Single by Choice: Why Some of Us Prefer a Relationship-Free Life

Love can be wonderful. Partnership can be beautiful. And some of us… have opted out—at least for now, and very much on purpose.

I have a subset of friends who are single by choice. Not bitter. Not unlucky. Not “couldn’t find anyone.” Just deliberately, intentionally relationship-free. It’s similar to the child-free conversation: people are beginning to understand that choice a little better, even if it still raises eyebrows. This one? Not so much.

Let’s Clear Something Up…

So let me address the elephant in the room with a little humor and a lot of clarity:

Do you REALLY think we can’t get laid? That we aren’t getting laid?

Because that seems to be the default assumption. As if choosing to be single automatically means we’re unwanted or untouched. Most of us absolutely could find partners, and many of us are already intimate in the ways that suit our lives. We’re not celibate by force. We just refuse to lower our standards or sign up for relationships that shrink us.

Standards Aren’t Entitlement. They’re Alignment

That’s the real conversation: standards. Not entitlement—alignment. For many of us, the single life is simply more fulfilling than compromising in ways that would cost us peace, autonomy, creativity, or joy.

We find intimacy in friendships and family. Sometimes in casual connections. Sometimes in solitude. Our lives aren’t empty — they’re full in different, meaningful ways.

Yes! A Fulfilled Life Exists Outside Romance

And yes, I know some people can’t imagine that. A life without a spouse to lean on. A home without children. A calendar that isn’t structured around a partner. But this life exists. We exist. And our fulfillment doesn’t hinge on a romantic relationship slot being filled.

We already compromise in a thousand other places: careers, responsibilities, family obligations. Choosing not to compromise on who we share our lives with is intentional.

Friendship Without Assumptions

What I want more of are friendships that feel easy and unburdened. Friends who can hang out without assumptions. Where closeness isn’t confused with pursuit. Where connection can simply be what it is in the moment — laughter over coffee, a walk at sunset, deep conversation, or comfortable silence.

No hidden agenda. No quiet evaluation of whether this might “be something more.” Just… being human together.

Not Anti-Love—Just Anti-Settling

And here’s the thing: it’s not that any of us have sworn off committed, monogamous relationships forever. Most of us haven’t. If the right person showed up, someone whose presence expands life rather than constricts it, we’d recognize that.

We’re just unwilling to force it. Unwilling to treat partnership as a checkbox. Unwilling to trade a life we love for one that only sort of fits.

Single Is a Whole Life, Not a Half One

Choosing singlehood isn’t a failure or a fallback plan. It’s a conscious choice for a life.

And if you know someone who has chosen this road, trust them when they say they’re fulfilled. There’s a whole, vibrant world inside a relationship-free life — and it’s not a consolation prize. It’s simply another way of being free.

Alone Time: Why Your Brain (and Heart) Need Space

There’s a kind of bliss that comes from being alone that you just can’t replicate anywhere else. I’m talking about true alone time—the kind where you don’t have to consider anyone else’s needs, wants, moods, or preferences. No negotiating plans. No mental checklist of who needs what. Just space to exist as you are, doing what you want, when you want.

For many, that kind of time is rare, but it becomes even more elusive when you don’t live alone. Whether you’re sharing space with a partner, kids, roommates, or even a very expressive pet, you’re always balancing someone else’s needs alongside your own. Life becomes a constant exercise in compromise. And while connection and companionship matter deeply, it doesn’t change the reality that you’re still “on” most of the time. And it can be exhausting.

When Life Becomes an Endless To-Do List

For so many of us, life feels like a rolling wave of obligations: work, school, family commitments, social expectations — and then the invisible layer of everything else. Sleep (hopefully). Commuting. Showering. Cooking. Cleaning. Laundry. Dusting. Maybe even scrubbing the shower that’s been silently judging you for weeks.

All those everyday basics quietly eat up your time and energy until there’s almost nothing left for the activities that actually refill your cup. Sometimes “self-care” isn’t a bubble bath — it’s finally organizing your desk so you can think straight.

