A Sabbatical in the Woods
Dispatch from my time trading the ocean for the Northwoods
Image generated by ChatGPT
For the last stretch of days, I slipped away from the tide and into the trees, trading my shoreline rituals for cool morning breezes and the smell of pine needles after rain.
I needed this sabbatical. I’m big into mermaid themes right now - inspired by Rachael at Wild Alabaster’s latest drops and musings about mermaids and sirens.
And so, instead of seafoam, I swam in ideas. My book came alive in a new way up here—less tangled, more true. I had space to ask the big questions, the ones I usually push aside in the churn of daily life. And AI, oddly enough, felt like a steady companion. Not the type to steer the ship, but more like a lighthouse: offering perspective, helping me notice the emotional currents I’ve been too close to see clearly. Together, we mapped the waters of my story—mine and the reader’s—and now, for the first time in a long while, I feel like I know where we’re headed.
Books floated in and out of my hands:
The Change by Kirsten Miller—witchy, witty, and full of power.
Thinking in Bets by Annie Duke, which finally gave me language for a truth I’ve long felt: that a bad outcome doesn’t mean a bad decision. That sometimes we make the best call we can with what we have—and the waves still crash anyway.
I crafted too: an embroidered beaver from Kiriki Press, a beaded plant that was all the rage on TikTok that now catches light in my window like a jellyfish bloom, and a watercolor of our campfire pit and benches.
In between writing and wandering, I read a biography of Amelia Earhart. She disappeared on July 2nd, you know—maybe that’s why she found her way into my thoughts right now. I didn’t know how much she fought for women to dream bigger. Or how she launched her own fashion line. A woman who chose her own map.
There was skincare too. I started using Evan Healy products which I’m loving, keeping up with my nightly red/blue light mask from Fringe, and barely a drink the whole time. My skin feels better, but more than that—I feel clearer. More me.
And I’m still in love with yellow. Found the sweetest butter-hued insulated mug from Caribou Coffee. It kept my mornings warm as the loons called across the lake.
Now I’m heading back to DC and the shore, hoping to carry this slower rhythm with me—the one where I cluster my calls, leave mornings open, and trust that deep work happens best when I’m not rushing.