The Breeze Between
On tiny chairs, butter pie, and future nostalgia.
Wait, before we start:
You’re here. Reading this. That still gets me.
You could be anywhere, and you chose to be here for a few minutes. That means more than I can really explain in a newsletter intro.
My high school English teacher covered every essay in red pen, too emotional, too many words. Elementary school was “talks too much.”
Turns out, I just hadn’t found my people yet.
Whether you’ve been here since day one or just found me last week, you’ve got a forever friend here in Texas. Probably writing too late again, candle burning, coffee cold, grateful you’re here.
Next year is the year of the horse, passion, independence, and bold action. If this is entirely false, don’t tell me. I’m choosing to believe it. We could use it.
Outside the kindergarten classroom, eighteen construction paper leaves are taped to the wall.
I’m sitting in a chair built for a six-year-old. My husband’s beside me, knees to chest. We’re waiting for our names to be called.
The leaves are from a writing prompt: “What does fall feel like? Sound like? Smell like?”
By the third one, I’m taking notes on my phone.
Fall feels like: snowflakes falling on my face
Fall smells like: tacos
Fall tastes like: steak
Fall sounds like: a breeze
Fall smells like: butter pie
Fall feels like: a breeze between
A breeze between.
Later that week, I saw a video of a mom setting up a movie night for her daughter’s friends. She’d spent hours on Pinterest. When she went to film it, she was disappointed. Everything that didn’t match. Everything that fell short.
Then her daughter whispered to her friend, not knowing Mom could hear: “I told y’all my mom goes all out.”
The mom cried.
I cried.
We’re about to enter the Season of Performing.
You’ll hear it in words like “elevated,” “curated,” and “perfectly imperfect.”
You’ll see it in captions, gift guides, and text threads that make you feel like your dinner napkins need a brand story with a complete character arc.
Even if you love this season (I do), it’ll try to convince you that joy has a checklist.
Six-year-olds haven’t learned to perform yet. They just tell the truth.
So here’s mine: I’m not performing the holidays this year.
I’m building one that feels like a breeze between. That smells like “butter pie, falling snowflakes, and looks like beautiful colors.”
For future nostalgia.
This is where I’m starting this week. Plus a few current obsessions that are maybe niche, but I know you’ll love.
Holiday pajamas. The one pot that’s changing everything. A few winter scents. The Swedish Christmas recipe series I can’t stop watching. The XXL bowls. Oh & the martini situation.
💌 See you in there