Burnout Doesn’t Always Roar — Sometimes It Whispers

Burnout creeps in quietly. Mentally, it shows up as brain fog, irritability, or feeling like every decision — even tiny ones — is exhasting. Emotionally, you may feel detached or unmotivated. Physically, the exhaustion is real. Your body keeps the score, and suddenly you’re tired all the time.

That’s where I’ve found myself lately: worn down from constantly juggling the mental load. I spend so much of my free time sleeping — not because I’m sad, but because I’m depleted. Some friends wonder if I’m depressed, but I don’t feel disconnected from life. I’m just tired and craving rest. I want time to do the things that feed my soul instead of rushing from one obligation to another.

Can anyone else relate to this bone-deep tiredness?

The Hidden Weight of Constant Communication

Sometimes the people in your life simply don’t realize how stretched thin you are. From the outside, not replying to a text can look like dismissal. After all, it “only takes a second,” right?

Except that one message rarely exists alone. It’s sitting in a queue next to fifteen other texts, twenty emails, group chats, Facebook messages, Instagram DMs, WhatsApp notifications — all chiming at all hours.

And it’s not just the time it takes to respond — it’s the mental gear-shifting. Every notification pulls your attention away from wherever your brain finally landed. That interruption breaks flow — that fragile, precious mental state where you’re deeply focused or deeply relaxed. Research shows it can take 15–30 minutes to fully return to flow… and many of us are interrupted every few minutes.

So we never really arrive.

Instead, we’re constantly task-switching — and every switch burns energy. No wonder we’re exhausted.

That’s why responding to messages can sometimes feel heavier than people expect. It’s not the words — it’s the cost of leaving the headspace you worked so hard to enter.

Blending Connection With Real Life

The goal isn’t isolation. Relationships matter. But connection doesn’t have to compete with your energy — sometimes it can support it.

I’ve started leaning into errand dates. Instead of expensive lunches (while incomes… aren’t keeping pace), we’ll grocery shop together, hit the post office, or wander thrift store while catching up. We get meaningful time together — and we also get things done.

Other ideas that work beautifully:

• Task hangouts — bring bills or laptops and work side-by-side
• Quiet work hangs — focus first, chat after
• Meal-prep together — leave with full containers and a lighter heart

Connection doesn’t always need a reservation or a bill at the end.

Protecting the Sacred Space of Solitude

And yes — sometimes you truly do need time alone. Undisturbed. Silent. Yours.

You can make that easier by:

• Scheduling solitude like any other commitment
• Giving it a name — “reset night,” “studio time,” “quiet work”
• Saying “not tonight” without apology

Your energy is worth guarding.

Helping Others Understand Your Bandwidth

Most people don’t want you burned out — they just don’t realize how much you’re carrying. A simple, honest share can go a long way:

“If I don’t respond right away, it’s not personal. Sometimes my brain just can’t switch gears without burning out. I’ll reply when I have the bandwidth.”

And give others that grace, too.

Alone Time Isn’t Selfish — It’s Repair

In a world that never stops knocking at the door of our attention, alone time is how we heal. It’s how we reconnect with ourselves so we don’t disappear inside our responsibilities. It’s how we come back to our relationships with presence instead of depletion.

So if you’re exhausted, you’re not failing.

You’re simply overdue for quiet.

A Cover Letter, a Pop Song, and a Moment of Realization

You ever do something so delightfully unhinged that you immediately think, “Okay… maybe not everyone will get this”? That was me last night when I turned my serious, adult cover letter into a pop song—with AI as my co-writer.

The People Who Love It… and the People Who Don’t

I sent it to a friend, proud of my catchy little experiment, and he immediately said, “I would not recommend sending that in for any jobs that you want.” Fair. Some people need their cover letters in paragraph form, not verse-chorus-verse.

And then there’s another friend who has a visceral hatred of everything AI-related. To him, AI is basically the villain in every dystopian movie ever made—something that will inevitably be used for manipulation, shortcuts, and the downfall of civilization. If you say “machine learning,” he hears “Skynet.”

