I’m bringing back something I used to love doing on my old blog. Setting intentions for the month ahead.
Even though December is the final stretch of the year (and honestly… can someone explain how 2025 evaporated this fast?), I want to rebuild this habit now, not later.
December feels like a doorway. And I want to walk into it with clarity.
December Intentions
Next month, I want to:
• Reconnect with my socials share more on my blog and Instagram with intention, not pressure.
“December holds space for all of us to choose intention over autopilot.”
• Shift into documenting my running journey. I am running. I am training. My future marathon starts now.
• Dive deeper into my yoga practice and meditation, and share pieces of that path.
• Go on different small adventures the simple kind that remind me I’m alive.
• Visit the Rockefeller Center tree.
• Take my girls to see Santa. ( let my inner child enjoy the magic of the season too)
• Say yes to more art classes and creative play.
• Set up my Project Life album and prepare to document 2026.
• Work on my December Daily and actually enjoy the process.
• Be mindful, kinder to my body, and more aware of the choices that support the version of me I’m becoming.
December is the last chapter of the year, but it’s also the preview of who I’m choosing to step into next.
Entering Level 50 feels less like getting older and more like stepping into a quieter kind of celebration one without the confetti, without the noise.
For some reason, I thought it would be grand balloons, laughter, maybe a room full of people cheering me on.
Instead, it’s will be just me. A celebration of self, alone, with myself, with no hurrah.
I won’t lie I had a wave of FOMO, that ache that asks, “Was I forgotten?”
But then I remembered the one truth that softens everything:
I love myself.
And I love who I am becoming.
Although I’ve reached this age, I feel brand new like a soul reintroduced to her own rhythm. I’m learning to be truth to self, to pour what I love into what I create, and to let that be my offering to the world.
So here I am still evolving, still laughing in places I once cried, still finding beauty in the in-between.
And through it all, I’ve gathered lessons some whispered, some screamed, all earned.
What have you learned so far?
Here are fifty of them.
1. Healing doesn’t mean forgetting.
2. You can love someone and still outgrow them.
3. Grief never leaves; it just changes shoes.
4. Silence says more than a thousand apologies.
5. Joy is sacred protect it like it’s your only light.
6. Laughter during chaos is a form of prayer.
7. Boundaries are self-respect in action.
8. You can’t pour from an empty soul.
9. Coffee is a love language.
10. Motherhood teaches both surrender and strength.
11. Your body remembers what your mind denies.
12. The universe always whispers before it screams.
13. Sometimes “no” is the holiest word you can say.
14. Music can time-travel your heart.
15. Friendship should feel like exhaling.
16. Not everyone deserves access to your softness.
17. You’re allowed to rewrite your story mid-chapter.
18. Forgiveness doesn’t require reconnection.
19. Solitude is not loneliness it’s sacred space.
20. God speaks in coincidences.
21. Perfection is the enemy of peace.
22. Dance in the kitchen it heals more than therapy sometimes.
23. You can be broken and still radiant.
24. Rest is productive.
25. Some lessons repeat until you act differently.
26. Love yourself in public.
27. Spirituality doesn’t need an audience.
28. Laugh at your own pain sometimes it takes its power away.
29. Closure is often a myth; acceptance is real.
30. People only meet you as deeply as they’ve met themselves.
31. You are not what you lost.
32. Gratitude is medicine.
33. You can be soft and still fierce.
34. Energy doesn’t lie trust the vibe.
35. It’s okay to start over at any age.
36. Children are mirrors; they show you your truth.
37. The moon really does know your secrets.
38. Don’t explain your boundaries enforce them.
39. Beauty fades; character glows.
40. Sometimes closure looks like silence.
41. Love that feels like confusion is not love.
42. You are allowed to outgrow your coping mechanisms.
43. Every heartbreak refined you somehow.
44. Laugh at the plot twists.
45. Write it down memory is sacred.
46. The divine is always in the details.
47. Time doesn’t heal everything, but perspective does.
48. You are the poem.
49. Not everything needs to be understood some things are meant to be felt.
50. The best is not behind you; it’s becoming you.
Level 50 isn’t a milestone it’s a mirror.
It reflects the woman I’ve become after walking through shadow and sunrise, holding both grace and grit in the same hands.
This celebration may be quiet, but it’s honest.
And maybe that’s the gift not being seen by everyone, but finally seeing myself.
I’m still learning. Still unlearning. Still becoming.
And this time, I’m doing it with peace in my bones, poetry in my breath, and no need to prove anything to anyone.
I literally could have not been here anymore, and since then, it’s not a lie that I’ve questioned the reason for me to still be here.
