If this resonates with you, if you’re tired of feeling like there’s never enough time despite being constantly busy, there’s more to explore.
I’ve written a short booklet that goes deeper into these ideas: the psychology behind why we overfill our lives, the practical steps for creating space, and the transformation that happens when you align your time with your values. [Link to “How To Create Time” booklet coming soon]
For now, start with this: you have permission to want less chaos and more calm. You have permission to create time rather than just manage it.
The life you’re looking for isn’t on the other side of a busier schedule. It’s waiting in the spaces you’re afraid to leave empty.
What would your life look like if you stopped filling every moment? Leave a comment below—I’d love to hear your thoughts.
by admin | Jan 24, 2026 | AA, Addiction, Lifestyle & Work, Mental health, NA, Well-being
The NA program, like the AA program, has a daily reader of thoughts and ideas that bring us back to a sense of reality that much of what we’ve done has removed from our lives. That’s the thing, we don’t see it. We don’t realize it. You see, that is why these “diseases,” and I add quotes there in case there is opposition to that—this is my opinion only—overpower. We don’t realize we are doing most of the things we do. It’s also often the determining factor behind statements like “I have a problem,” “I can’t take this anymore,” “this needs to stop,” and others. The list is endless. What anyone says, reconciling that they are finally seeing that life is not what they are thinking and believing, is the key, and the hardest part. That’s what we call “a bottom.” Many times it needs to take enough pain, just enough of the negative taking over the positive, where there is a final hairline crack for hope to peek through. That’s when it happens.
In strengthening my connection to my world, as this day’s reading states, I don’t always stand in front of others, nor do I go to a store. It doesn’t mean buy something either. At its simplest, and again, this is only my personal experience and belief, it is thinking of someone else and connecting that way. Right now, my connections are limited. It is true, I am so stressed it’s beyond me. It is also true that feeling stressed and staying in stress is going to eventually kill me. Death doesn’t care how it happens as long as it does. Agony doesn’t give a damn if you get over it as long as it leaves a trace. And yes, I can go on. These things, they’re only being exactly what they are. They show up, they do what they do, and then go.
This may all seem very metaphysical, and it is. It is only because I’m not saying, you know, these feelings are like matter. I am now. Agony exists. Matter exists. It can’t be created. It can’t be destroyed. It can change, though. As it can’t be destroyd it changes in me. Why in me? I am carrying this. I am a material being. I can change phases just the same. If you wonder about becoming a liquid, look up liquid cremation. You’ll see there. My agony changes to relief, a breath that goes along with it, and then I go on. I carry that, instead. And so, as matter, it is possible, and as a feeling that I carry, that I experience, it is possible just the same because it’s in me.
As for Just for Today, my connections are strengthening as I think about the future. Thinking of the small things. Thinking about where she is and where I am, and it doesn’t matter because what I do is not about me at all. This will, naturally, as a sober woman, allow me to see where I am failing and where I am not adapting as best I can and know how. I’ll get to make a choice. Despair? I will naturally connect with my puppy and naturally go outside to get the mail when no one is around, so they don’t have to. I will naturally open my mother’s front door, say hello, and see them even if for a few minutes. I will pick up the phone and call to see what she is doing today. I will continue looking at the weather because she matters that much. I will continue listening, possibly sharing, connecting with statements, with readers, with anything and everything, but one way or another, connecting and getting outside of me.
I am not meant to implode. I am not meant to dwell on who and what I think I am. I am not the one who can measure me. That’s the deadly trap of thinking I know when I don’t. Know me, know you, know what you don’t know about you, and know that what you’re telling me is wrong. How? Do you see now? The disease? The lack of logic? The lack of emotion and feeling? Oh no, we feel, but we only get one half. We get sadness and not happiness. We get worry and not serenity. This may go against many opinions, and that is fine. We do not live in a world of duality, even though we sometimes do. No, we live in the grays. We live where everything is in the same place, shady, hazy, unclear, and difficult. That’s how we are not in duality. From there, we can choose to see better, see clearly, see something good, great, beautiful, or even love. I dare use that word. I dare to say that I would rather live in love than in disagreement with the things I truly want and experience indifference, apathy, hatred, or anything else that keeps me at war with myself, whatever your choice of words and philosophy may be. Mine is the opposite of that, so those things that give me peace, a smile, happiness, feel present, feel real, feel true, feel honest, useful to someone, like I’m giving them what they need, that they matter that much—something like love, give or take.
by admin | Jan 18, 2026 | Food & Health
This is comfort in a bowl—warmth from the tomato base, heartiness from the toppings, and a refreshing veggie juice to cut through it all. Perfect for those cold winter evenings when you want something satisfying without a lot of fuss.
