Merry Christmas, everyone. This episode is just a soft little visit with you on Christmas morning—right here in our Metro Detroit home, with no snow outside, a few gifts for our grown boys, and nothing fancy under the tree for my husband and me.

It’s been a tight year financially, but sitting here in the glow of the lights, listening to the quiet before everyone wakes up, I’m just so grateful we’re all together and healthy.

Sometimes the simplest Christmases are the ones that fill your heart the most.

In this episode I’m opening up about something that’s been on my heart lately; Why spending time on our little piece of land up north always brings me such deep peace.

It’s not about big adventures or getting everything done on the property. It’s the quiet walks, the wind in the trees, the way the world slows down, and how I always drive home feeling lighter, steadier, more like myself.

If you’ve ever had a place that just settles your soul, I think you’ll understand. Come sit with me for a little while.

Lately, life has felt loud—especially in my head.

In this episode, I talk honestly about overwhelm, racing thoughts, and the cycle of overthinking that can keep us stuck. From lying awake at night with a noisy mind to walking away from goals out of fear of failing, this is a quiet conversation about noticing the pattern and learning to create space for calm.

This isn’t about pushing harder or having it all figured out. It’s about slowing down, finding structure, and taking one small step when the noise feels overwhelming.

I used to be obsessed with squirrels… until forty-five hit and suddenly I’m a birdwatcher. In this episode, I unravel how that happened, why it seems universal, and what this says about midlife hobbies. If you relate, welcome—you’re in good company.

We’d been hunting for up-north property forever. One popped up, I couldn’t go see it, so my husband drove up alone.

He called me from the middle of a garbage laden, bug infested-trailer disaster and said, “It’s rough… but I can fix it.”

I thought he’d lost his marbles, but we’d already lost too many good ones, so I told him to make the offer.

Fast-forward through years of dumpsters, sweat, and a million trips to Menards… and that same dump is now the quiet, cozy 10-acre getaway our whole family lives for.

Grab your mug and come laugh with me at the blind-trust purchase that somehow became our favorite place on earth.