Today I hiked in the sunshine with Clyde.
It was a Tuesday — just a regular Tuesday — and we walked into the foothills the way we always do. Clyde investigated every sagebrush like he was conducting a scholarly examination of the state of the world. I let the sun warm my face and tried to remember that my body is real, and here, and mine. Two feet on the ground,
While we were climbing, my phone pinged — an email from NBC telling me all about Bravocon in Las Vegas. All the Bravolebrities. The VIP lounges. The velvet ropes. The Important Lanyards. The whole spectacle.
And I laughed.
Because there was a time (blogger years are geological time) when I went to events just like that — shipped home boxes of absurd SWAG because it was too much to carry — and once rode an escalator completely naked:
Down.
Walked around.
Back up.
A perfect loop.
A Tuesday.
I texted my friend Lydia — who works for NBC — and asked her why we were not attending Bravocon, because obviously we would be trouble with a capital T and a glitter cannon.
She laughed.
She agreed.
And I also reminded her — gently — that what I truly want is to be Snoop Dogg’s sidekick for the WINTER OLYMPICS in Italy in 2026.
And the best part?
Lydia could actually make that happen. Ratings Bonanza! xo
This is what I mean when I say: life is bizarre and beautiful when you don’t pretend to be smaller than you are.
After the hike, Clyde and I ran into Joesephine (hello, Love Beets) and through the ancient art of neighborhood witchcraft, we managed to skip the entire line at Coffee Garden and both got our coffees exactly the way we like them. No fuss. No apology. Just a little everyday magic.
Joesephine looked at me — the real kind of looking — and said:
“If you’re applying for jobs, only apply for dream jobs. Don’t shrink. Don’t back up. Don’t forget who you are.”
And here is the part I have been circling around:
I’m no longer at SLC Qi.
The ending was sudden.
I didn’t get to say goodbye.
There’s sadness there.
I spent years welcoming people, holding them, tending a community like a flame cupped in two hands.
To leave without closure feels like walking out of a story mid-sentence.
But this is not a story about loss.
This is a story about return.
To myself.
To spaciousness.
To possibility.
To mischief.
To joy.
To Tuesdays that begin in the mountains and end with delicious espresso magic and olympic-level daydreams.
This is the part where I remember:
I have a lot to offer the world.
And I am now available.
So if you’re looking for:
A storyteller.
A community builder.
A joy conspirator.
A dog-led pilgrim.
A woman who knows how to hold grief and glitter in the same hand—
I’m here.
Not under a bridge.
Not disappearing.
Not diminished.
Just in the doorway, barefoot, grinning, hair a little wild, absolutely ready.
The world cracked open a little this week.
I felt the draft.
I stepped toward it.
So stay with me.
We’re packing snacks.
I’m even making sandwiches.
Clyde is doing important sniff-based reconnaissance.
The universe is already rearranging furniture.
Italy just might be calling.
Snoop Dogg is warming up.
The glitter is unbottled.
The mischief is humming.
Let’s fucking go.
NAKEDJEN 