writing

As part of my goal-setting, my coach asked me to write a letter to present-day me, from the perspective of one year from now.

Here’s that letter:

Hello, 2026. We’re two days in, and I already feel as though I’ve welcomed you with open arms. But before I entirely say goodbye to 2025, I want to take a moment to acknowledge good ol’ 2025.

Yesterday, I was perusing instagram, and I found a post much like many others I’ve seen before:

“Ten tips to make you a better writer”

Many times in my life, I’ve had what I like to call a cinematic experience. It’s those moments you look back on later and think, “If they ever made a movie about my life, that scene would for sure be in it.”

From Lea’s Journal, dated 12/4/2025:

I’m supposed to write a newsletter for tomorrow.

Imagine, for a moment, your long-term partner turned to you and said, “Hey, so I just got this incredible job opportunity…”

It’s working! This, this thing I’ve been trying to do. It’s working!

About ten years ago, I stopped arguing with people when they complimented me.

This has happened before — but usually, once I really lock in, I find something…

A few weeks ago, I opened my laptop, leg bouncing in anticipation. The feedback from my most recent short story competition had just been posted…

You ever notice how, when you ask people their values, just about everyone says “honesty”?

When it comes to wellbeing content, I tend to be very sparse with directives…

That night, I lay in bed, grieving the loss of something that mattered to me. I cried the sort of tears that fall slowly, one by one, like the beautiful women do in the movies…

Is wanting a symptom of unhappiness?

I’ve been asking myself this question since I finished my latest binge-read, The Midnight Library…

“I don’t know how to capture why,” one subscriber wrote, “but it still feels like you hold back.”

Last week, inspired by a conversation with a friend, I asked my subscribers their thoughts on the “purpose” of my newsletter. (To my delight, many of you replied!)

Every year, on September 9th, I look around and take stock of my life.

Mammoth, California. Sierra Nevada Mountains.

It was our first night out on the trail. We’d had an early start to the day, meaning we reached our campsite with plenty of daylight left.

This morning started like most of my mornings do: walking to the local coffee shop. 

And so I did what any delightfully curious (and maybe slightly shameless) person would do — I approached them.

This week, my job wasn’t to be a data cruncher or strategist: this week, my job was to be a community facilitator. A builder of connections. The bridge between what we’re doing, and why we’re doing it.

I had a moment this week.

There were several moments, actually, but the one that comes to mind is the moment in which I lay at the bottom of the shower, the pelting water the only thing capable of quieting my racing mind…

A few weeks ago, I was lying in bed, speaking aloud my latest musings on the way my brain works.

Yes, this is something I do frequently…

This past week, I was sitting on a work call with my boss, getting my midyear review. It was, I’m proud to say, nothing short of glowing…

I sat down today with the intention of posting a different story — but something was bubbling in my chest, and it only felt right to see where it took me.

I sit here, at this very moment, deeply aware of the secrets I keep for myself. There aren’t that many, truly, and fewer than there used to be…

I caught myself in a very silly logical fallacy this morning. 

You see, I have a lot of baggage around thinking I’m safe, then being proven wrong. I have a deeply rooted fear of being unable to trust my assessment of reality. When I think of the worst times in my life, they were always born of this scenario: “I thought I was safe, I thought I was loved, I thought I was valued…and I wasn’t.” 

“My journey of sexuality was a clear one: after a lifetime of accumulating evidence, there was a singular moment of validation. I went from crushing on girls, to kissing girls, to that life-affirming night with the woman from the music show. The next morning, after she left, I thought, “Yep, I am absolutely, 100% not straight.” And anyone else would be hard-pressed to deny me that. I’d proven my queerness, as silly as that sounds…”

“I was in elementary school the first time I had a crush on a girl. I won’t share her name here, though I do remember it. She was Latina, with beautiful long curly brown hair and dark eyes. I always wanted to hold her hand…”