Everyone Gets a Cabin

Recently, I had the honor of being published in the Western Colorado Voices Anthology. My piece was a short story about my perfect world—my friends and I living on a shared piece of land in a mountain valley, each with our own cozy cabin. It was dreamy and easy to imagine, a world I’m sure many of us can relate to—especially those of us with long-distance besties.

How incredible would it be if we could all live communally and raise our kids together, right?

While writing this story, I had a certain friend group in mind—a small circle of girls I’ve been best friends with for over 25 years. We’ll be friends forever—a built-in family to help navigate all of life’s twists and turns. It was an ode to the friendship I’ve built with them, a love letter of sorts. 

I posted a snippet of the story on Instagram and got a few messages from newer friends asking, “Can I have a cabin too?”

Honestly, that thought hadn’t occurred to me.

I mean, of course, you can have a cabin too. But why did I only reserve these fairy tale cabins for my oldest friends?

It got me thinking about friendship.

Some of us are lucky enough to keep our childhood friends close as we age. But navigating new adult friendships? That’s a whole different experience.

In her book The Let Them Theory, Mel Robbins explains how making friends is easier when we’re young because we move through life together. We have school, sports, activities—all built-in opportunities to connect. As adults, we have to work harder. We have competing priorities pulling at us from every direction—work, kids, pets, dinner, laundry, aging parents. Finding and maintaining new friendships takes effort.

And oof, do I relate. 

I’ve taken a different path than many of my peers. I moved to New York City right after college, then to the suburbs outside “the city”, and eventually to a state 2,000 miles away. Meanwhile, many of my friends stayed—or returned—to our hometown.

By the way,  I get it. Glastonbury, Connecticut is honestly kind of perfect: beautiful homes, rich history, endless apple orchards, and arguably the best Whole Foods in America. (The closest one to me now is over three hours away… but that’s a grievance for another day.)

And so, from thousands of miles away, I sometimes watch with a twinge of envy—old friends gathering for birthday parties, hayrides, boat shenanigans on the CT river… APPLE FEST.

Meanwhile, I’m here with my husband and kids, living a life I love—grateful, full—but still missing that easy closeness that only lifelong friendships bring.

For a while, I kept trying to recreate the same kind of bond I had with my core girlfriends. I measured every new friendship against that blueprint—and, not surprisingly, nothing quite measured up.

That led to loneliness, frustration, and self-doubt.

But then I changed my mindset.

I realized I was a different person when I met those girls—I was young. Our bond is so deep because we grew up together. We know each other’s histories, heartbreaks, awkward phases, and inside jokes that go back decades.

I’ve grown a lot since those days. And the friendships I have now? They reflect that growth—deep, beautiful, full of meaning and possibility. I’m beyond grateful for them.

So yeah… long story short: everyone gets a cabin. ♥️

What’s the Soundtrack of Your Life?

I’ve always journaled. 

Of course, over the years, the topics have changed. I no longer care much about what Jonathan Taylor Thomas is up to (though, I wish him well), or if Kate and Leo will date IRL (that said, if you hear of anything, please hunt me down — I’ll be at the library.) And I know that Jon Keane is not my future husband (sorry, fifteen-year-old me.) But through every season of life, one thing has stayed constant in my journals: music.

Music has been a best friend, a therapist, a co-pilot. It’s been so important, in fact, that I started writing down lyrics and little quotes on the inside covers of my journals.

In my 2014 journal, the top quote (surrounded with stars and hearts, naturally) reads: “Music enhances every experience.”

And it’s true, isn’t it?

Let’s set aside for a moment the transcendent experience of hearing music live (God, is that you?) And focus on the day-to-day. 

Some people say when they’re crabby or having a bad day, they go for a walk and it turns things around. To which I say, “Yes, AND listen to your very favorite songs on repeat.” 

I’ve got playlists for every mood. Sometimes I want to lift myself out of a funk, other times I want to lean in and feel it all.

Off the cuff, here’s what I reach for:

When I’m...

• Feeling self-doubt: America’s Sweetheart – Elle King

• Overwhelmed: Fast Car – Tracy Chapman

• Nostalgic: Boys of Summer – Don Henley

• Just plain sad: The Stable Song – Gregory Alan Isakov

And when I’m ready to shift gears...

• Wanting to have fun: A Bar Song – Shaboozey

• Feeling excited: Beautiful Things – Benson Boone

• Mellowing out: Tadow – Masego & FKJ

• Just plain happy: Letter to Lady J – Dispatch

It’s amazing, isn’t it? How much power music has over us? It’s incredibly healing and deeply personal. 