Two years ago, life changed. I may seem to mention this allot at times, but for me, it was a culmination of something that truly has changed me forever.
But these two years… they’ve shown me things I might’ve never seen if I hadn’t stayed.
I watched my youngest son graduate college. My oldest daughter walk the stage for high school(being Top 20 thank you very much).
My oldest son marry the love of his life. And my little one? She sang her first solo fearless, radiant, finding her voice.(plus I get the pleasure of hearing her sing all of Hamilton around the house all at the age of 12)
And then there’s me.
Once an avid runner. Ten miles used to feel like meditation. Then the accident came and so did the silence. The first year, I couldn’t run. The second, I could… but I didn’t. Life and I wrestled, and running became a ghost.
But today I laced up again. Not for speed. Not for distance. For me.
And how am I feeling?
Grateful. Shaky. Emotional. Human. Alive.
Because determination isn’t about how fast you move it’s about not letting your spirit stand still.
I can’t believe how quickly we opened and closed our eyes and here we are. Two months away from saying goodbye to 2025. But that doesn’t mean these next two months can’t be full; full of goals, movement, and maybe even a few promises we made to ourselves back in January waiting to be fulfilled.
For me, November arrives carrying a milestone,my milestone birthday.
At the start of the year, I had grand plans. I imagined celebrating on a warm island, drink in hand, ocean breeze in my hair. Then that dream shifted to standing before a roaring waterfall, feeling small and alive at once. But in the end, it seems I’ll be alone in a small city hopefully holding a grand latte watching as life moves around me.
And I’m okay with that.
If this year has taught me anything, it’s this:
Don’t put all your eggs in one basket.
Don’t expect others to carry your dream.
The dream is yours it’s yours to protect, nurture, and bring to life.
I’ve learned to slow down. To mind my words. To keep company that values my time the way I value theirs. There’s a shift happening inside me maybe it’s this milestone birthday, or maybe it’s the long-awaited awakening I’ve been chasing for years. Whatever it is, I feel ready.
This November, I want to live authentically.
I’m starting with Thankful 30 documenting each day something that keeps me grounded in gratitude.
I want to pause, reflect, and notice the small things that make me whisper thank you.
There is a point where your heart start whispering louder than the world. When you realize you’ve been holding so much stories,emotions, half-felt things that need a place to land.
That’s where journal therapy steps in.
This isn’t about being “writer.”
It’s not about pretty pages or perfect words. It’s about truth the kind that lives in your body before it ever makes sense in your mind.
When you write, you start to hear what’s been buried under survival. You start to see the patterns, the pauses,the prayers.
And little by little, the pieces begin to speak.
Journal therapy gives your feelings structure without caging them.
It helps you move through what hurts instead of pretending it’s not there.
It’s a practice of remembering who you are beneath the noise, the expectations,the roles you’ve had to play.
Pem to paper that’s where the heading begins.
In this space, we’ll explore prompts and practices that help you release,reflect, and realign.
You’ll lean to meet yourself on the page with compassion, curiosity, and power.
No masks. No performance. Just presence.
Start here:
Write this question at the top of page:
“What emotion has been waiting the longest to be heard?”
Let your hand move without censoring.
Let it talk. Let it tremble. Let it tell the truth.
I recently finished reading Veronika Decides to Die by Paulo Coelho, and it left me sitting with myself in a way very few books ever have. On the surface, it’s a story about a young woman who attempts to end her life, but beneath the pages, it’s about something far deeper the raw, terrifying, exhilarating art of truly living.
What struck me wasn’t Veronika’s decision to die it was what happened after. When she believed she had only days left, she stopped holding back.
She did the things she never dared. She spoke the words she’d once swallowed. She allowed herself to feel deeply, unapologetically, even recklessly because in her mind, there was nothing left to lose. And in that space of nothing-to-lose, she discovered everything she had been missing.
It made me ask myself a hard question: What would I do differently if I believed my time was short? Would I still silence myself for the comfort of others?
Would I still chase people who never meet me halfway? Would I still cling to jobs, roles, or identities that no longer reflect who I am becoming?
The truth is, I’ve already started answering that question without even realizing it. I’ve been releasing people I once clung to, refusing to keep calling and texting and chasing after one-sided connections.
I’ve been quietly untangling myself from versions of me that were built to keep others comfortable. And as I do, something unexpected is happening I feel lighter. I feel closer to myself than I have in years.
There’s a kind of sacred power in choosing to step back not out of bitterness, but out of self-respect. And with each boundary I set, with each old tie I let go, I feel myself stepping into a new season of life where I’m no longer living to be liked. I’m living to be authentic.
Of course, my story isn’t Veronika’s. I have responsibilities, roots, people I love deeply. I can’t drop everything and run away. But that doesn’t mean I can’t choose to live differently.
