• A study in moderation, misquotes, and why I still prefer coffee. It went like this: “Moderation? It’s mediocrity, fear and confusion in disguise. It’s the devil’s dilemma. It’s neither doing nor not doing. It’s the wobbling compromise that makes no one happy. Moderation is for the bland, the apologetic, for the fence-sitters of the world…

  • Tonight I am, against all odds, relaxed.* Not “scrolling while pretending to unwind.” Not “strategically multitasking rest.” Just… sitting. Knitting. Listening to music. Existing. And because my brain can’t leave well enough alone, I went to find a better word for how I’m feeling.** Something more poetic, more dramatic, more me. I opened a thesaurus….

  • This week marks six months of living alone… well not exactly, but also kinda.I share a house with five other people. We cross paths in the kitchen, politely ignore each other’s laundry, and share an unspoken agreement that we don’t discuss the quality of bathroom singing. It’s not solitude exactly, more like a soft coexistence….

  • Adventures are thrilling, but they’re also loud. For now, I’m choosing the softer kind of noise: kettles boiling, washing machines humming, toast crunching… The Highs August was incredible. Big trips, bright moments, the kind of days that deserve capital letters: The Fringe. The Theme Park. The New Head Office. There were late nights and loud…

  • On favourite cafes, small rituals and the quests that begin with a cup in hand. The Nearest Cup My favourite coffee shop isn’t just the closest, though that helps. It’s genuinely good. It sits a few minutes from my front door, right by the train station, perfectly placed between home and the town centre. I…

  • Author’s Note:This post was inspired by Maya Angelou’s poem “When I Think About Myself.” Her words come from a history and an experience that aren’t mine, but what resonated with me was her use of laughter as both armor and confession. What follows is my own reflection, a much smaller, messier version of that rhythm….

  • There’s a pile of them on my shelves: passion planners, diaries, bullet journals, colour-coded agendas, Italian leather ones, Japanese ones from before they changed the paper. A graveyard of productivity promises. I used to believe that if I just found the right one, the perfect notebook, I’d finally unlock my life. I’d become the kind…

  • I’ve drunk more bad coffee than good, but I’ve never turned down a cup. The Worst Coffee When my local Krispy Kreme opened they handed me a cup of what can only be described as caffeinated despair. Burn shots of coffee poured over the water of disappointment. I didn’t complain, obviously, I just drank it…

  • “First you need to take the yarn in your right hand…“ I didn’t go to a class, or learn from a wise relative passing down ancient yarn secrets. I learned to knit from YouTube — which means my teachers were mostly disembodied hands with suspiciously good manicures. I was pregnant with my first child, and…

  • I didn’t realise at the time, but I was starting my last marathon attempt. It was not my first long run. It was not my first marathon. But it was the last time I purposefully went running. My previous marathon had been through my birth town. There were crowds, familiar scenery, and reasonable weather despite…