On Keeping What Matters

For a long time, I thought I needed to decide what this space was for before I could settle into it. I tried making things for sale, tried shaping my attention around output, tried to move faster than my life would comfortably allow. Some of it worked briefly. Much of it didn’t stay.

What has stayed is the making itself — sewing, cooking, gardening, knitting, writing — returned to in the margins of long days, not as escape but as orientation. These practices have always helped me find my way back to myself, even when time was limited and attention uneven.

Lately, it’s become clear that this space doesn’t need to hold everything I do. It only needs to hold what endures my attention. What feels steady enough to return to. What still matters after the rush has passed.

So I’m letting this be a place for that: writing and creative practice shaped by care, selectivity, and lived experience, rather than scale or productivity. I’m keeping less. I’m staying longer. And I’m trusting that this is enough.