Creating Space
A birthday, a reset, and the space in between 🥳
This morning started with eager footsteps and quiet whispers. I walked into the hallway to find Hawk already up, wide-eyed, grinning, ready for his birthday. Henry and Parker weren’t far behind, barely containing themselves, vibrating with excitement over unopened presents.
We were at Lauren’s house—my partner—and the scene had already been set. She’d spent the evening before decorating, prepping breakfast, and building that cozy, thoughtful atmosphere that makes a kid feel truly celebrated.
It was a beautiful start.
Then came the curveball.
Hawk was supposed to be at summer camp. But he wanted nothing to do with it. In the car, I tried to talk him into going—nudging, negotiating, gently pushing. But it was his birthday. I let go. Dropped Henry off. And the plan unraveled.
The day became an improvised, unstructured, and imperfect reality. Just me and Hawk for most of it. A movie. Shake Shack. Wandering conversation. Nothing fancy. Just a simple, meaningful time.
Still, by the end of it, I felt off. Not bad—just not me. Like I’d been living in someone else’s rhythm. So I came here. To the sauna. Letting the heat soak in and the noise burn off. A few rounds of hot and cold. Breath returning. Mind settling.
That’s when it hit me: this is the thing I’ve been circling—creating space.
Not just space on the calendar. Space in the body. Space in the mind. Space to feel. Space to think. Space to return to yourself.
We wait for space to appear when the inbox is empty, when the kids are quiet. When the pressure lets up. But space doesn’t show up on its own. We have to make it.
Tonight, space looked like thermogenesis—sauna and cold plunge. I didn’t plan it. My body just knew. The heat. The cold. The contrast. The silence. It realigns you.
Self-care isn’t always pretty. Sometimes it’s carving out 20 minutes when you feel like you don’t have five. Sometimes it’s sitting with discomfort until it says something useful.
Creating space also means stepping back from the flood of input—scrolling, podcasts, noise. We stay full to avoid the quiet. But that quiet is where ideas live.
For me, creativity slips in when I give it room. A voice note. A few messy lines in a notebook. A post like this. Not because I had the time. But because I made the space.
Today was messy and meaningful. Hawk felt seen. Lauren, as always, held the container with care and heart. And at the end of it all, I found my way back to myself.
If you’re feeling off—foggy, restless, reactive—it might not mean you need to do more.
You might just need to make some room.
One breath. One walk. One moment off your phone. One ritual that brings you home.
You don’t need more time.
You need more space.
