Community, Commercial Breaks, and a Pack A Day

I read once that loneliness is as harmful as smoking 15 cigarettes per day.

When I first read this, I instantly thought that this means for every “frozen dinner for one” or evening of mindless scrolling through Instagram, you could be chain-smoking at the pool table with a few of your closest smoker friends, lighting up another one, and calling the damage neutral.

But I don’t actually think that’s the case.

I think, instead, it’s a commentary on the power of community. 

Of course, we don’t need someone to approve the outfit choice, the paint color for the bathroom, the name for the new cat, and the best place for Mexican food that throws in chips for free. 

Yes, we are completely capable of making these decisions on our own.

But connection is built on the small finite details that make up life. 

We live in a country where independence is not only tolerated but applauded. (Trust me, as a small business owner and full-time writer, I know the value of solitude and making my own decisions.) But in the midst of independence, at the very core of every self-starter, type A personality, bold and determined solo world traveler, there lies a need for relationship.

We were not created to be solitary creatures. 

We were created to bask in the warmth of another body nearby on the couch  or the pleasant familiarity of small talk during commercial breaks and arguing over pizza toppings and someone texting:

“Did you make it home?”

“Will you pick me up?”

“Do you want to come?”

“I love you.”

To overlook these small spaces of conversation, and assume you don’t need them, don’t crave them, that they aren’t the very fibers of your being… well that’s just like smoking a pack per day.

My wish for you as we enter into summer is that connection is found in phone calls and stories and genuine interactions with strangers. 

I hope you feel the need for your presence within your own community.

I hope you reach out to the lonely and when the lonely is you.

May loneliness be nothing more than a passing breeze on the way to your best friend’s house.

ILY 

E

Business Stuff

I always believe the summer months are when I become my most creative. (Something about longer, sunnier days tends to bring inspiration to the surface.) If you have ever thought about writing your own story (whether that is a fiction piece, how-to, or autobiography) let’s chat! I may have a few resources up my sleeve to help this become your summer of creative writing.

This song isn’t meant to be pretty. Don’t sing it like it is.

The most influential book I have read this year is Daisy Jones and the Six

by the stunning Taylor Jenkins Reid. It’s not a self-help book, and the storyline is not even that inspiring or motivational. The book is about a fictional rock band from the ’70s and their relationship to drugs, love, and music. But there were several lines of the story that kept sucker-punching me in the gut.

The battle in the pages was this: some of the band members wanted to sing their truth no holds barred, no matter how ugly or broken it was, and others wanted to write down whatever words they thought the crowds want to hear. In the end, most everyone concluded that pretty and perfect may get you radio play, but it doesn’t touch people down deep in their soul. And the real thing people are craving, all around the world and in every generation, is to know there is beauty in the fractures and complexity of this life.

I’ve had a whirlwind of a February – and it had me feeling more like a 70’s rockstar than ever before (sans the drugs and smashing guitars.) I got married and felt a wave of emotion that comes with letting go of the deeply powerful feeling of singleness and independence and stepped in the role of a wife. I felt the wholeness of seeing family and friends all together in one place, and the ache of them getting on the plane to fly home once again. And, of course, there was a heaviness in celebrating love during a time when the world is experiencing such fear and division.

Love is not always pretty (no mascara is that waterproof), but we weren’t put on this earth to be pretty. We were created to be rough and strong and soft and deeply feeling. We were meant to be filled with water and tears, taking the shape of whatever load we are asked to bear today.

One of the closing lines in Daisy Jones is this:

“You are all sorts of things you don’t know about yet.”

A blushing bride and independent woman, a lover and a fighter and a heartbreaker and a soft voice and a loud presence and a million other things I can’t even imagine until they come knocking on my heart.

It may not all be pretty, but it sure is beautiful.

Business Stuff

I’m back in biz after a few weeks away, and so excited to jump back into writing projects with a clear mind and about a million new thoughts, ideas, and ways to craft words. If you are ready to take your content creation, copywriting, or another writing project to the next level – let’s chat. The world needs your stories. Let’s write them together.

I love you.
E

In the overwhelm, underwhelm, and everything in between.

I am getting married this month. 

Everyone keeps asking if we were writing vows to speak to each other at the wedding and would that even be fair – given that I am a writer and poet, and he is a logical man who reads the owner’s manuals and knows which way is West without even thinking about it. The truth is, we wrote our vows together, on the gray couch we found on Craig’s List: the first big purchase we ever made together. 

