Month 4: April Intersections
Title of Art, Description or Location of Art
“Sometimes to survive, we must become more than we were programmed to be…”
— Roz from The Wild Robot
Confidence I Can Avoid Consuming This Month:
100%
With our land offer out there (a result I’m not so sure would have been this clear to me had I not been doing the lesser consumption journey), I feel like my involvement in filling my space with things that matter is on my A game.
When a Seed Finally Sprouts
For those that know me well, you know I’ve been a prolific journal-er since middle school. So many Lisa Frank and gel notebooks fill by shelves, you’d think I wasn’t really into keeping my space simple, like my recent work in this blog suggest. They document everything from what I ate to my movie watching habits, or small thoughts I didn’t want to lose. There’s certainly no legacy in these books full of thoughts. They’re just for me, like little breadcrumbs that help me process life as it happens. And honestly? When I’m gone, the only purpose I hope these journals serve is a big, beautiful bonfire to bring light and warmth to the people still around and capturing each moment to moment. A little celebration of what it means to pay attention to each moment.
A recent journal entry came from reading The Wild Robot:
“Sometimes to survive, we must become more than we were programmed to be.”
It struck a nerve. So, just this once, I’m bringing one of my entries out into the light.
Over the last ten years, I’ve worked across industries and organizations, from public lands and nonprofits to cafés and startups. I’ve held roles with the Forest Service, Bureau of Land Management, and National Park Service. I’ve worked in tech. I’ve poured coffee and learned humility behind a counter. I’ve navigated change and chased opportunity. And through all of it, I’ve been shaped by the people I’ve met. Women like Elizabeth Gerrits showed me what it looks like to belong in the outdoors and represent in science. People like her became foundational. They lit the spark.
But something even deeper began in 2018.
During a family gathering on the North Shore of Minnesota, a quiet dream was planted. My mother-in-law and I were falling in love with Duluth at the same time. We imagined a shared piece of land where all our skills, values, and stories could coexist. A collective space. A haven. A beginning.
That seed needed time to germinate.
My partner and I returned to San Francisco to chase the opportunities we’d worked hard for. We had no idea how to bring our dream jobs and our dream place together. But we were honest with ourselves and our friends about it. We wanted both. We didn’t know how. But we were going to try.
Then the pandemic shifted everything.
Suddenly, work looked different. Place mattered more. What we wanted became clearer. And by 2021, we found ourselves living in Duluth, ten years sooner than we expected.
The dream still wasn’t linear. We paused. We doubted. We tried other directions. I lost a job I loved. I applied for new ones. I accepted three roles and left all three. I was grieving the loss of a chapter that had ended too soon, and I was trying to find my way forward.
Through all that movement, a few things kept pulling me back. The practices in these blogs and the reminders of what has made me me, thus far. The intersections of everything that has impacted or inspired me are how I find my way home again. And this is how I realized why I’ve fallen in love with Duluth. The outdoors, the culture of people, the Midwestern roots, yet own subtle twist, the western tone in the mountain biking an activities. It’s a place that is old and new. It’s a place that meets the intersections of me.
Tidying became one of these intersections. I became more than I was programmed to be here. Not just cleaning or organizing, but consciously creating space. Consciously choosing this place to call home. It gave me clarity and calm when everything else felt messy. It became something important in my life that hadn’t been me. In it, I had become something a new person. I not only committed to 16 weeks of deep, intentional tidying. That process led to a major turning point. It gave me the mental space to think clearly. It made way for reflection. And it quietly led to the purchase of the land my family had been dreaming of for six years.
That land became the seed. And now, it is ready to bloom.
Which brings me to my next chapter.
This season, in this month of April and Lesser Consumption, has brought to life a seed that was planted many years ago. It’s time to be more grounded. To be here. And to bring all the layers of my experience into something I can touch and tend to. You can follow the story of our land project at The Sandlotz Collective, where we’ll document the messy, beautiful, ongoing journey of building something together.
The seed has taken root. It is beginning to grow. And I am ready.
Lighten your space. Be free to find.
