the shape that formed from all of that

Stardate 🖖🏼 11. 11. 2025.

settling into this house has felt different than any place i’ve lived before. i’ve lived in seven homes now, and each one has taught me something about what i think i need, what i actually need, and what i can live without.

when we moved from Chilliwack to houston years ago, we didn’t have much. our home started from almost nothing, and money was very tight. it forced me to learn how to choose things with intention—to buy only what served a purpose and what made sense for our life at the time. leaving chilliwack taught me how to let things go—how to keep only what was necessary and meaningful. it showed me that a home doesn’t have to be full to feel whole.

this time feels like the continuation of that, but with more clarity. now i’m choosing slowly, piece by piece, not from survival or budget alone, but from presence.

i gave myself a few quiet rules without really planning to: if it didn’t serve a purpose, if it didn’t feel unique, if it didn’t actually fit the space, if it didn’t align with the budget — and if i didn’t love it, i mean really love it — it didn’t come home. This process does more than minimize clutter; it helps prevent the onset of extra feelings like guilt or regret, which keeps my emotional space clear.

i used to hate thrift shopping. now it’s one of my favourite thing to do. one of my favourite pieces in this entire house is a $3 lemon juicer from Italy and a $5 olive-green glass bowl i found at value village. it’s not fancy. it’s not “designer.” it’s just beautiful. The bowl sits by the window holding keys, and it brings me pure joy every day. It’s beautiful, but more than that, it was happenstance. It’s that feeling of stumbling upon exactly what I needed to a thought I barely formulated. The piece fits every rule: it serves a purpose, it has character, and it aligns perfectly with the budget. That feeling of instant, effortless alignment is the true beauty of the process.

the biggest statement piece in the space is my dining chairs, which were a huge risk — one of those amazon-at-3am decisions, (not even kidding) — no reviews, shipping from overseas, and canada post was barely functioning at the time. but they arrived, and they’re exactly right. My prerequisites for these chairs, like everything else, were drawn from past experience of what worked and what didn’t, Especially having young kids. These are faux leather but sophisticated, wipeable, sturdy enough to survive many teens and our day-to-day life, and somehow they make the entire room look and feel so elevated. My benchmark price was something decent at IKEA, and these guys (at the time) came in at $150 a piece. Not bad!

the console table was a $129 wayfair deal during the holiday sales and has had many compliments and requests for links—I will be honest, the drawers aren’t the smoothest but for the price, i don’t mind at all! my granny bird-watching wicker chairs make me laugh every time i sit in them and honestly, it’s one of the best parts of this chapter i’m in. They, along with my sectional and a few other things around the house, were an exceptional and serendipitous marketplace find!

we only just got our bed set up a few weeks ago. if you’re new here — mike and i slept on a mattress on the floor (or a blow-up mattress before that) for over six months straight, both before and after the move. finally having a bed again felt like exhaling after holding my breath for a long time. the room feels warm, soft and romantic in the evenings. it’s the perfect ambience to wind down to at night.

it’s only been a little under two months since i last wrote, but time feels different right now. some days move slowly, grounded in the quiet of the valley. other days seem to disappear all at once — like how we waited six months for a bed, and then suddenly 12 weeks into coming home and deciding on dining chairs, we’re now putting up a Christmas tree.

we put it up early this year. not just because we haven’t had a proper holiday in a long time, but because the house, by that I also mean we, were ready for gathering again. lately, our home has become a landing place for a lot of our kids’ friends. they jokingly call themselves “the degenerates,” but what i see are young people who just need somewhere to be — somewhere they don’t have to perform or explain themselves.

in the middle of all this nesting, i decided to take up that job offer i mentioned in my previous blog. re-entering the work world didn’t come from pressure or necessity. it came from an inner nudge — something in me knew it was time to use my mind and my creativity again in a way that felt structured, of service, but not consuming.

i won’t pretend the adjustment has been seamless. going from sabbatical quiet to office workflow is a real hit on the nervous system. imagine sitting in one of those open-air pavilions at the top of a Tibetan mountain — the kind where everything is still, eyes closed to feel the sun, and the wind is the only sound — and then, in the next moment, finding yourself in the middle of a busy mall with fluorescent lights and a hundred conversations happening at once. that’s what it felt like. not bad. just… a lot.

i stepped into a role that lets me create, observe, plan, strategize, and build. it’s familiar territory in many ways — photography, storytelling, visual language, brand presence — all within real estate, a field i’ve spent years in. but i’m approaching it differently now—a slower internal pace. i’m clearer, more grounded, more aware of what feels aligned and what doesn’t.

In recognizing this, I’m seeing it all in real time—the fact that every little thing I had to learn, every necessity I faced, every job that demanded a skill—it was all having a conversation with the person I am right now. I can see my micro leading to my macro, and my macro informing my micro. I’m no longer just following the current; I’m actively putting that history to work. The pay from this job is not what defines its worth; its worth is in the perfect alignment of my history, my creative energy and an inner nudge.

if i were to name it, it would be brand strategist— Whether I am defining the voice of a product, service, or brand or creating a meal for my community, the core task is the same: I am finding the meaning and curating the feeling. In both realms, I am trying to speak to the ‘heart’, or better yet the ‘soul’, of the audience, ensuring that every element—from a visual story to a shared plate of food—is intentional and authentic.

the group i’m working with is quirky in the best way — a little messy, very human, but with heart. and i think that’s what i respond to most: i can see where their intentions are. there’s something genuine there, and i like being a part of something that’s trying, evolving, growing. the alignment isn’t perfect (nothing ever is), but it’s workable. it makes sense for right now.

