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.