And yes—someone out there will absolutely misuse it. Just like someone misuses a hammer, a camera, or a keyboard. But that’s not a reason for the rest of us to freeze our creativity in place.

I’m someone who believes AI is like a hammer. It can help build a house or tear one down. The tool isn’t inherently good or evil; it’s the intention behind the swing.

Why This Debate Feels Familiar (Photographers Know This Story)

As a photographer, this entire debate feels like déjà vu. Artists used to scoff at the camera itself. Photography wasn’t “real art,” they said—it was just a machine copying reality. No skill. No soul. Just a mechanical trick. Photographers fought for decades to show that artistry lives in timing, composition, emotion, craft, and the human behind the lens.

And then, decades later, digital photography arrived—and the analog photographers scoffed again. Digital wasn’t “pure.” It wasn’t “authentic.” It was too easy, too accessible, too immediate. Sound familiar? Yet here we are: digital photography not only won acceptance, it helped unleash an entirely new world of creativity, accessibility, and artistic expression.

The medium expanded. The tools evolved. The artist remained.

AI as a Creative Partner, Not a Replacement

That’s how I see AI: an evolution of tools, not an erasure of the artist.

Lately, I’ve been leaning into AI a lot more—sometimes for brainstorming, sometimes for polishing my writing, and sometimes for those moments when my brain feels like it’s buffering. It’s the extra brain cell that shows up when mine is on lunch break. I treat AI-generated content as suggestions, not gospel.

In my world, AI is a collaborator, not a ghostwriter. Everything still goes through my taste, my edits, my judgment, my sensibilities. It doesn’t erase my voice; it sharpens it. It helps me experiment more, write faster, and save my energy for the ideas, the storytelling, the teaching, and the creating.

It’s not for everyone, and that’s okay. But right now, using it helps me build more, explore more, and stress a whole lot less.

And for me? That’s worth embracing.

A Season Ending, A New One Beginning

There comes a point when you look at the life you’ve built, tilt your head a little, and think, Huh… this doesn’t fit the way it used to.

That’s where I’ve been standing lately, in that strange place where something you’ve poured yourself into no longer feels like the thing you want to carry.

This is the story of why I’m sunsetting my photography business.

When the Thing You Love Starts Feeling Heavy

Photography has been with me for decades—my second language, my constant companion, the way I memorialize my world. But somewhere along the way, what once felt like play started to feel like pressure.

And not the artistic kind. The timeline kind.

We live in a world that moves fast. Faster than my creative process wants to move. So many people expect images immediately — sometimes the same day, often long before a realistic timeline. But what many folks never see is how much time lives behind the scenes: the culling, the editing, the retouching, the quiet hours shaping a photograph into something compelling.

Some photographers have mastered managing those expectations. They set tight boundaries, they have airtight workflows, and they protect their time like seasoned pros. I admire that. I could learn it, practice it, bake it into my routine.

But I’m at a point where I don’t want to. Because my priorities have shifted in a big way.

A Creative Spark Reignited

This fall at Long Beach City College changed everything for me. Fourteen weeks surrounded by painters, designers, photographers, dancers, musicians, and makers of every sort—it was like walking into a room where everyone speaks the same first language you do.

Being in that environment cracked something open. I started feeling curious again. Inspired again. Hungry again.

And that’s when I realized: I want to spend my time creating what I want to create. I want to take the photos that call to me, not the ones on someone else’s deadline. I want to write more. The words have been piling up in my head for years. I want to experiment with AI music, because while lyrics come naturally to me. The melod—not so much. And that challenge feels… exhilarating.

New Avenues, New Adventures

My photography business started as a side hustle. A helpful way to earn a little extra. But the technology, bless its chaotic heart, has opened up whole new ways to make that extra cash — ways that align much more naturally with where my energy is going now.

And I’m leaning in.