Inspiration for our vows is commonly found in tall trees and big waves.

But the other truth is this: I have written my own vows, a million times over, actually. They have been promises on the back of napkins at the whiskey bar I worked at in Denver, in the notes section of my phone when I flew back and forth to Seattle on the red eyes where the flight attendants knew my name from the constant love crushed flights, and in the back of my brain where I rehearsed how I would say “I love you” how I would tell my sisters “We are getting married” the tenor of my voice when I sad “I do” and how nothing in this whole entire planet could come close to resembling the way my heart felt when he comes home from work and asks if I want a fire in the fireplace tonight.

We aren’t writing our own individual vows because we wrote them already, during the period when night shifts filled his schedule like moths inside the street lamp and we texted each other exclusively in Haikus. Or the morning we swam for too long off of the Oregon coast and our feet went numb for hours but we were just too happy to get out of the water, not yet. 

But if I did, write those vows, and I swear to God I won’t, they would sound something like this:

I will be here,

In the overwhelm, underwhelm, and everything in between.

Through the unheard of, and the always heard

 in the ungodly cold and the godly warm.

May everyone in the whole world have the opportunity to feel at least once in this long and rugged life the way that I feel when your hand touches mine on a Sunday drive.

I love you. 

Let’s do this.

Amen.

Business Stuff

I will be out of the office from February 14 – to February 28  and after that, full of new ideas and fresh creativity. Feel free to send emails, game plans, and inspiration my way – I promise I will get back to you as soon as I am back in the office.

Love to you all.

E

And there you go… doing the Ultimate Thing

If you have ever seen the surf movie The Endless Summer, you will remember this notorious line, “You should’ve been here yesterday.”

They said that line constantly, to a point where it became a joke.

No matter what day they showed up, or at what beach, no matter how good or bad the waves were, or how epic the adventure, there would always be that one guy who would shield his eyes from the sun, look out over the ocean and say, “You should’ve been here yesterday. Now yesterday, was something else.”

“You should’ve been here yesterday!”

I think about this a lot because those of us who are really skilled at the art of comparison can compare ourselves not only to other people but to who we were on different days. Yesterday, mostly. Last week. After college. During high school. Before kids. Pre pandemic. 

Unfortunately, this type of critique is about as effective as telling someone they should’ve caught the surf yesterday. 

We can’t go there, and nobody can go back, so we all might as well look towards tomorrow.

People get weird about New Year’s Resolutions, and I think this Endless Summer paradox sums up why. Too often our resolutions encourage us to do something or become someone that existed in the past. Our resolutions consist of things like “becoming as fit as we were in 2011” or “making as much money as we did before the virus took over our world.” And the fact of the matter is, we aren’t going that way. Most of us, I hope, are moving forward into the person we are hoping to become, not the status symbol of who we were.

I took a poll on Instagram recently, asking everyone there one word for 2022. The responses were beautiful and profound for one main reason: each individual who participated seemed to write down a word that already encompassed who they were. It was as if they were building on the beautiful foundation they had created with the love and sweat of years past. The person who wrote “create” as their intention for 2022 I knew as a prolific creator: drawing, sketching, and sharing art with the world consistently. The writer of the word “Acceptance” could easily be defined as the person who flows with the waves of life the most gracefully. 


The list goes on. The “courage” writer could be the bravest person I know and the one who wrote “open” as an intention shares her soul so beautifully it could give you goosebumps. These people never need to hear the words “You should’ve been there yesterday,” because they already were there yesterday, building their foundation. They were here yesterday and the day before, showing up in the way that they knew how: authentic and with the intention that their tomorrow builds on their past. That’s what creates the magic of a resolution.

I want everyone creating New Year’s resolutions to know that the only person we want to see in 2022 is themselves – in all of their shining glory. Not returning to yesterday, but embracing what it created. Oh, and for everyone who asked my resolution for 2022 – well, I took some inspiration from another Endless Summer quote, “The ultimate thing to do in surfing is actually getting covered up by the wave. And there you go… doing the ultimate thing.”

My resolution for 2022? Be so authentic that when I walk down the street or into the yoga studio, or down the grocery aisle people look at me and say, “There she goes. Doing the ultimate thing.”

Business Stuff

Hey, 2022, you are looking beautiful. If you have a ghostwriting or copywriting project on your agenda for the year, shoot me a note. I would love to see how I can help you get your story down on paper. Let’s talk!

