The world can keep shouting and scheduling and selling me urgency. I’ll be right here, letting the sky rinse the day.  If peace shows up small and ordinary, I’m not arguing. I’m accepting it like the two lattes I’ve already killed.

Saturday mornings lie to us. They whisper that productivity must wear sweatpants or that healing requires silence, candles, and a personality overhaul. I disagree. Healing sometimes looks like laughing at yourself while reheating coffee you forgot about twice.  “Growth” as so many like to say and repeat and put on their car somewhere, can arrive…