I know the things I make from here on out won’t be for everyone. Some people will love it, some won’t. Art isn’t supposed to be universal. It’s supposed to be real.

And I truly believe there’s an audience out there — maybe big, maybe small — for the kind of work I’m stepping into. The only way to find them is to create, release, repeat.

A Season Ending, A New One Beginning

I’m not stepping away from photography as a whole. Not at all. I’m stepping away from the business of it. I want the craft back. I want the joy back. I want the freedom to chase ideas without a clock ticking behind me.

So I’m choosing a new season. One with a little more air. A little more curiosity. A little more space to rediscover the parts of myself that got buried under deadlines and expectations.

To everyone who trusted me with your moments — thank you, genuinely. Those experiences shaped me more than you know.

And now… I’m ready to see where this next chapter leads. Here’s to creating from joy again — and to following the light wherever it goes.

Too Many Em Dashes? Good. That Means I Wrote It.

People on social media think AI writing has a tell: the em dash.

I laughed—then paused.

And then I felt… weirdly offended.

Because I use em dashes. A lot. I also use en dashes, hyphens, semicolons, and ellipses (LOTS of ellipses). I can’t help it, I’m Gen X—I love punctuation—like, really love it. So when I heard that comment, it felt like someone had just walked into my kitchen, tasted my cooking, and said, “This tastes too good. It must’ve come from a box.”

Why It Stings When People Think It's AI

So yeah, when someone assumes my writing is AI-generated because of a punctuation choice, I get twitchy. Not because I hate AI—it’s a tool like any other. But writing is personal to me. It's how I make meaning out of the million thoughts racing through my head.

In case you didn’t know, English isn’t my first language. I had to EARN fluency—the rhythm, the nuance, the melody of it. I had to learn how to make words correct AND compelling.

That’s why I care if you think what I wrote is machine-made. Because it’s not. It’s blood, sweat, and em dashes.

Why I Write

I write to process, to preserve, and to play. I write when I’m heartbroken. I write when I’m furious. I write when I’m buzzing with ideas that might disappear. Writing is my way out of the chaos and into clarity.

I write to entertain, sure, but I also want to make people feel. I want them to read stories that make people feel less alone in their weirdness, their worry, their ambitions.

I write to connect. Even though we live in a world saturated with content, real connection still feels rare. And precious.

Do I also write to sell things? Yes. I write to promote, persuade, and position ideas. But even in marketing, I don’t aim for manipulation. I believe in resonance. If you connect with what I’m saying, if it feels true to you, or nudges a shift—that’s the win.

I write to shape the world I want to live in.

There’s nothing like the moment when someone says, “I read your post, and I felt that.” When someone tells me they laughed, cried, or even just paused to think because of something I wrote? My heart goes pitter-patter.

Where It All Began

I’ve been writing since elementary school, ever since I got that first pink Hello Kitty diary. I don’t remember this at all, but my dad does. He tells me so. I moved on to notebooks, to blogs, and now social media.

My love affair with punctuation started the day Mike LaNoue handed me a copy of Eats, Shoots & Leaves two decades ago. That book turned me into a full-blown punctuation snob, and I have zero regrets.

I care about grammar, too. Just ask Marcia and Laura—we’ve been sharing grammar memes back since back in the days when you actually had to email them.

Do I flub spelling or grammar sometimes? Sure. But I also break the rules on purpose—Stephen King says that’s allowed.

The Process

I write when I’m inspired, when I’m exhausted, and often when I’ve had a glass of wine (or six). I write late at night, when the world quiets down, but the thoughts haven’t.

You have no idea how many hundreds of drafts sit on my computer, incomplete. Or how many words, sentence fragments, and ideas sit in notebooks or scraps of paper strewn across my desk. I have a bank of words and phrases that spark something in me. I stash them away, hoping to use them one day.

I write fast and messy, and then I edit when I’m sober.