I see you over there, doing the ultimate thing.

Xo

E

It’s Like Doing the Dishes

I dropped my cell phone somewhere between mile 25 and mile 28 of a four-day backpacking trip.

If you are wondering if I tried to go back and find it, you bet I did… running back through the lush Hawaiian mountains, over three river crossings, and alongside a gravelly cliff. My fiance carried my 40-pound backpack on his chest and his own 40-pound pack on his shoulders while I scrambled around like a mountain goat, desperately asking every weary traveler if they had come across an iPhone. No one had. They all had only seen the guava trees and the coffee beans and the sheer cliffs dipping straight into crystal green water.

I left my cell phone somewhere in the green forest behind me.

The frustration was there, of course, as I resigned my phone to the mountains and my blisters forced me to quit searching. I know I lost a few photos from the trip that I had desperately wanted to keep, so I wrote down what I wanted to remember instead, a practice I had done less regularly since the invention of the cell phone camera. And sure, losing a cell phone is a relatively minor thing, but for a self-employed workaholic who actually likes talking on the phone, it was a hard one. But the “why-did-this-happen-this-is-so-unfair-face-palm-self-loathing-feeling” commonly associated with these perceived injustices never hit me. Because these unpredictable inconveniences are what I have recently started calling “Washing the dishes.”

I didn’t coin this term, but I wish I had. It comes from the Secular Buddhism Podcast, one of my favorites that I find myself re-listening to regularly. I like it because it speaks about real-world things that almost anyone can relate to, like how to see intricate beauty or divine wisdom waking up early, experiencing loss, or washing the dishes.

The thought is this: we don’t wash our dishes assuming they will never get dirty again. We wash our dishes so we can get them dirty again. We live, we eat, we clean up after ourselves, and never assume that dirty dishes are a punishment for living recklessly or carelessly. It’s just part of life. And while most of us have mastered the art of accepting dirty dishes, we find ourselves resistant to the unfortunate or the inconvenient in other areas of our lives. Sickness, heartbreak, 2 pm traffic, and lost cell phones are regularly met with intense frustration. But the truth is this: the unlucky is bound to happen, no matter how carefully we live. 

My 2022 goal? Embrace the grief, the scrapes, and the hangovers because it comes with love, the adventure, and the party. Cry when the unfortunate happens, but know it will happen, and let the tears cleanse you. 

If this world is a feast, we have to plan for dirty dishes.

And you, my love, look hungry.

Xo

E

Business Stuff

From my family to yours I hope you have a wonderful holiday season. As we enter Q1 of 2022, I will have two openings available for web copy clients, so please reach out if this sounds like something that could be useful to you or a friend.

Stay safe, stay warm, and know you are loved. Here is to a bright 2022!

Big news, Birthday’s and the Man at the Juice Stop

Here is the moment  I decided I wanted to be a writer:

I was alone at a juice stop in a small beach town near Inhambane, Mozambique, utterly lost and sweating. My phone had died and my bags had been lost so I stood underneath a palm tree in sweatpants rolled up to my knees, desperately hoping the man behind the counter would offer me juice, even though we both knew I didn’t have any money.

The man poked his head out from underneath the tin roof of his stop and my mouth watered at the thought of just one sip of mango juice. But he did not ask if I wanted juice. In fact, he didn’t talk about juice at all.

“How far are you?” he asked while he continued to chop fruit, sweat streaming down his beck just as it was streaming down mine. And I wasn’t quite sure what he meant. How far was I from what? The hostel that wouldn’t let me stay in my room because my wallet had been in the lost bag? The place I had flown from? 

Home?

“I don’t really know,” I answered honestly. Because even if I had known what he meant, I still didn’t know the answer. I had no idea the number of miles that separated me from any of those locations.

“No!” he said and grinned, then much to my delight offered me a clear baggie of juice. 

“How far are you from where you want to be?”

If you have been following my writing journey for any length of time (hi, Mom and Dad!) you will know that “How Far I Am” was the name of the first official blog post I wrote, and what I ended up naming the blog as a whole. I wanted every post to become a journey: a reflection on how far we all were from where we were wanted to go in this life. That simple question the man had asked caused me to pause, analyze my life and realize: the place I want to be is one where I help others tell their wild, terrible and beautiful stories.  

