Lately, I’ve been spending more time outside. Not in any elaborate, planned way. Just… one chair pulled into the sun. A journal in my lap. No setup, no expectation.

And I keep thinking:
I didn’t know how much I needed the sky until I started looking up again.

There’s something about this time of year—early spring, when the air is still unpredictable and everything feels halfway between seasons—that makes my own in-between feel less lonely. The trail near my house is slowly coming alive, piece by piece. Buds hesitating, blossoms testing the air. The ground still soft from snowmelt.

It feels familiar.
It feels like me.

There’s a blue mason jar on my desk, filled with pastel slips of paper—mint green, blush pink, soft blue.

Each one holds a quiet invitation.
A small rebellion.
A reason to step outside the loop of “work, errands, survive, repeat” and back into my life.

They’re not tasks.
They’re not productivity hacks.
They’re side quests—tiny adventures and soft nudges meant to pull me closer to joy, curiosity, and the kind of life I’m trying to build on purpose.