The Soup Base
Campbell’s Tomato Soup (1 can) Prepare according to package directions—usually one can of water or milk, heated on the stovetop or in the microwave until steaming.
The Hearty Topping
While your soup heats, warm these components together in a pan:
- 3 vegan meatballs (pre-cooked)
- 1/2 cup cold leftover sushi rice
- 1 cup french-cut green beans
- A few spoonfuls of spaghetti sauce (enough to coat everything)
Stir everything together over medium heat for about 5 minutes until warmed through. The spaghetti sauce ties it all together and adds extra tomato depth.
Assembly
Pour your hot Campbell’s soup into a deep bowl. Spoon the meatball-rice-bean mixture right on top. Finish with a generous sprinkle of shredded vegan cheddar cheese—it’ll melt slightly from the heat.
The Drink
Serve alongside a glass of carrot-ginger-turmeric juice. The bright, zingy flavors wake up your palate between spoonfuls of rich, savory soup.
The Wind-Down
After your meal, brew a cup of chamomile tea and sip it slowly while you relax. Chamomile is gentle on your digestive system and helps everything settle smoothly—the perfect way to ease into the rest of your evening. It’s your body’s chance to fully absorb all that nourishment while you unwind.
by admin | Jan 14, 2026 | Lifestyle & Work
Capturing someone’s attention is often framed as a competitive act. Win the click. Hook the reader. Outperform the algorithm. But attention, at its core, isn’t something you take. It’s something that’s given. And people don’t give their attention because they’re being sold to—they give it because they feel something recognizable, human, or true.
This is where stories matter.
Stories aren’t tools for persuasion as much as they are bridges. They don’t shout for attention; they invite it. When a story resonates, people don’t feel marketed to—they feel included. They see themselves reflected somewhere in the narrative, even if the story isn’t explicitly about them.
And that’s the quiet power of storytelling: it shifts the focus away from the organization and back toward people.
Stories Create Space, Not Pressure
When brands focus only on selling, the message becomes narrow. It asks the audience to do something immediately: buy this, sign up, choose us. Stories, on the other hand, create space. They allow people to enter at their own pace and decide what the story means to them.
A good story doesn’t insist. It shares.
It might share a moment of frustration, curiosity, growth, failure, or hope—experiences people already understand. The brand becomes part of the story, not as the hero, but as a companion. Something that exists alongside someone’s life rather than trying to dominate it.
This is where attention becomes sustained, not fleeting. People stay not because they’re convinced, but because they feel connected.
It’s Not About the Brand — It’s About Belonging
The most meaningful brands aren’t the loudest or the most polished. They’re the ones that find their place with someone—or many people—in a way that feels natural. That place looks different for everyone.
For one person, a brand might feel like encouragement.
For another, it might feel like calm.
For someone else, it might simply feel familiar.
Storytelling allows a brand to be flexible without being vague. Instead of defining itself too tightly, it offers something human enough that people can relate to it on their own terms. The brand doesn’t force relevance; it allows relevance to emerge.
This is why storytelling isn’t about crafting the perfect message—it’s about leaving room for interpretation.
Sharing Is an Act of Trust
When a brand shares a story, it’s saying: You’re trusted to understand this in your own way. That trust matters. People are far more attentive when they don’t feel managed or manipulated.
Selling says, “Here’s why you should want this.”
Sharing says, “Here’s who we are, and why this exists.”
One demands agreement. The other invites understanding.
And understanding lasts longer.
Attention Follows Meaning
People don’t remember every product they see, but they remember how something made them feel. Stories anchor meaning to experience. They give attention somewhere to land.
When brands focus less on being impressive and more on being human, attention follows naturally. Not because the story is optimized—but because it’s honest.
In the end, captivating attention isn’t about convincing everyone. It’s about finding alignment. About letting a brand meet people where they are and trusting that, for the right people, that will be enough.
