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?”
by admin | Jan 9, 2026 | Food & Health, Lifestyle & Work
This is one of those quietly amazing snacks—simple, a little indulgent, and perfectly balanced. Light crunch, creamy center, and just enough nuttiness to keep it grounded.
Ingredients
- 1 plain rice cake
- 1–2 teaspoons sweetened condensed coconut milk (vegan)
- 1–2 tablespoons coconut whipped cream (vegan)
- Pistachio halva, finely crumbled
Optional swaps (if you don’t have halva):
- Roasted pistachios or almonds, finely chopped
- Lightly caramelized roasted nuts (almonds, cashews, or pecans work beautifully)
- Toasted sesame seeds mixed with a pinch of salt
Instructions
- Create the center
Gently press a small indentation into the middle of the rice cake using your thumb or the back of a spoon.
- Add the sweetness
Spoon the condensed coconut milk into the center. A little goes a long way—this is your rich, creamy base.
- Top with whipped cream
Add a soft dollop of coconut whipped cream on top. Don’t overdo it; you want lightness, not overload.
- Finish with crunch
Sprinkle with crumbled pistachio halva.
If substituting, use something nutty and slightly savory to balance the sweetness—this is key.
Why It Works
- The rice cake keeps everything light and crisp
- The condensed coconut milk brings deep, caramel-like sweetness
- The whipped cream softens and rounds it out
- The nutty topping prevents it from becoming too sweet
Serving Notes
- Perfect as a midday treat, cozy dessert bite, or “I want something sweet but not heavy” moment
- Best eaten immediately for max crunch
- Pairs beautifully with tea or coffee ☕🌿
Simple. Thoughtful. Unexpectedly delicious.
Enjoy 🙏
by admin | Jan 4, 2026 | Food & Health
Vegan Custard with Tapioca Starch
Ingredients
Yield: 2 servings
- 1 egg substitute (equivalent to 1 egg)
- 4 tablespoons cane sugar
- 1 tablespoon tapioca starch
- 1 pinch of salt
- 1 cup unsweetened soy or cashew milk (cashew milk will make it a bit thicker)
- 1 pinch of non-alcoholic vanilla extract
- Fresh fruit for serving (optional)
- Cinnamon powder to taste (optional)
Instructions
- In a saucepan, add the egg substitute, sugar, and salt. Whisk until the sugar dissolves.
- Add the tapioca starch and 1/4 of the milk. Whisk this until the starch dissolves, and then add the remainder of the milk.
- Place the pan on medium heat and whisk, making sure it does not boil, until the custard becomes thick enough to cover the back of a spoon. This may take up to 10 minutes.
- Immediately remove the pan from the heat, and while still whisking, add the pinch of vanilla extract and whisk some more. You’ll see it reach the consistency you like.
- Serve, maybe with fresh fruit, and add cinnamon powder to taste. Not too much or it will become overpowering.
Notes
- Using cashew milk will create a thicker, creamier custard
- The custard will continue to thicken as it cools
- Store covered in the refrigerator for up to 3 days
by admin | Dec 15, 2025 | Lifestyle & Work
From Lillian Moya & Company
In a world addicted to speed, where “move fast and break things” has been a modern mantra, we invite you to consider a radical alternative: There is no hurry around here.
This isn’t about complacency or lack of ambition. Instead, it’s a recognition emerging from systems theory, psychology, and human factors research that in complex adaptive systems—which include every organization, team, and human endeavor—forcing unnatural velocity often creates the very delays, failures, and burnout we hope to avoid.
The Speed Trap: When Faster Becomes Slower
Consider a phenomenon familiar to any software engineer or project manager: the more hurriedly you add new features, the more technical debt accumulates. The system becomes fragile, unpredictable. Eventually, progress grinds to a halt under the weight of patchwork solutions. What looked like acceleration was actually a declaration in disguise. This is the “hurry paradox”—the counterintuitive reality that in complex systems, pushing the maximum speed often reduces overall velocity and reliability.
The Systems View: Feedback Loops and Natural Pace
From a systems theory perspective, every organization operates through feedback loops. Shortening decision cycles without regard for information quality creates reinforcing loops that amplify errors. The system becomes reactive rather than responsive, chasing symptoms rather than addressing root causes.
Complex systems have a natural pace of coherence—the speed at which information can properly flow, relationships can form, and adjustments can be integrated without losing systemic integrity. Racing past this pace doesn’t get you there sooner; it gets you somewhere else entirely, often somewhere you didn’t intend to go.
The Human Factor: Cognitive Bandwidth and Psychological Safety
Neuroscience reveals our cognitive limitations. Under time pressure, our perspective narrows. We lose peripheral vision, both literally and metaphorically. We default to familiar patterns rather than creative solutions. The very innovation we’re hurrying toward becomes less accessible.
Psychological safety research consistently shows that environments free from artificial urgency foster better problem-solving, more candid communication, and genuine learning—all essential for navigating complexity.
The Organizational Coherence Cost
When organizations hurry, they tend to:
- Optimize locally at the expense of the whole (siloed teams meeting their deadlines while creating downstream problems)
- Substitute activity for direction (celebrating busyness over meaningful progress)
- Erode trust through constant context switching (disrupting the deep work needed for complex tasks)
- Prioritize predictable over adaptive (choosing known paths rather than exploring better ones)
The Alternative: Deliberate Pace
“There is no hurry around here” means cultivating:
- Tempo, Not Just Speed: Like musicians in an ensemble, we aim for the right tempo for the piece we’re playing—sometimes allegro, sometimes adagio—always listening to the whole system.
- Rhythms of Reflection: Building pauses for collective sense-making, not just action. Complex systems reveal their behavior over time; we must watch and learn.
- Anticipation Over Reaction: Investing in understanding the system’s dynamics to anticipate challenges rather than merely react to crises.
- Quality of Attention: Recognizing that what we attend to, and how we attend, shapes the system as much as what we explicitly change.
Practical Steps Toward Unhurried Coherence
- Map your system’s feedback loops—identify where delays actually serve quality.
- Distinguish between deadlines and artificial urgency—challenge arbitrary time pressures.
- Design for cognitive bandwidth—create space for deep work and reflection.
- Measure the pace of learning, not just the pace of doing.
- Normalize saying “let me think about that” in decision-making
The Deeper Truth
In nature, complex systems—forests, coral reefs, ecosystems—don’t hurry. They develop, adapt, and evolve at the pace their complexity requires. They are neither slow nor fast; they are timely.
Our organizations are no different. When we align with the natural rhythms of complexity rather than fight them, we discover something profound: Sustainable velocity emerges not from pushing, but from coherence.
There is no hurry around here. Not because there’s little to do, but because what we’re doing matters too much to do poorly. Because complex problems require respectful engagement, not rushed interventions. Because the people in our systems deserve environments where they can think, create, and collaborate without unnecessary artificial pressure. The most reliable way to navigate complexity is to move deliberately.
Our organization focuses on helping teams and leaders apply systems thinking, psychology, and human factors principles to create more coherent, adaptive, and humane organizations. When we release the pressure of artificial urgency, we create space for the system‚ans the people in it—to function at their natural best.
What would change in your organization if you truly believed there was no hurry?
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