And yes—I do use AI tools. Grammarly, ChatGPT. I treat them like a thesaurus or a smart friend who can help me say the thing I’m trying to say more clearly, not a ghostwriter. They help me catch typos and sharpen phrasing. But I don’t just copy-paste what they suggest. I cull. I curate. I rewrite, rework, and revise until it feels right in my bones.

And if AI tries to sneak in too many em dashes? Trust me—I’ll still be the one deciding which ones stay.

Who Inspires Me

Writers leave fingerprints on me. Not because I tried to copy them, but because I studied them. I asked questions: Why does this line hit so hard? Why does this joke land? Why does this feel true, even when it’s fiction? Every time I found an answer, I came away a little changed—my voice a little sharper, my ear a little keener.

• Jasmine Star taught me how to engage. Her captions read like conversations over coffee—warm, direct, and a little bit caffeinated. From her, I learned that connection isn’t just nice; it’s the best conversion tool out there.
• Stephen King taught me that storytelling isn’t about monsters or plot twists. It’s about people—their fears, flaws, and fragile attempts to do the right thing.
• Anthony Bourdain taught me how to feel life. His words were visceral: greasy spoon diners, cigarette smoke, jet lag, laughter in languages he barely spoke. From him, I learned to write with curiosity, respect, and just enough dark humor to cut the sweetness.
• Sam Parr and Shaan Puri taught me persuasion—the art of making ideas sticky. They showed me how simplicity sells, how personality converts, and how honesty (the well-edited kind) builds trust faster than any call-to-action ever could.
• Rob Johnson taught me how to impress an academic audience. He taught me how to write with precision. From him, I learned that in academia, words aren’t just tools; they’re credentials. You can’t just say something—you have to support, substantiate, and situate it within a theoretical framework. He showed me that clarity doesn’t mean dumbing things down. Also, I learned that if you just sprinkle in phrases like learning outcomes, retention rate, and student-centered learning—and suddenly, you sound like you know what you’re talking about. (Spoiler: sometimes I actually do.)
• And then there’s Dave Barry. God bless Dave Barry. And then there’s Dave Barry. God bless Dave Barry. He taught me that humor has gravity—that it’s not a detour from meaning but another road to it. The best jokes don’t just make you laugh—they make you nod in recognition.
• Jerry Burchfield taught me to write with grace and diplomacy. From him, I learned that words can build bridges just as easily as they can burn them—and that choosing the right tone is often more powerful than choosing the right argument. He had a way of softening truth without diluting it, of standing firm without sounding combative.

I didn’t pull my writing style out of thin air. It came from years of trial and error, of writing things nobody read and a few things people did. My voice was built, not born. It’s a patchwork of everything I’ve loved, questioned, underlined, and rewritten. A thousand stories, observations, missteps, and accidental mentors stitched together into one ongoing experiment: me, learning how to say what I mean—and mean it beautifully. Work still in progress.

Here’s what I know

Use the tools if they help. Ask for feedback. Read the writers who shake something loose in you. But never let convenience replace connection. That part has to come from you—your humor, your history, your heartbreak.

It’s half language, half theater—and entirely about understanding your audience.

Because words matter. And how they make people feel? That matters even more.

Oh—and yes. I know the keyboard shortcut for an em dash on a Mac: Option + Shift + Hyphen.

You're welcome. 🙃

Why I’m Still on Facebook (and Why You Should Be Too)

The Case for Connection Over Virality

I know, I know—when most people think of social media these days, Facebook isn’t exactly the first name that pops into their heads. There’s TikTok, Instagram, X, and whatever the next shiny app is that promises to make you “viral” overnight. But here’s the thing: I’m not in this for virality. I’m in this for connection. And for me, Facebook is still the best place to do that.

Real Connection, Not Just Content

When I say connection, I mean the real kind. The kind where you’re not just scrolling past strangers or chasing likes, but actually staying in touch with the people you genuinely care about—your friends, your colleagues, your extended family, the folks who have been part of your life story in some meaningful way. That’s what Facebook does best.'

