I’ve been told gratitude fixes everything. So here I am, doing emotional CrossFit with the things actively trying to kill me.
Shoutout to all the tiny Legos out there teaching me mindfulness one barefoot step at a time. Nothing snaps you into the present moment faster than colorful plastic pain at 6:12 a.m. Who needs meditation apps when you’ve got physical suffering shaped like a square spaceship?
And a sincere thank you to cold coffee for keeping me humble. Sure, I meant to enjoy it hot, but if this is the price of being so busy “killing it,”.
As for the laundry mountain? That’s not clutter. That’s cardio. My exercise routine is climbing it like Everest. Socks. Every missing match is a mystery. Every basket is a reminder.
Parenthood, comedy tours, daily annoyances : Loud, inconvenient, hilarious stuff all found on the internet. And somewhere between exhaustion and flight delays is the uncomfortable truth self-help books don’t love to admit: this shit means you’re in the shit. You’re living. You’re moving. You’re showing up.
Gratitude is stepping on Legos, drinking defeat-temperature coffee, and laughing because the alternative is screaming into a pillow.
Time to dance like nobody is watching