Reflections on a season of structure and finding quiet moments of joy.

As I reflect on where I am right now, I’m struck by how much this season has been about doing the quiet, foundational work—the kind of effort that often goes unnoticed but is essential for the bigger picture. And yet, in the midst of all the hustle, I’m also learning to find beauty in the small moments—the ones that might seem insignificant but, in their own way, hold everything together and remind me of why it’s all worth it.

This has been a season of putting in the work—the behind-the-scenes effort that isn’t always glamorous but is necessary for the bigger picture. It’s been about crossing the T’s and dotting the I’s, creating systems and structure that set me up for what’s to come. I know this is essential my goals and future, and will also help me show up as a better friend, partner, and role model, to those I want to support and uplift.

Even though the East Side Culture Crawl is this weekend and I can see the finish line ahead, there’s a feeling that tells me this season isn’t over yet. Maybe you feel it too: that sense of still holding your younger self’s hand—your inner child, your inner teen—and guiding them through the parts they want to avoid, the shortcuts they’re tempted to take, the moments they’d rather just say "whatever" and quit. I feel that responsibility, the need to show up and do the hard things..

This season has been gritty, no doubt, and I know you can probably relate. There’s a longing for those longer, slower days spent in creative flow—painting, dreaming, losing myself in the act of making. But with all the final details to pull together for the crawl, I’ve had little time for the art I crave. And yet, I’m starting to see that there’s art in more than just the moments of creation. There’s art in the structure, in making the hard decisions, in building a foundation that brings a vision to life. I’m learning that even the work that feels “grind-y” holds meaning and purpose—especially when it’s part of something larger than myself.

I know that day-to-day balance might not always be achievable, but when I zoom out and look at the bigger picture, I can see it coming together. In the past, I’ve had the luxury of long stretches of pure art-making, and I know that phase will come again. But right now, I’m focusing on finding the beauty in the smaller moments—the ones that remind me of why it’s all worth it.

I’m appreciating the beauty of my husband spending an entire day trying to make me smile when I was overwhelmed with sadness; and the quiet beauty of the ornaments I get to paint in the brief moments I carve out. The beauty in the nourishing soup I make, knowing it sustains both body and soul. The beauty in the way my friends live with intention and integrity, staying true to their values no matter what. And the beauty in seeing a project through to completion, in acting on an idea and bringing it fully to life.

It’s in these small moments—these quiet, often unnoticed joys—that I’m reminded that there’s so much art in life. Not just in the grand, creative bursts, but in the steady, intentional steps I take along the way. And I know, just as much as I know anything, that I’m here to show up for those moments, not only for myself, but for the community that’s watching, learning, and growing alongside me.