the timing of this job also felt pointed. the job came when inflation was tightening everyone’s life a little, and when opportunities around here have been scarce. i don’t take that lightly. i’m grateful. i see the timing for what it was — a soft landing, a bit of grounding while i continue to rebuild my own life and rhythm.

and i’m proud of how i stepped into it. i didn’t shrink myself to be agreeable. i named what felt fair, what my work is worth, and i let the outcome be whatever it would be. that was new for me, because the old me didn’t know how to draw her boundaries or define her worth. she didn’t know how to fight for herself. i didn’t have to “try” to be confident — i just was. and that’s how i knew something in me had shifted for real.

at the same time, i can feel the limitations. this role supports my creativity, but it also uses the same energy i need for my own work. and there is something of mine growing in the background — something i’ve carried for years.

i’ve been quietly building a brand of my own over the past month. actually, two brands. i’ve mentioned them in small ways on Instagram stories, but never fully. these are ideas that have lived with me for over a decade, waiting for the version of me that could meet them. and i’m realizing i don’t need a perfect moment or a grand plan to begin — i’m just starting, piece by piece, and letting them take shape at the pace that feels right.

one of them is invite-only for now, which i love. it lets the community grow through connection rather than promotion. if you love it, you share it — that’s the whole spirit of it. and even though it sat on the back burner for almost a decade, i’ve gathered enough feedback over the years to know there’s something real and lasting here. it started in my kitchen — just something i made because i love feeding people—that’s the heart of it. And the beautiful thing is, it lets me share my favorite way to gather people: [good] food! To me, food is a way to speak to the soul, without having to say much or anything at all.

not long after moving back, i bought a camera again. picking it up felt like returning to something i didn’t realize i had been grieving. photography is one of the ways i understand the world. it’s how i notice light, texture, feeling. it’s how i slow down enough to actually see what’s in front of me.

a lot of those who follow me on IG are from that chapter of my life. when i shared the moment of unboxing my camera, a few people reached out asking for sessions again. it reminded me that my eye is real — that even back when i was a newbie, just following what felt right and learning as I went, the work still resonated. the way i see translates. it always has. That’s a big realization for anyone.

i didn’t understand how much i needed photography until i didn’t have it. back when i transitioned into real estate, i sold all my gear to make life work. at the time, it felt practical. later, when everything got quiet, i realized what i’d given up. not the equipment — but the part of me that could turn a moment into meaning. a way of finding beauty when life felt overwhelming. i cried over that realization more than once, and I realize I’m still crying as I put this truth down on the page right now.

i think what made it hit so hard was realizing that photography wasn’t just a hobby. it was one of the ways i make sense of the world. i had never considered that something i simply loved could also be meaningful — or even sustaining.

having a camera again feels like getting a piece of myself back like a baseball player holding a ball after years away from the field. or an artist holding a brush after their hands have healed, ready to finally put the colors they’ve seen in their mind onto the canvas.

and then i learned there’s a bald eagle nest near our home. one of them flies over the house almost every day. we call him rex.

i don’t talk much about what bald eagles mean to me but years ago, one crossed paths with me in a way i’ll never forget, and since then, they’ve shown up at particular moments in my life. i don’t try to over interpret it. i just notice when they’re there and embrace their energy for what it is to me.

the two of them are [re]building their nest at the same time i’ve been building mine, which feels… fitting.

their rhythm has become part of my mornings. early light — gathering sticks, reinforcing the nest. by noon, one of them perched at the top of the tallest tree, just watching the valley. in the evening, one goes out again while the other stays with the nest. then the quiet, and the repeating. Ironically much like the routine Mike and I are finding ourselves in lately.

i only have the kit lens and a prime right now, but i’m already planning for a telephoto. if all goes well, there will be hatchlings in the spring. i’d like to be ready to witness that.

Mike is also in the middle of onboarding into something new but familiar as well, but I’ll leave that story for him to share.

so that’s where we are right now: a house that finally feels like ours, work that makes sense for now, projects taking shape quietly in the background, and a life settling into a rhythm we can actually feel.

our next step is simply finding the time to use the camera — not for content, but for practice. technology has changed a lot since i last worked with a camera, so there’s a learning curve. but it’s also something deeper than that: mike and i have always had a natural creative split between us. he sees motion — pacing, composition, the way something moves through space. i’ve always been rooted in stillness — tone, color, atmosphere, how a moment feels.

we’ve always had this dynamic, even outside of creative work. it’s in how we parent. how we run a home. how we problem-solve. how we run businesses. he’s the structure and the “how.” i’m the meaning and the “why.”

we’re just now learning how to use those strengths side by side, instead of overlapping or stepping on each other. it feels like the beginning of something we’ve been circling for years — just now recognized.

i’m still deciding between that telephoto lens and an insta360 (two wildly different directions, i know), but the real lesson is the same either way: one step at a time. gather the tools as we go. trust the pace.

and if i zoom out, i think this is just how we move through life now. ever since we started adapting a more intentional life, we try to approach things with curiosity instead of pressure. if something calls to us, we follow it. not to master it or turn it into something — but to learn ourselves through it. everything is practice. the camera is practice. writing is practice. the way we show up with each other is practice. it’s less about creating and more about staying awake to our lives.

and this blog is where i catch up with myself. i write content and language for other people all day — clarifying their voice, their story, their direction. blogging is different. it’s the one place i don’t have to position anything or shape it for an outcome. it’s just me processing what’s real so it doesn’t sit in my body and come out sideways later. And this is practice, too.

My next personal goal is to get back to prose and poetry writing—a style that is much more demanding for me in the deep feelings department. For now, i’m just grateful to have my eye back, and a place that feels like home to use it.

it’s not perfect — but it’s honest. and that feels like the right place to build from.

with love,
Theresa ❤️