Sitting in a mountain-town coffee shop that feels almost too on the nose, I find myself reflecting on my Substack so far—and what surfaced first was a sense of fraudulence. What am I doing here? Am I reaching the goals I have set for this publication? Am I reaching anyone at all, or am I mostly whispering into the void and hoping someone happens to overhear?

Then came a more helpful reflection, one that reminded me of my why. I thought to myself: Even if this writing stays with your small audience, it is meaningful. It is meaningful to have some friends and family read this. You have people right here, right now, who care. It is meaningful to speak with integrity and honesty about one’s human experience. Isn’t that your goal? To write about how you feel, in the hopes someone connects to it, and doesn’t feel alone.

And you know what inner dialogue, yeah, that is the point. The point is to connect with those navigating grief, searching for mental wellness, or simply craving honest reflections on being human. Even if no one reads this outside of my circle, it still holds meaning for me. Writing out what feels hard, gritty, and dark. Healing isn’t linear, and you don’t have to go through it alone.

I am also reminded of why I came up with the name Yes, And. Two things can be true at once, because life is both beautiful and brutal, and we must learn to accept these two things and live a life of meaning with BOTH. That is what life is.

Substack is a corner of the internet I love. It feels like a cozy and quiet spot in a library. It is a place where you can read about literally anything you want. There’s something intimate about it—like sitting across from an old friend, catching up over coffee. Each publication is unique. This is one of the places where doom-scrolling isn’t necessarily a thing. Like, who’s doom-scrolling articles about history or entrepreneurship? Well, let’s hope no one. Needless to say, this has been an outlet that has brought me a lot of inspiration and reflection on purpose. I am grateful that I am able to write, and even if it doesn’t reach the corners of the world I want, it is meaningful for me and my journey on this earth.

“The act of creation is an attempt to enter a mysterious realm—a longing to transcend. What we create allows us to share glimpses of an inner landscape, one that is beyond our understanding. Art is our portal to the unseen world.” Rick Rubin, The Creative Act: A Way of Being