It’s not about pandering to a crowd of strangers (though I admit, there’s a certain thrill in that too). It’s about seeing the lives of people you’ve known for years, sharing in their triumphs and milestones, commenting on their thoughts, and yes, sometimes just laughing at a ridiculous meme they shared.

My Digital Living Room

For me, Facebook has become my digital living room. It’s where I check in on people I don’t see as often as I’d like but still consider important. It’s where we celebrate small victories, support each other during tough times, and yes, occasionally debate over things we don’t agree on—but always from a place of respect.

And I love that. I love that I can scroll through my feed and feel genuinely connected, not just entertained or distracted.

The Joy of Familiar Faces

Now, don’t get me wrong—I also enjoy reaching new people, testing ideas, and sharing content that might resonate beyond my immediate circle. That part of social media—the broadcasting, the growing, the showing off a little—is valid and fun. But it’s the private, quieter joy of connection that keeps me coming back to Facebook as my primary platform.

It’s the difference between shouting into a void and talking to people who actually care to listen.

Staying Where My Heart Is

So yes, while other platforms may promise trendiness or fame, I’m sticking with Facebook. Because here, I see the people I actually know. Here, I can nurture relationships that matter. Here, I can be present in the lives of people who have been present in mine.

And if you’re reading this, yes—you are part of that, and I want you to know how much I value it.

Why It Still Matters

Facebook may not be the new kid on the block, but it’s where the people I love are. And for that reason alone, it should be one of your platforms of choice too. It’s not about chasing the algorithm—it’s about cherishing the connections that enrich our lives.

That’s what keeps me coming back, and that’s why I’ll keep showing up. Because when it comes to real connection, nothing else quite compares.

When Life Hands You Lidocaine

I was going to post something fun and exciting, but my tooth… had other plans.

Look, I know I’ve been a little MIA lately—classic case of adulting taking over—but don’t worry, I’ll be back to my regular posting in a couple of weeks. I’ve got a backlog of “catch-up” posts waiting on the sidelines (and sadly, no, none of them involve tropical vacations or lottery wins).

In the meantime, remember when we all thought adulting meant having a clean home and paying bills on time? Turns out, the real “self-care” is remembering to floss before life decides to schedule a root canal for you.

Sure, I’m smiling in the photo, but don’t be fooled—that’s not joy. That’s a delicious mix of lidocaine and several hundred milligrams of "happy pills". It's AMAZING what that can do for your mood.

Smile with Style

Sunny Hills Endodontics

Sunny Hills Endodonitcs

post root canal

Huge shoutout to the dream team who made this surprisingly not-terrible experience possible:

For general dentistry:
Smile With Style
3261 N Harbor Blvd, Suite A
Fullerton, CA 92835
(714) 870-9445

For endodontics (aka the root canal heroes):
Sunny Hills Endodontics
220 W Laguna Rd Ste 3
Fullerton, CA 92835
(714) 738-6651

10/10 recommend. Would (hopefully not) do again.

Thanks for hanging in there, friends—see you in a couple of weeks with happier updates and fewer dental drills!

Yeah, Yeah, Yeah. Not Everything Has to Be a Reel

Yeah, yeah, yeah. I know it’s all about reels right now. TikTok, Instagram, YouTube Shorts. Quick cuts, trending audio, the endless scroll. I am a sucker for them!!! The wisdom of the moment says if you’re not cranking out video content, you’re irrelevant

BUT, I have a small subset of friends who may indulge in the occasional YouTube Short, but would rather sink into a 500-word commentary. Some would rather linger over a single photograph, letting it tell its story in silence. They’re not the majority, but they exist—and more importantly, they matter.

More Than Just Numbers

The internet is obsessed with scale. We’re taught to measure everything in views, likes, and follower counts. Bigger numbers equal bigger influence, right? But not every form of influence works that way. Think about the last time you came across a piece of writing or an image that stopped you in your tracks. Chances are, it wasn’t because it had millions of views. It resonated because it was exactly what you needed in that moment.

