i started a blog in 2020 because i thought the world was ending and i wanted to leave proof i was funny.

like. genuinely. i wanted to leave something behind that weren’t just ideas that never made it past my notes app.

you may be thinking: why a boring old blog? who still has the attention span? why not just dance for the algorithm? or you know… doing the feet thing?

well the answer goes back to something weirdly specific:

one of my favorite authors once wrote that her childhood guilty pleasure was nose-picking.

she described it like it was a spiritual experience—this sense of magic, of wonder, of connection between the outstretched finger and the booger. like the whole world narrowed down to that one small, perfect moment of contact.

i read that and thought: when was the last time i felt wonder like that?

what’s something that filled me with that weird, unfiltered childhood joy? the kind of joy that existed before adulthood filled my head with “where is my money going and why so fast”?

and for me, that thing had always been stories.

i lived off them. got lost in worlds i read and some built in my head. i consumed them by the bucketload—books, movies, song lyrics, the back of shampoo bottles, even the random Avon catalogs my mom brings home. everything had a narrative and i loved uncovering the stories running under ordinary things.

and here’s the thing: when you consume that much, you kinda have to let some of it out. it’s just science. (also called the law of conservation of energy, yeah it’s real i went to school.)

so all those pent-up stories had to go somewhere and some of them ended up on the pages you’re reading now.

i had started writing because it made my brain lighter. because it felt like holding hands with something invisible. because sometimes, the world sucks and i didn’t know how else to survive it.

and now, in this era of adulting and burnout and disappearing attention spans, i want that childhood joy again.

i want to write things and not care if they’re good. i want to post things and not overthink if they’re cringe. i want to hit publish the same way a kid sticks a booger to a wall: with commitment. with pride. with the confidence of someone who knows… this is art.

so yeah. if there’s anything to take away from this…

one: may we all find something that feels as sacred and strange and comforting as nose-picking. in a world that keeps trying to sand down our weird edges, may we keep reaching out—sincerely, unapologetically—toward whatever makes us feel joy.

may we all find the booger. may we feel the booger. may we thrive.

and two: this blog is me trying. not to be profound. not to be good. just me reaching out for the booger.

and if you’ve been wanting to do something—anything—just because it lights something up inside you? i hope this gives you permission. not that you needed it. but still. because at the end of the day, it’s not about having it all figured out. it’s about the joy of sticking something weird to the wall and saying, “look. i made this.”

so here we go. blog post #1. stuck to the internet wall like a tiny, gleaming booger of hope. here’s to making stuff, sticking it to the wall, and calling it art anyway.