This reflection has come up a lot lately, as I enter my one-year anniversary as a full-time writer. I feel gratitude in its purest form for all of the people I have met that trust me with their ideas and their words, and my love for helping others tell their stories has only grown in the last twelve months. Because of this, I am offering a new service to help any individual lean into their own words more fully and take ownership of their stories.

Ella Kerr, LLC now offers creative and business writing consults!

Starting November 1, I will be offering one on one writing consultation sessions for both business and creative writing.

I hope that this service will empower more people to tell their stories, whether it is through the copy on their web page or finishing their first memoir. 

TL;DR: the constant analysis of how far I am from where I want to be has led me here: a new way to help others share their words with the world. And with that, let’s bring on year #2!

Business Stuff

To kick off the new business year and the addition of consulting services I’m offering one free creative writing consulting session, and one free copywriting consulting session. If you or a friend could benefit, drop me an email or send them to Instagram for information on entering! 

ILY. Thanks for reading my words. Here’s to a million more years of storytelling. 

E

10 Ways to Cure Writer’s Block (That You Have Never Heard Before.)

This one is for the countless emails and Instagram Messages I receive, asking me how I combat writer’s block when I sit and write for forty-plus hours per week. The truth is there is no secret. I sit, uninspired and typing some days, but certain the creativity will return when it is ready.

But people don’t like that answer and people love lists and assuming there is a formula for each problem they are facing. So I have created this: 10 Ways to Cure Writer’s Block (that you have never heard before.)

I can’t promise it will work and I can’t even recommend that you try some of these steps. What I can say is that I have done every single item on this list and while I still suffer from the notorious writer’s block, more often than not, words float onto the page and I go to sleep at night still calling myself a writer. Maybe you can, too.

1. Remember every single unfair thing that has ever happened to you.

This is always my first step anytime I have writer’s block because I am bound to do it anyway while I am waiting for the words to come. I try to be proactive about the situation and get the self-pity about housing prices and cellulite out of the way so I can actually start the writing process.

2. Call your sister.

This is another proactive step I take when I am feeling stuck. My sister is incredibly important and always busy and can type very quickly, so I will have to leave her a voicemail that she has heard a million times before: “Nothing important. Just don’t really feel like writing. Anyway. Do you have HBO?”

3. Call your other sister.

This step is where we actually get into the writing process because while this sister is equally as important as the first, she tends to answer her phone and provide interesting insights about her all-women jiu-jitsu class, roller derby tryouts, and The Labyrinth starring David Bowie.

4. Take a break.

If you have reached this point and have not found your inspiration yet, it’s ok. Take a break and stretch your legs. Walk into the kitchen. Eat one bite of every single thing in that damn refrigerator. Do not use a plate.

5. Pray for divine intervention. Change your mind and take it back.

Some believe it is the job of the creatives to sit at the feet of God and beg for inspiration, but Elizabeth Gilbert views it slightly differently. In her mind, the job of a writer is to simply stand with a pen in hand or with fingers hovered over the keyboard and wait for the inspiration to show up. If God doesn’t bring the creativity that day, well then, that’s not really our problem now, is it?

6. Crystals.

7. Quit your job.

Even if writing is not your job. Even if it is just a fun pastime that you enjoy casually, or if poetry or journaling makes you happy, or if you are writing something that is miles away from your career. I don’t care. It’s part of the process.

8. Read old rejection letters.

Here are a few of my favorites:

Dear Ella,
Thank you for sending us your work. We really enjoyed this piece, but not enough to feature it.
We hope that you will continue to send us your work.

Dear Ella,
While there is much to admire in this story, we regret that we are unable to use it. We wish you luck finding a home for it elsewhere.

Dear Ella,
I was one of the judges in the writing competition you entered and even though you didn’t win, your story resonated with me. I wanted to let you know that I tried to get the other judges to vote for you, but they didn’t.

9. Write your own rejection letter.

Dear Ella,

Even though your writing was incredible, we decided to publish another individual who is a complete psychopath but had a better grasp on comma usage. I hope you understand and continue to write to us, despite the heartless rejection that all of us magazine editors send out at the exact same time so that you can receive this harsh reality not in small doses, but in one, soul-crushing wave.

Anyway. Have a nice day.

10. Breathe.

The magnificent Yrsa Daley Ward wrote this phrase in one of her recent novels, “I bet there are millions of stories in your legs alone.” And you know what? There are. You, my friend, are full of magic and stories and beautiful words. And if you have a moment, take a deep breath and write what you know.