People Have Preferences

That’s the beauty of the internet right now: it’s a buffet. Yes, reels dominate the main stage, but off to the side are where words and still images thrive. Not everyone wants to keep up with the frantic pace of the feed. Some people want to read. Some people want to think. Some people want to look, without needing a voiceover to tell them what they’re looking at.

Some assume that if they don’t appeal to millions, they won’t matter. But that’s not how preference works. People are picky, sometimes deliciously so. Some want to binge thirty-second dance clips, others want long essays, others want black-and-white portraits that remind them of their grandfather’s photo albums. Different formats scratch different itches.

The Power of Small Audiences

If you’re a creator, the question isn’t “What’s the trend?” It’s “Who do I want to talk to?” Maybe your work will never pull in a million views on TikTok, but maybe it does light up that small group of friends who show up every time you post. That’s not failure—that’s connection.

And those smaller audiences? They’re often more loyal, more thoughtful, and more willing to support you in the long run. A thousand people who genuinely care about your work are worth more than a hundred thousand who barely remember it after swiping past.

Redefining Success

So yes, the pressure to produce reels is real. The numbers are tempting. But I want to remember there’s still an audience for the quiet commentary, the thoughtful photograph, the slower pace. It may not look like much next to the viral juggernauts, but it’s enough. More than enough.

Sometimes success isn’t about chasing the biggest crowd. It’s about showing up in whatever format makes sense for them.

Why America Desperately Needs Lèse-Majesté Laws (Because Free Speech Is So Overrated)

Let’s all take a moment to recognize how tragically behind the United States is when it comes to protecting the egos of its leaders. Did you know that Thailand, Cambodia, and Spain all have Lèse-Majesté Laws??? Come on, even third-world countries are doing it!

The term lèse-majesté comes from French and literally means “to do wrong to majesty.” It refers to laws that criminalize insulting, defaming, or showing disrespect toward a sovereign, monarch, or in some cases even state institutions or symbols. Lèse-majesté laws offer the elegant solution: a society where leaders are untouchable, their decisions unquestioned, and their public image pristine.

I jest. I hope you know I’m joking. REALLY.

Inches Add Up

Water doesn’t take down a mountain in one thunderous rainstorm—it wears it away drip by drip. Our rights, our freedoms can vanish the same way. A chipped corner here. A quiet compromise there. At first, it feels too small to matter. Too trivial to challenge. Why make a fuss over a single inch when there’s still a mile left to go?

We are at a Turning Point

We’ve all felt it—the subtle pressure to accept less. Less choice. Less privacy. Less voice. Each adjustment comes wrapped in soothing language: “It’s not that big of a deal.” “It’s only temporary.” “It won’t affect you personally.” But line them up, and the picture sharpens: one quiet surrender at a time, the very foundation of freedom thins beneath us.

Holding the Line

The power of “Not one more inch” isn’t about fists or fury. It’s about seeing those “little things” for what they are—part of a bigger pattern—and choosing to draw the line. Firmly. Calmly. Resolutely.

This is not a call to fight—it’s a call to stand. To root ourselves in values that matter, like integrity, compassion, and freedom. This is worth protecting.

So the next time someone shrugs and says, “It’s just one more inch,” don’t shrug back. Speak up. Stay steady. Refuse to let erosion take the mountain.

Not one more inch.

Our Time Together

We see what’s happening. We know what’s at stake. And we are holding the line. For the kind of future where no one has to wonder what happened to all the inches that once added up to a mile.

Most people have been quiet, waiting, watching. A few voices acted first, but that doesn’t mean the rest of us were absent—it just means our turn comes now. This is the moment for all of us to step forward, together.

Why I Share What I Love

Ever wonder why I ❤️ LOVE ❤️ every dish I share? Ever wonder why I rarely (not never) spend time writing about things I dislike?

I’ve noticed that when we give our attention to something we don’t like, it grows bigger than it deserves to be. It’s like sitting at a table full of vibrant fruits, fresh bread, and perfectly roasted vegetables—but you’re too busy complaining about the over-salted soup in front of you to notice. I’d rather highlight the flavors that encourage us to try new things, to savor, to share.