We all have our own unique soundtracks. That’s kind of magical, if you think about it. You can tell a lot about someone by the songs they keep close. 

So it’s not a mistake that music is a central theme in my novel, Lavender. It’s been there for me through everything. 

The idea for my novel actually came to me after one unforgettable night two summers ago...

My husband and I were at a Dispatch concert, one of my favorite bands, and they were performing with the Colorado Symphony Orchestra.

It was, honestly, one of the most spiritual experiences I’ve ever had. People were holding hands, leaning on each other, even crying. No fights. No rudeness. Just this collective, emotional exhale.

Everyone filed out of the venue like they’d been given some unspoken blessing. And I thought: What if life could always be like this? What if music could shift how we treat each other? How we move through life?

I started writing the very next day. 

Last thought, then I promise to cease my ramble…

I was running with my favorite Peloton instructor, Becs Gentry, yesterday (well, I was watching from my treadmill, trying to keep up.) She started talking about how “off” she’d felt lately, and eventually realized it was the absence of music in her life, at least the kind she would normally choose for herself.

And it made me think… we often forget how deeply music supports us… until it goes missing.

So here’s some homework (the fun kind): What’s your song right now — the one that lifts you up? The soundtrack of your life? 

Write it on the cover of your next journal and come back to it the next time you’re feeling “off”. 💜

But Then… The Sunscreen.

To borrow a line from one of my favorite movies, Love Actually:
“Whenever I get gloomy about the state of the world, I…”
… find comfort in watching people apply sunscreen to their loved ones’ backs.

I know. Weird. Maybe even a little creepy taken out of context. Let me explain.

Last week at the beach, I was enjoying a rare quiet moment to myself. My boys were surfing, my husband was snoozing in a beach chair beside me, and my daughter was happily digging for sand crabs nearby.

I had my notebook open on my lap, writing down sensory details for my next novel, when I looked up and saw an older woman carefully applying sunscreen to her (I assume) husband’s back. She made sure to get the back of his neck, the curve of his shoulders, not forgetting the spots along his sides.

There was something so lovely about it. So natural. A tender kind of love in the way she moved.

When I glanced around the beach, I realized it was happening everywhere—
Moms applying sunscreen to their kids.
Kids helping each other.
Teens awkwardly slathering lotion on their friends’ backs.

And it got me thinking…

The act of it—applying sunscreen so carefully, so thoughtfully—to protect a husband, wife, child, or friend from future pain… it might be the purest, simplest form of love. A wordless way of saying, “I don’t want you to hurt.” 

These small, everyday acts of love—they’re everything, especially now.

The state of the world is…well, scary. It feels as though we're becoming numb to the daily bombardments in the news, each story more outrageous than the last. 

We can only handle so much. 
I know many of us simply don’t actively pay attention anymore, a form of self-preservation. And yet, by the time a story reaches us, nothing is surprising. “Oh, the president swore on national television? Cool.” 

And it’s impacting us. All this doom and gloom. Whether we notice it or not. 

People are on edge. Neighbors are fighting. Strangers avoid eye contact. We’ve stopped smiling and waving. We all seem to be pitted against each other. 

We’ve all heard the phrase, “You can’t control anyone but yourself.” 

It might be cliche, but it’s true. 

Imagine if we actually lived that way? If we owned our choices instead of blaming others for our circumstances. The world might feel a little less chaotic. A little less angry. 

The neighbor called the police because your dog got loose and ran into his yard?
Annoying? Yes. But instead of fuming about it and labeling him a “loser,” what if you tried a different lens? They might be dealing with something you don’t know about.
And also, I should be more mindful with my pup.

And let’s bring back the wave. Wave at strangers. Smile at your neighbors. Say “hi” to the guy walking his cat. Sure, some people won’t respond—but most will.
And pretty soon, they’ll start doing it too. Life is weirdly wonderful like that.

Just to be clear—I’m not on a soapbox here.
I struggle with this, too. It’s hard to truly internalize the idea that I’m in control.
It’s so much easier to react, to stay busy, avoid eye contact, point fingers, and just keep moving.

I’ll listen to a podcast or read a book that reminds me of this truth—and for a moment, I remember. Right. Yes. I’m in control.
And then someone honks at me for driving the speed limit, and poof, it’s gone.

But then… the sunscreen.
That simple, heartwarming act shifted my perspective again. It was there for me to see all along. 

I am in control—of my reactions, of my energy, of how I choose to see the world.

