Through the Looking Compass

I keep people at arm’s length and call it self-protection. …correction. I keep people at arm’s length because I know exactly how close I can let them get before it costs me something. That’s not confusion. That’s math. I see the wall while I’m building it. I hand myself the bricks and step back to admire the craftsmanship. Nice work! Very secure. Emotionally inhospitable, but secure. This is not monkey see, monkey do. This isn’t ignorance dressed up as bliss. This is not, “I

“Find balance,” they said. Sure- right after I master inbox zero, perfect my sleep hygiene, and finally become someone who enjoys yoga at sunrise. For recovering overachievers (hi, it’s us), balance often feels like a trick of the light - something shimmering on the horizon that vanishes the second you start chasing it. The Two of Pentacles in tarot gets it. It’s the card of juggling, multitaksing, dancing in chaos while pretending it’s choreography. The figure holds two coi

I know, I know - you’ve heard the cliché: “We don’t chase, we attract.” Cute on a coffee mug, sure. But most of us are still sprinting in emotional stilettos; the kind that make our ass look great, and somehow, we still kill it. Once upon a time, I chased coffee. Now I chase matcha. Different stimulant, same delusion. (But that’s a problem for another day.) The High Priestess would simply sip hers in silence and wait for the universe to blink first. Because she knows what mo

I still remember that poster from elementary school - the one with a single fish swimming the “wrong” way while the others looked offended by its audacity. “Dare to be different,” it said in Comic Sans, as if rebellion could be taught between math facts and recess. Because daring to be different sounds cute until you actually do it. Until you are the fish. The one facing the current, getting side-eyed by the school, wondering if maybe conformity wouldn’t have been so bad afte

They say no two snowflakes are alike. It’s a truth that feels poetic until you realize how impossible that is to prove. Billions fall, yet each is shaped by invisible variables: air pressure, wind speed, timing, temperature. The tiniest shift in their path changes their pattern forever. We’re not so different. A close-up view of a snowflake showcasing its intricate design. Each of us forms in motion; crystalline for a moment, then melting, refreezing, reshaping. We’re told to

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not knocking tradition - I’m merely calling out the double standard. I love a good snow-dusted ritual as much as the next person. I’ll happily cozy up with a Hallmark movie, a cup of hot cocoa, and a predictable meet-cute between the small-town baker and the big-city executive who just discovered the meaning of Christmas. A gal can indulge, am I right? We’ll toast to holiday magic like it’s a religion - string lights, cinnamon, and nostalgia so thick i

There are days when gratitude doesn’t come easy. When the world feels heavier than your morning coffee and the idea of “staying positive” feels like a group project you never signed up for. That’s okay. You don’t have to be the sunbeam right now. Sometimes the storm needs to speak. I’m not going to tell you to reframe your mindset or slap a shiny affirmation over your existential dread. I’m not here to hand you a gratitude list and whisper “just focus on the good.” No thanks

There’s something about late autumn that feels like a whispered dare - a quiet, smoky challenge to slow down when everything in you still wants to sprint. The air gets crisp, the light thins, and the trees - ever the overachievers - start shedding what no longer serves them like it’s no big deal. Meanwhile, I’m over here arguing with my planner about “productivity” and trying to convince myself that reoganizing the spice cabinet counts as self-care. Classic people-pleaser-me

There’s a strange kind of silence that shows up when you’re not sure where you’re headed next. It doesn’t crash in like a storm, it seeps in quietly, like fog curling through an open window. I used to mistake that quiet for failure. If the map wasn’t clear, I assumed I’d taken a wrong turn. I’d push harder, plan tighter, fill the silence with motion just so I wouldn’t have to feel still. But here’s what I’ve learned: when the map goes quiet, it’s not punishment. It’s permissi

Life’s a winding path, isn’t it? Some days the view is clear; other days, you’re walking through fog and hoping your shoes are tied. I’ve learned that the tools we call self-growth techniques aren’t really about fixing ourselves, they’re more like lanterns. They help us see what’s already there, just waiting to be noticed. These practices remind me to pause, breathe, and listen - not for the world’s noise, but for that small inner voice that still knows the way. It’s not abou