I am great friends with my beginnings and soft ends.

An inquiry into a life with margin.

Dear Reader,

I’ve been savouring the audacity of taking my time.

It struck me recently—barefoot on the beach, salt clinging to my skin—when someone close to me noticed my pause at the idea of a grand road trip. They weren’t judging, just curious, intrigued by my quiet hesitation. What they couldn’t see was the arithmetic unfolding beneath my pause, in my mind—not just kilometres and dates but the texture of commitments already laid down: our overseas journey a month or so away, the freshly carved homeschooling path, time for family togetherness, finger on my pulse to make sure I’m looking after myself amongst it all and the art restless in my hands, calling to be made.

We live a beautiful, full life—but fullness, I’ve learned, requires craft. An artful practice of knowing where to stop, where to start, and how to let things breathe.

I used to be the “YES!” girl—all in, reckless, don’t ask me twice. I’d deal with the consequences later when I was literally crying on the bathroom floor, wondering how I managed to overcommit so spectacularly.

I don’t do that anymore.

My reluctance to a quick “yes” is an act of fierce preservation—a refusal to become bathroom-floor girl again. It was the floors that taught me my limits, and I learned them well. So well, in fact, that I rarely end up there anymore…

Here’s how I continue to remain great friends, with my beginnings and ends…