We don’t always control what happens—but we do get to choose what we carry forward. That choice is where the power lives.

The best stories don’t just entertain—they help us practice being human. The Last of Us does that with brutal, beautiful clarity.

Community isn’t just about where we are—it’s about who we choose to show up for and who shows up for us. In a world that often feels disconnected, the relationships we nurture can ground us, sustain us, and remind us that we’re never truly alone.

Gatekeepers—critics, curators, institutions—shape our artistic landscape, but their influence isn’t always neutral. While they provide context and expertise, they also reinforce cultural hierarchies. From fine art to film to wine, the question remains: are they enriching our appreciation or merely preserving exclusivity? Art belongs to everyone—so who gets to decide what’s worthy?

The first read is all about impact—suspense, emotion, the gut reaction. But the learned read? That’s where depth lives. It’s where meaning unfolds over time, revealing details we missed, shifting with our own evolving perspectives. So the next time you finish a book, a movie, or even a song, ask yourself: what might I see if I came back?

We’re told to strive for balance, but in practice, it’s far from easy. Life constantly shifts, and what feels balanced one day might not the next. Maybe balance isn’t about perfection—it’s about learning to recalibrate as we go.

Valentine’s Day comes and goes, and I have to admit that I’ve never been a fan. The idea that love needs a designated day, tied to expensive gifts and grand gestures, feels more like manipulation than meaning. Genuine connection isn’t about meeting commercial expectations; it’s about everyday moments of care and appreciation. If Valentine’s Day holds real meaning for you, that’s great—but it’s worth asking whether it aligns with your understanding of love. Because love isn’t something you buy. It’s something you build, in the quiet, unglamorous moments that matter most.

The Super Bowl is more than just a game—it’s a cultural phenomenon. For some, it’s about strategy and camaraderie; for others, it’s a mere distraction. My relationship with sports has evolved over the years, and I’ve come to see both the value and the pitfalls of our collective obsession. Enjoying the spectacle is one thing—being consumed by it is another.

Would I still show up for work if I didn’t need the paycheck? Not just for any work, but for this work? A colleague recently quipped that we wouldn’t be doing this if we weren’t getting paid, and while I get the sentiment, it struck me as incomplete. Sure, compensation matters—but so does engagement. So does purpose. We all think we want endless leisure, but behavioral studies suggest otherwise. People thrive when they have something meaningful to do. And for me, legal ethics presents exactly that: layered, intricate problems worth solving. Work isn’t just about making a living—it’s about making something that matters.