I can stop giving my energy to what drains me. I can choose peace over people-pleasing. I can live like I have nothing to lose not because life is ending, but because it’s far too precious to waste.
Maybe that’s what midlife is supposed to feel like not a crisis, but an awakening. A point where you stop numbing and start noticing, where you stop surviving and start living. It’s messy and scary and beautifully uncertain, but it’s also deeply liberating.
I don’t have all the answers yet but I do know this: I’m done existing on autopilot.
I’m ready to live with intention, to take risks that scare me, to build a life that doesn’t require an escape plan. And maybe, just maybe, that’s the lesson of this book it was teaching us all along that the life we crave isn’t waiting somewhere far away.
It’s waiting for us to choose it, right here, right now.
I don’t know about you, but I’m excited that it’s October with that so much fun is coming up.
Lately, I’ve been keeping my eyes on what’s opening up in the city because honestly, the Fall into Winter stretch is one of the best times for museums.
The tourists thin out, the weather cools down, and suddenly all the galleries roll out the shows that feel like conversations you didn’t even know you needed.
So here’s what’s caught my attention because if I’m going, you might want to go too.
First off, Rashid Johnson at the Guggenheim (through Jan 20). The name alone feels heavy, like you know you’re about to get pulled into something that demands you sit with it. The show’s called A Poem for Deep Thinkers, and just from the images, it looks like layers on layers of history, memory, and maybe even a little healing.
Perfect place to seat with our thoughts
Then there’s Man Ray at The Met (through Feb 1). Surrealism always plays with that dream/nightmare edge, and I’m curious to see how his work holds up in our world now. Photography, sculpture, film—he touched it all.
Lorna Simpson also has a show at The Met (through Nov 2), and she’s one of those artists who knows how to make memory feel sharp, like it’s cutting into the present.
Right after that, there’s Superfine: Tailoring Black Style (through Oct 26), which is all about fashion and identity—honestly, that one sounds like a whole mood.
Over at the Whitney, Sixties Surreal opened September 24, and that decade is already wild enough without adding surrealism to the mix. I think it’s going to be one of those shows that makes you see old photos and stories in a completely new way.
And then, Hilma af Klint at MoMA (through Sept 27). If you’ve never seen her work before, imagine paintings that feel like prayers in color—spiritual, abstract, and way ahead of their time.
Now, if you’re like me, you love art but you also love a free day (because this city will take your money in a blink). Here’s where it gets good:
• Monet at the Brooklyn Museum (opens Oct 11) → Free First Saturdays, 5–11 PM. That’s a whole evening to get lost in water lilies. I am most excited about seeing this for sure.
• Ruth Asawa at MoMA (opens Oct 19) → Free Fridays, 5:30–8:30 PM, but only if you’re a New York State resident. Her wire sculptures are like poetry floating in air.
• Robert Rauschenberg at the Guggenheim (opens Oct 10) → Pay-What-You-Wish Mondays and Saturdays, 4–5:30 PM. Not a huge window of time, but worth it.
• Anish Kapoor at the Jewish Museum (opens Oct 24) → Free all day Saturdays.
That’s a lot, I know. But think of it as a season-long treasure map. Pick one weekend a month and give yourself over to the art. Some of it will confuse you, some of it will stay with you forever, and all of it will remind you that New York is still one of the best places in the world to wander and wonder.
So where are we going first? Monet’s water lilies? Rashid Johnson’s walls of red? Or Hilma af Klint’s spirals of spirit?
I woke up before dawn with a thought I couldn’t shake how many parts of me I’ve silenced just to make someone else feel comfortable.
How many times I’ve swallowed my own light to be the version of “enough” someone else needed.
The most important relationship you have is with yourself
It’s heartbreaking to admit how easy it was to disappear piece by piece. And even harder to face the truth: none of it ever worked. Because the people I kept contorting myself for?
They still found me too much, or not enough, or somehow both at once.
Now I’m doing something different. I’m calling those missing parts back.
I’m asking myself for forgiveness for betraying my own heart while trying to keep others happy.
For neglecting the things that made me feel alive. For forgetting that the love I was searching for has been here, within me, all along.
I’m relearning the things I once loved the joy of pen and paper, the ritual of capturing memories, the art of telling stories simply because they matter to me.
And every time I pick up a forgotten piece, I feel a little more like myself again.
This return is tender. It’s clumsy. It feels a little like being reborn fragile and uncertain, but full of hope.
Happiness shines from the inside
And maybe that’s what healing is: coming home to yourself after a long absence and promising you’ll never leave again.
Honest storytelling as a form of healing. 