Embracing the Chaos of Lived Experiences

This journal exists because some thoughts don’t belong in bullet points, productivity planners, or tidy

little “lessons learned” boxes. It exists as a cathartic mind dump and a thoughtful record of lived experience—where energy, intuition, advocacy, and curiosity intersect. Where noticing counts as doing. Where nothing has to be fully resolved to be worth examining.

My personal journey—and the experiences that shape it—aren’t a straight line or a highlight reel. They’re a tapestry: many textures, many colors, woven through small, often unremarkable moments that only make sense when you step back far enough to see the larger picture. Some threads are bold. Some are frayed. Some disappear for long stretches before resurfacing in unexpected places. All of them matter.

The Middle Distance is a practice, not a performance.

There are no gold stars here. No “watch me heal in real time” theatrics. No curated vulnerability designed to rack up engagement. This space isn’t about proving insight—it’s about living with it, sometimes clumsily, often quietly, and usually without an audience.

I’m interested in intuition—not as mysticism for mysticism’s sake, but as a practical skill we’ve been trained to distrust. The kind that shows up in your body before your brain catches up. The kind that whispers instead of shouts. The kind that says, this isn’t right, long before you have the language—or permission—to say it out loud.

I’m interested in energy—not in a sparkly, bypass-the-hard-stuff way, but as a very real, very human exchange. Where you spend it. Who drains it. What restores it. Why ignoring it always costs more later. Energy doesn’t care about your to-do list or your politeness. It keeps receipts.

I’m interested in ritual—not as performance art, but as grounding. The small, repeatable acts that anchor us when the world feels loud, fast, or slightly unhinged. Coffee made the same way every morning. Journals kept longer than relationships. Walking without headphones. Letting the moon exist without demanding it teach us something profound.

And I’m deeply interested in advocacy—not the trendy kind, but the gritty, sustained kind that shows up in systems, classrooms, workplaces, and quiet conversations where no one is applauding. Advocacy that requires stamina, boundaries, and the uncomfortable willingness to be misunderstood.

This blog will wander.

Some posts will be sharp. Some will be tender. Some will be observational. Some will be deeply personal, others written through the lens of stories I’ve carried, borrowed, or reconstructed with poetic license. Each entry is a thread—small on its own, but part of a much larger weave.

Side note: If you think something is about you — you might be right. If you think it’s all autobiography—you’re probably wrong. But not always.

There will be humor, because without it, the rest is unbearable. There will be snark, because clarity sometimes requires it. There will also be restraint—because not everything needs to be said at full volume to be true.

I am not here to explain myself.I am not here to convince you. I am not here to package meaning neatly. I am here to pay attention. To examine the in-between moments. To name patterns. To notice how the threads connect, even when the design isn’t obvious yet.

The Middle Distance doesn’t rush toward answers. It respects the long view. It understands that growth is rarely linear, healing is rarely aesthetic, and wisdom often looks suspiciously like slowing down.

If you’re looking for certainty, you may be uncomfortable here. If you’re willing to notice—welcome.

Let the examination begin ... or continue ... depending on where in the story you care to join the journey.