Write about the world being unfair and summer being too short and the ache in your heart and don’t worry about what the rest of the world thinks. Because truly, I believe that this is the main cause of writer’s block: trying to write something that the world will love instead of something we know to be true. It can’t be cured by ritual or a list or by buying a salt lamp or burning incense. It’s cured by writing your truth.

You’ve got this.
ILY.

E

Business Stuff

November is just around the corner which means Ella Kerr LLC will be turning one year old in a matter of days! Stay tuned on Instagram to keep up with the celebration and fun and free things to come. I am so incredibly thankful to anyone who has made this year the best and brightest year of my life. I couldn’t have done it without you!

Picasso, his Mom, and You

I imagine Pablo Picasso’s mother was like anybody else’s mother. 

I bet she hung her son’s weird finger paintings on the refrigerator and bragged about his art to her friends. I bet she yelled when Pablo spilled paint on the new carpet and I bet she felt guilty about it later.

I read a quote from Pablo once where his mother was quoted. It said: “My mother said to me, ‘If you are a soldier, you will become a general. If you are a monk, you will become the Pope.’ Instead, I was a painter, and became Picasso.”

I like this quote for a few reasons. Initially, because it brings some humanity to the popular artist and we could all use a healthy dose of humanity. But more than that, I like this quote because there are no bad outcomes. Either, he is the success his mother knew he would be, or he finds his own genius. 

This brings me to another strange dead man with a touch of abstract and perhaps a stroke of genius.

Mr. John Bradford lived in the mid-1500s in Renaissance London and strolled the cobbled streets as a political and religious icon during the English Reformation. One day, as he watched a convicted fellow be led to England’s notorious gallows, Bradford spoke a quote that we still use today, “There but by the grace of God go I.”

There but by the grace of God go I.

Into the gallows, to the top-ranked college, in a bed in the emergency room, or in the boss’s office, ready for a promotion… there but by the grace of God go I. It’s another way of saying, “I could end up in that person’s shoes in the blink of an eye. It is only by grace (or luck, or circumstance, or the crystals hanging around your neck) that you have not suffered a similar fate.”

To be perfectly honest, I don’t love Picasso. I think he was kind of a jerk and I had enough of my own Blue Period to ever feel the need to get into his. But still, as he watched the much beloved Pope address the world, or a highly decorated general receive yet another medal of honor, did he ever step back and think, “There but by the grace of God go I.” After all, avoiding these prestigious positions is the only way he was able to become, well, Picasso.

This is the work cut out for me this September, reframing the unlucky and inconvenient and not according to my very strict and color-coded Virgo-centric plan. That whenever a moment of missed opportunity strikes, I can look at those who are in the position I thought I had coveted so badly and say, “There but by the grace of God go I.”

Because sure, the Pope or a General would be cool. But maybe, just maybe, I was meant to be Picasso.

Business Stuff

You heard it right… Ella Kerr, LLC is still going strong and is always open to new, exciting writing projects. If that is you or someone you know, send them my way.


Who knows… we may end up BFFs?

Xoxo

E

Smeared Mascara, heatwaves and life.

PNW Life.

I recall three very specific memories of feeling fully alive. 

The first is around nine or ten years old when I went with my family to visit Seattle. My sisters and I, all in matching outfits, stood at the base of a giant water fountain near the Space Needle and watched as the water shot straight into the sky in cadence with music. I am sure you can guess what happened next; all three of us ran into the fountain fully clothed and danced with the water and the music. I remember the clouds rolling in the and sky preparing for rain. Then there was me, soaked to the bone, exhausted from dancing, goosebumps up my arms, and this thought, “This is what life is. This very moment is why I was created.”

In the second memory, I am twenty-five, living in the desert of Tanzania, and driving with one of my best friends through the dust of a quiet village on our way home. Then the sun was setting, all pink and grapefruit, and we were both hungry and exhausted from the emotional challenges of the day.  I told my friend to drop me off here, in the middle of the dirt road a mile from home, and that I would walk the rest of the way. And it was hot and I was sweaty and I hiked my long dress up to keep it out of the dust, though it didn’t help much.

But the light couldn’t have been more perfect and the smell of wood-burning fires could not have made me more homesick and I realized that in the last twenty-four hours I had cried and meant it, and laughed and meant it, and everything felt the way the sun looked at that moment: bright and burning and so full of light. It was that moment when I thought, “This. This is what life is.”