Not Every Dish Deserves Seconds

There’s plenty of bad cooking out there—recipes that miss the mark, ingredients that don’t belong together, chefs who keep being served up to us even when their flavors are tired and unbalanced. But me? I’d rather not keep taking bite after bite, hoping the dish suddenly transforms.

More Than Just Food

It’s not just about food. This same philosophy applies to life, too. There are plenty of people and ideas out there that are, well, overcooked. Too salty. Bitter in a way that clings to the tongue. It shows up on the menu no matter how many times you send the dish back. Do I want to give that plate more attention? No, thank you. I just choose not to write a five-paragraph review on something that I don’t prefer.

Seeing the Whole Table

Some people say I’m overly optimistic. A few even insinuated that I’m “toxically positive.” It’s not because I’m wearing rose-colored glasses. I see the cracks. I see the pain, the division, the bitterness that can dominate the conversation. I just don’t stop there. Alongside the ugly, I also see beauty, generosity, and joy. When I sit down to write, I’d rather serve up those flavors—the ones that nourish and don’t leave a bitter aftertaste.

A Balanced Menu

I am grateful to friends who share about the dishes to beware of. We still need that. We all have a role to play. I just don’t want our feeds to be dominated by it. So I’ll keep writing about what’s fresh, what’s worth savoring, what makes me excited to sit down at the table. That doesn’t mean the overcooked dishes go away. They’ll still be on the menu for a while. But at my table, I’ll be serving up joy, gratitude, and all the good flavors this world has to offer.

Savoring What Matters

Life is too short to waste on meals that leave you sick to your stomach. I’ll spend mine savoring what’s worth seconds and hope you join me at my table.

P.S.

It’s great to have friends who’ll pause with me, all of us snapping our shots first—and then being rewarded with a meal that tastes every bit as good as it looks.

Pathways, Not Walls

A Quilt of Global Threads

I’ve always thought of my life as a patchwork quilt, stitched together with threads from all over the world. The fabric of who I am is not limited by borders. My friendships and the values I hold dear all carry a global flavor. And because of that, I can’t help but believe in pathways, not walls.

The Generosity of Connection

When I look at the people who’ve shaped my life, they come from everywhere: classmates who introduced me to music I’d never heard before, coworkers who shared their grandmother’s recipes, neighbors who celebrated holidays I hadn’t known existed. Each connection expanded me. Each one was a reminder that the world is wide and generous when we allow it to be. Without these pathways of human connection, my world would be smaller and far less interesting.

The Illusion of Safety

But walls—whether physical, social, or psychological—try to do the opposite. They give the illusion of safety, as if closing ourselves off will protect us. In reality, they keep us apart from the very things that could enrich our lives. A wall can keep out challenges, yes, but it also keeps out opportunities. And the irony is that while walls may feel like protection, they often create more fear and misunderstanding on both sides.

The “Other” Dissolves in Conversation

When you’ve never spoken to someone from a different background, it’s easier to imagine them as “the other” or even “threatening.” That’s what walls do—they reinforce distance, suspicion, and silence. But when you build a bridge—whether it’s as simple as a shared meal, a heartfelt conversation, or an act of kindness—you realize how much you have in common. The so-called stranger begins to look like a neighbor, and the world feels less hostile.

Walls of the Mind

Walls don’t just rise out of concrete; they rise in our minds, too. Prejudice, fear, and narrow definitions of identity are walls in disguise. They keep us from seeing each other’s humanity. They tell us we’re safer in separation, when in fact separation makes us weaker. No society has ever thrived by cutting itself off from new ideas, new people, or new possibilities.

Choosing the Path Forward

So my friendships, my values, and my life’s patchwork all point me in the same direction: toward openness, toward curiosity, toward connection. Toward building pathways strong enough to carry us into a shared future.

Because in the end, walls might seem sturdy, but they only divide. Pathways, though—they carry us forward.