So if you’re struggling with the state of the world, look for the good. The small signs. The quiet acts of care.

Start there. And just see what you notice.

One Stone Heart at a Time.

Turning 40 is weird. 

No one really warns you what it’ll feel like, and I guess that’s a good thing. Lord knows I don’t want to tell my six-year-old that she can expect to wake up one morning only to find a wrinkle above her left eyelid, four gray hairs, and a digestive system that suddenly decides survival depends entirely on leafy greens and kombucha. (Okay, so this is a bit dramatic, but ugh, just the occasional scoop of ice cream would be nice.) 

But beyond the physical, the mental is way harsher. 

Did I accomplish what I thought I would at 40? Why does it feel like everyone else has their ish together when I’m floundering on mom Island? Shouldn’t I feel like more of an adult by now? And wait. In 40 more years, I’ll be… EIGHTY?

And so, as I prepare to launch into one of the scariest adventures of my life at nearly 40 — releasing a young adult novel into the world to be read and judged by actual strangers — I find myself wondering… am I insane? 

To answer this completely reasonable question, I decided to follow the theme of my own novel and consult the signs.
Yes, the actual signs. From the universe. Or God. Or probably even Taylor Swift. Over the last few years, I’ve been into this whole phenomenon — looking for signs when I need a little life feedback. Should I buy the trendy barrel jeans, or will I resemble an Oompa Loompa? Coffee or tea? Should I ask the cool mom at my kid’s school to be friends? Not entirely life-changing things. But today, with the publication date for my debut novel, Lavender, inching closer (July 15. Go ahead, I’ll wait while you add it to your calendar), I sent up a little prayer: Am I really meant to release this book into the world? And if so… could you maybe send me a sign or two? More specifically, I asked for a heart. It felt fitting — it’s a major symbol in the story, and also, frankly, the thing I poured into every single page.

And, guess what? 

I received four. Yep, four. One for every gray hair. 

They came in stones. Heart stones. 

We’re spending some slow, salty days in Rhode Island, and this afternoon, while my husband and boys fished off the jetty, my daughter and I wandered the beach in search of paint-worthy rocks. That’s when I spotted the first one. Small, pink, and a little shy in its shape — but a heart, no doubt. I smiled. Felt seen. Okay… maybe this whole “signs” thing is actually working for this major life event. Just then, my daughter shouted, “Mommy, look. There’s another one!” Indeed, only a foot from where we found the first, another came into view. This one was smaller and more defined. “Yep, baby girl. That sure is a heart.” My smile got deeper, my chest even lighter. Moments later, a gray one peeked through the sand; a beauty. No denying the heart shape. And then, as we were mere inches back to our chairs, and as I was thanking God, the uni and Tay, the big kahuna came into my field of vision. Big. Bold. DUSTY ROSE PINK. If you read Lavender, you’ll understand exactly how much that color means.

Maybe it is a common thing. I mean, I’ve never actually looked for heart-shaped stones before. You might have a jar full of them at home.

Or maybe it was just a coincidence. 

But I believe it was something bigger communicating with me. And that’s what matters. That’s all life is anyway; what we make it.

A few weeks before this, one of my favorite authors, Jedidiah Jenkins, recently shared how Cheryl Strayed changed the course of his career. He was set on self-publishing when she convinced him to take another path.

I happened to be reading his post at the exact moment I was about submit my manuscript on a self-publishing platform. I immediately messaged him and told him he may have just ruined my life.

He replied:
“Self-publishing can be amazing. Or it can be safe and avoidant. It’s all about interrogating yourself—your motives, your fears, your options. And then moving bravely. Self-publishing might be the perfect right move.”

And he’s right.
It forced me to pause and look inward.
What do I really want?

The answer came quickly: I want this story to be out in the world—now. I believe it will resonate with anyone who is going through hard things. If it lifts someone’s day or gives them inspiration, a reason to keep going, that’s everything to me.

Could I wait years to land an agent, sell the book, and get through the publishing process? Sure. But this story matters now. 

I’ve done the research. I’ve put in the time.
And for me, right now, self-publishing is the brave move.

It won’t be easy. It’ll take work to get my name out there. But I’m ready.

So I guess what I’m trying to say is this:
Do the damn thing.

Whether you’re 14 or 40.

It’s never too early or too late. Who cares what people will think. Who cares if it succeeds or it fails. It’s all experience. It’s all fun with the right perspective. Do it for you. Be brave. And trust in the signs. One stone heart at a time.