Honey, I'm home!!

ICYMI—I went to Burning Man for the first time this year. ;) 

For some (most?), Burning Man is pure fun: letting loose, wearing outrageous costumes, seeing epic art and music.

For me? I felt like I threw myself into a multi-week intensive. From the moment I decided to go (with only five weeks' notice), I wrestled daily with fear: fear of the unknown, fear of survival, fear of making it all happen. I was so focused on logistics that it wasn't until I was on the bus, pulling onto “the playa” that I even considered this week might actually be fun….

Of the three pillars of the See And Be Seen Club (The S.A.B.S. Club): see yourself, see another, be seen—it’s “being seen” that tends to feel the most vulnerable. The most edgy. The most terrifying.

But why is that?

How is it that something so essential—this deep human longing to be seen, known, and valued—is also the thing we fear most?

And what actually happens when we do let ourselves be fully seen?

For those of you who haven't heard: 
I'm going to Burning Man for the first time this year.

Technically, I've been to AfrikaBurn in South Africa back in 2015 (see pic of baby Dayna above!). But that was a different story—I landed off a plane, showed up with a few belongings, and my South African friends handled the rest. 

This time? Completely different.
This time, I'm going alone…

Last week, I shared a personal reflection about turning 35—and how even though my life doesn't “look” the way I imagined it might on the outside, I've refused to settle for anything less than a life of deep alignment and integrity on the inside.

But here's the irony I realized this week…

Last week, I bought a giant wall calendar to map out the final six months of the year.

As someone with eight planets in Capricorn, color-coding and planning is my version of fun.

All was going well…
until I got to December 25th.
My 35th birthday.
(And yes, I was born on Christmas.)

I recently posted a reel on Instagram that went semi-viral.
I cringe just saying that—but with over 30k views in 24 hours, I guess the story hit a nerve.

So I figured I’d share it with you, too.

It started with a ring, a bowl, and a plate—each one broke in the same week.

The bowl cracked clean in half.
The ring split right down the middle.
The plate? Just a tiny chip on the edge.