And often, it is.
by admin | Jan 13, 2026 | AA, Addiction, Mental health, Well-being
I wish I could remember what 200 days of sobriety looks like, feels like, or what I think about it. I know what I think about it— “That is a lot of days.” You see, when you’re drinking and using from the time you wake up until the time you go to sleep, 5 minutes of being “dry” is a lifetime, and what may feel like a few of those, too. I know that, not a whole 24 hours, but from the time I went to sleep to the time I woke up and decided I would do nothing, was a huge step. It was scary. I had no idea what to expect. I didn’t have AA. I detoxed at home, not knowing that I shouldn’t do that, considering my level of daily intoxication. I can think back and say that everything got really slow. I got really slow. I did one thing at a time. And the entire time, well aware of what I was feeling and that I was feeling it. But my degree of “insanity,” as they call it in the rooms, helped a lot.
You see, I romanticized my addiction. It’s not that it was cool. It’s that it was my way of life. It wasn’t that I didn’t have a job; it’s that I was going to school, getting a degree, and living while using regardless. My use numbed a lot of ill feelings about myself. About the things I had done, what I had tried, what had failed, where I was, what I let go of, what I never tried, and so much more. I didn’t compare myself to people I went to school with; that would have hurt even more. They didn’t cross my mind, actually. I go back to middle and high school because my drinking and using “career” was long and extensive. I began very young, lied about it, made things seem fine to everyone around me, especially my family, but had nothing to show for it in my own life, except that I could do things for myself. I can pay my own bills, my own car; I can rent an apartment for someone and not live in it. I can pick up and move, save people from being on the streets, and so much more, all while I was destroying myself, my sanity, and everything else along the way.
I remember feeling my skin boil from the inside out. I don’t remember DT’s; maybe I had them, but I felt like I had ants inside of me, and it was not pleasant. I would take shower after shower, wash my hair, lie in bed, try to sleep, but not be able to sleep. I asked myself so many times what was happening, and scared out of my mind because I was taking medications, didn’t know how that would interact with the detoxing, but remembered why I did it. I was sitting at a friend’s dinner table when something came up, and I got up quite abruptly and said, “I have to go.” One of the girls came to my car, “I forgot my cigarettes.” “Here.” I left, and I did everything possible to disappear from that world. See, I can’t remember when it happened, not sure if simultaneously as I got up and said I had to leave, or right before, and it was the flash of a thought, but I looked at everything around me and said, “Is this really the life you want for yourself?” I thought to myself, “No.” And that set everything off. Something asked, something wanted to know, something cared, and I didn’t read into the question. It was so clear, so bland, objective, so “this is a yes or no question.” All I could do was tell the truth. It wasn’t about the people; it was barely about the things. I am not going to sit here and blame what I used as the culprit for jumping into my system and causing addiction. No. I did that all on my own. And so, I made the decision.
As for my romanticized ideas, they did help me. I romanticized my addiction. I also romanticized my detox. If you’re going to do it, live through it. Experience it. That’s what I would tell myself. That doesn’t mean put yourself in harm’s way. Your health needs to come first—detoxing is a health issue. But that’s what I did. I said okay, now I get to feel what I’ve seen. Yep, movies helped. They showed me what to do and what to expect in the process. It wasn’t funny. It wasn’t “yay,” or “I’m here.” None of that. I think back, and I think nothing happens by mistake, no coincidences, so maybe it was for me to be able to do it and not get caught in some wildfire and burn to death in the process.
I can’t make sense of what 200 days felt like. I felt inadequate. I had many dreams. I no longer romanticized my life; all I did was compare, see how others had a life, and see how mine was in shambles. That’s, though, 200 days into Alcoholics Anonymous. That was me comparing and not seeing the similarities. That’s not what my sobriety looks like now. Two hundred days into the dry detox, though, were waking up early, doing yoga stretches, meditating, working, going to school, going to the studio to paint until 10 P.M. Then home, doing relaxation yoga, and meditating. Then sleep, wake up, repeat. My food intake included 2 sunny-side-up eggs in the morning, 1 slice of vegan cheese, and a drizzle of extra-virgin olive oil. I rarely ate at work but had soy nuts for emergencies. Dinner was tofu, cabbage, white tuna, salmon, and water. I still had coffee for another week during detox. After a few days, I had to stop. The caffeine was too much. I smoked cigarettes. That was gone quickly, too. I felt everything. The smallest thing would strike up some kind of, not craving, but a horrible feeling of what it felt like when I was drunk and high. I didn’t like it. I was paranoid as all life. I never wanted to be there again. And that made me stop and live as methodically as I could.
That’s what a few hours was like. What two-hundred days looked like. What life looked like until February 28, 2004, around 7:30 P.M. That’s when the accident happened, and life changed. Today, it’s… It’s magic. Ask me why. That’s the best question anyone could ask me today. “Why?”
Recent Comments