I’m writing about this now, in my tiny apartment in the middle of the Pacific Northwest heatwave because it is another moment full of life. I am surrounded by moving boxes, and I can’t find my face soap or my phone charger. It’s 96 degrees inside, even with the fans running and I swam a whole mile in the lake yesterday, farther than I have ever swum in my life, just to try and cool down. 

Tomorrow, I will leave Seattle and begin a life in Hawaii, with my new fiance and a couple of suitcases. And in this moment, where sweat drips down your chin indoors and there is nothing left in the fridge and your heart is heavy with goodbyes, and eager for hellos… this. This moment right here. Is life.

It is not beautiful or comfortable or photogenic. It doesn’t deserve a movie or a memoir or a Nobel prize. These moments are never when you are wearing mascara, and if you are, it is always smudged. There are goosebumps or sweaty palms or dusty shoes or love handles. It is not easy and it should not come second nature. It should feel overwhelming and inspiring all in one breath. Because ease doesn’t highlight your hope and strength and passion. But a flicker of joy in the midst of discomfort sure does. And that flicker of joy, when your legs are tired and your arms are sore… that is life.

If you have watched “In the Heights,” you may remember the lyrics from one of the songs: “Alabanza means to raise this thing to God’s face, and to sing, quite literally: “Praise to this.” Praise to this specific moment in time, when we may not even be aware of what the praise is for.

Praise to the heatwave and praise to the fans.

Praise to journeys and window seats, but also, the seat right there in the middle.

Praise to missing.

Praise to meeting.

Praise to love and all of the things that come in between it.

Praise to life.

Business Stuff

My move to the islands doesn’t change anything about the work I am doing for copywriting, ghostwriting, amid, and editing clients (in fact, it may just bring some more inspiration!) If you or a friend have a website that needs a facelift, a blog that needs some love, or a story you can’t wait to get down on paper… reach out! That’s the kind of stuff that lets me know I am reaching people exactly where they are.

Stay well. Stay inspired.

Xo,

E

French Verbs, Baby Feet, and the Weight of the Human Soul

Photo by https://outshinedphotography.com/

The human soul weighs approximately 21 grams.

We believe this because, in 1907, Massachusetts doctor Duncan McDougall made it his mission to find proof of the soul’s existence by giving it weight. McDougall created a special bed that also served as a scale for his terminally ill patients. Then, he measured their weight before, during, and after death. His conclusion? Approximately 21 grams. That was the weight lifted from the body as soon as life left.

For those not well versed in metric measurements, 21 grams is about as much weight as a golf ball or a AA battery. Our entire afterlife, purpose, and spirit, wrapped up into something that can easily be carried in the palm of a child’s hand. That’s what McDougall was measuring. In a sense, I think that is what we are all measuring.

Of course, there are plenty of critiques to this soul weighing experiment. That tends to happen when we mix the spiritual with the scientific. “Not enough people were used in his test group!” people will say. Or, “McDougall’s measurements were crude at best.” Perhaps the most prominent response is this: “Why does a soul need a weight, at all?”

But to me the answer is simple: the soul needs weight so we can wonder what it’s made of.

In the French language, you do not say, “I miss you.” Instead, you say, “You are missing from me.”

It’s one of those technicalities of language that makes my heart beat faster. But also, evidence of what these 21 grams consist of: little pieces of those we love stored inside, and a feeling of emptiness when they are missing. A kiss, a blush, an eyelash on a cheek. Baby toes or a hand on your back in the morning. A laundry list of nicknames and the smell of warm skin and the song that makes your insides feel full. That’s what makes up the 21 grams.

I don’t have an experiment to prove my theory, and Dr. McDougall’s soul left this earth years ago, so he can’t provide any insight. But if I had to conduct an experiment it would look like this: find a human and put their feet in the ocean at night. Have them untie their hair and turn their face towards the stars and tell them to think of everyone they love most. Remind them about life: the beautiful and scary and the tiny cracks in between. And if at the moment they say they feel full… well then we will know what the soul is made of.

Business Stuff

Have you ever heard of a website copy audit? (Don’t worry, it’s not scary and does not involve accountants, thank god.) I am currently offering free website audits for people interested in learning a little more about their website and how to make it pop. Simply put, I go through your website and make notes or suggestions on how the site could be edited or changed in order to increase SEO, keep clients on your page for longer, or make your “About Me” page really, really sweet.

If you know someone who may be interested, please send them here. Just one more way I am working to connect with the movers and the shakers in this universe.

Stay well. ILY.

E

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