There was a time when I was a yes girl. Flying through time zones, crossing state lines...

Instagram launched in 2010, and like everyone else, I signed up. I just didn’t realize my account was public until my foot ended up online. Not a fresh pedicure. Not a beach photo. Just my foot, testing out the Valencia filter. I thought I was saving it. Next thing I knew, my 12 followers, mostly high school friends and one random cousin, had front-row seats to my accidental bunion debut. Back when a foot on the web was just a mistake, not a side hustle. I was mortified… but

I used to think my 20s were my IDGAF era. Looking back, I was still trying. Trying to impress. Trying to belong. Trying to keep up. The late nights. The loud opinions. The outfits that said I don’t care. I fully committed to the bit. I cared. Somewhere in your 30s, though, something shifts. You stop performing. You wear what feels good. You listen to what still hits. No more chasing trends. And I don’t know, there’s just something about flared yoga pants with ankle socks that

Not long ago, I was clicking through my website when I had a slightly ridiculous thought. What the heck even is this? I stared at the screen. At the time, it was still just a blog. A small place on the internet where I had started writing again, mostly for myself. Somewhere to collect stories, photographs, and little details about life in New York. Nothing ambitious. Just something I built because I felt the need to create. But as I moved through the pages, it started to feel