The First Light

Welcome. Take a listen, then read on.

I wanted to begin this space the way I’ve been beginning so many of my days lately— with a lit match, smoke rising, and a voice I’ve been saving for here.

In under a year, everything changed. I lost my mother. Said goodbye to my dog. Sold the house my family had held for fifty years. Packed up the apartment where I’d built a life. Turned in the lease. Bought a secondhand BMW. Walked away from a six-figure career I thought would last longer than it did.

Then I got a puppy.

Then I left the country.

Then I came back.

And the only thing I knew for sure was this: I couldn’t go back to who I was before the fire.

For years, I was quietly suffocating inside corporate brand teams—told to “be creative,” but only within the limits of what the org could digest (read: not much). I was dialed in, but disconnected. Smart, but uninspired. I stayed too long because I had normalized the numbness.

Grief cracked that numbness wide open. And in the pause that followed, I stopped performing. I gave myself permission to just be. The days got slow. The nights got smoky. My mornings were filled with journal pages and spiritual questions.

Eventually, I started applying to jobs again—half-heartedly. Nothing sparked. And still, the rejections came. No calls, no interviews. Just silence.

It felt like failure. But it was really redirection.

I went to Sweden for a spiritual retreat with my therapist-coach-spiritual midwife. And something broke open. I started writing again—first to myself, then to the women on retreat with me. Then on LinkedIn, twice a week.

And I felt something I hadn’t felt in a long time: my voice.

Not my “personal brand.” Just… me.

And it made me want to build something different. Something outside the confines of resumes and algorithms. A space to write about the full picture: the career pivots and the existential spirals. The fashion obsessions, the spiritual downloads, the moments that don’t quite fit in a deck.

Which brings me here.

When I was in Copenhagen, I went to Tivoli—basically Danish Disneyland—and got on three rollercoasters in a row.

I’d been feeling emotionally whiplashed for months: navigating loss, ego death, identity unraveling, and a very intimate tug-of-war with my purpose.

So getting on a literal rollercoaster felt like spiritual theater.

It didn’t fix anything. But it gave me perspective. It reminded me that the stomach drop, the uncertainty, the breathless pause—they’re not always signs to stop.

Sometimes, they’re just part of the ride.

So welcome to Let It Smoke.

A small space in this big world where we slow down, light something (a candle, a joint, a spark of insight), and name what we’re moving through.

Together.

Sometimes it’ll be light. Sometimes it’ll be sharp. Always, it’ll be honest.