Everyday Contentment

Savoring simple daily pleasures

Resentment is a funny thing. It rarely shows up all at once. More often, it creeps in slowly—layer by layer—each time we ignore a feeling, override our own needs, or let someone step over a line we never clearly drew. If we consistently allow people to run over our boundaries, resentment is almost inevitable.

And honestly, nobody enjoys feeling resentful. I don’t know many people who like feeling put upon, grumpy, or quietly irritated. Yet so many of us walk around carrying exactly that, wondering why we feel exhausted or short-tempered, without realising the root cause is often unmet or unspoken boundaries.

Boundaries are not walls. They’re not punishments or ultimatums. They’re simply clear markers of what feels okay for us and what doesn’t—emotionally, physically, mentally, and practically. We have boundaries in all areas of life: with family, friends, colleagues, partners, and even ourselves. The trouble is, if we don’t acknowledge them, no one else can be expected to respect them.

Most resentment comes from repeated “yes” responses when we really meant “no,” or “not right now,” or “that’s not something I can take on.” Over time, those swallowed responses turn into frustration, passive-aggressive behaviour, or emotional withdrawal.

Think about everyday examples. Maybe you’re always the one expected to walk the dog, even on days when you’re exhausted. Or perhaps you’re assumed to be available for child-minding without being asked, because “you don’t mind.” At work, you might be handed a project that’s well beyond your current skill set or capacity, but you agree anyway—because you don’t want to disappoint anyone or appear incapable.

Then there are the unspoken financial assumptions: picking up the bill, lending money, or contributing more than feels comfortable. Or the domestic expectations—no one helping around the house, yet laundry magically gets done and dinner appears on the table. Over time, these moments add up.

Holidays can be another big one. The expectation of being at a certain place, eating a specific meal, or following a particular schedule can feel heavy. This isn’t about rejecting rituals or traditions altogether—those can be meaningful and grounding—but about noticing when participation feels obligatory rather than chosen.

The key point is this: boundaries are personal. What feels fine for one person may feel draining or overwhelming for another. There is no universal rulebook. But if we search ourselves honestly, most of us already know where our boundaries are. We feel them in our bodies—in the tight chest, the sigh, the irritation that comes out of nowhere.

Sometimes, what’s missing isn’t awareness but articulation. Taking time to clarify our boundaries for ourselves is a powerful first step. Journaling, making a simple list, or sitting quietly to reflect can help bring them into focus. When you name them—even privately—you start to honour them.

Once you’re clear, you can begin to gently but firmly assert those boundaries when it’s appropriate. That doesn’t mean confrontation or conflict. It can be calm, respectful, and kind. Setting boundaries helps establish a tone and a precedent for how you wish to be treated.

In the end, boundaries don’t create distance—they create healthier relationships. When we respect our own limits, we reduce resentment and show up with more patience, generosity, and ease. And that’s something everyone benefits from, including us.

When My Own Ethos Calls Me Out- Savouring simple daily pleasures

I’ve come to a somewhat unpleasant realisation: I need to teach myself some uncomfortable home truths about the very ethos of this blog—what it stands for, and what I claim to value.

Everyday contentment.
Yes. That’s the idea. That’s the goal.

So why, if I truly believe in “enough,” do I still find myself searching through possessions? Why the pull to accumulate, to acquire, to curate an image of how I want to feel—or how I want to be seen—through things?

Too much is never enough. And deep down, I know this: we are not going to find “enough” by acquiring more.

I value quality over quantity. I believe in less is more. I write about it, talk about it, champion it. And yet, if I’m honest, I’ve spiralled down the rabbit hole of overconsumption more times than I care to admit.

At some point, I quietly replaced one thirst with another.
Alcohol gave way to possessions.
Shopping. Clothes. Shoes.

And the question I have to sit with—uncomfortably—is this: what void am I trying to fill?

Because here’s the truth: I already have more than enough.

I have a beautiful home.
A loving family.
Daughters I adore.
I’m married to the love of my life.

There is no lack here. None that can be solved with a new purchase, anyway.

And yet, the pull persists.

It’s shameful to admit—especially when you’ve positioned yourself as someone who “knows better.” But I’m certain I’m not alone in this struggle. In fact, the way we live now practically ensures it.

Only a handful of years ago, “online shopping” was a novelty. Now it’s an evening pastime—one eye on the TV, one eye scrolling. Even when we’re not intentionally shopping, we’re being sold to. Ads slip in between moments of rest. Offers feel too good to miss. Algorithms know exactly when we’re tired, bored, or vulnerable.

And just like that, we’re pulled back in again.

The message is subtle but relentless: you are not enough as you are.
You need more to be acceptable.
More to be successful.
More to be current, beautiful, sophisticated.

Enough is never enough—unless you keep buying.

But I don’t want to live that way. And if I’m going to write about everyday contentment, I need to practice it—not just aesthetically, but ethically. Internally. Honestly.

So this is me calling myself out.
Not with guilt, but with awareness.
Not with perfection, but with intention.

It’s time to re-evaluate.
To pause before purchasing.
To question the impulse instead of indulging it.
To remember that contentment isn’t something I can order, unwrap, or return.

Time to stop outsourcing my sense of self to possessions.

Time to practice what I preach. And in doing so reevaluate the way I subconsciously compare myself to others;

Comparison rarely announces itself as a problem. It often arrives disguised as motivation, curiosity, or self-improvement. We tell ourselves we are simply noticing where we stand, measuring progress, learning from others. Yet beneath these reasonable explanations, comparison quietly drains joy from our days. It shifts our attention away from our own lived experience and redirects it toward an endless mental scoreboard where contentment cannot survive.

When we compare, we stop inhabiting our own lives. Instead of asking, What is true for me right now? we ask, How does this measure up? Joy, which depends on presence, withers under this scrutiny. Even genuine happiness becomes fragile when it must be evaluated against someone else’s highlight reel. A moment that once felt satisfying suddenly feels insufficient, not because it changed, but because the lens through which we view it did.

Comparison thrives in speed and distance. The faster we move, the more likely we are to glance sideways. The further removed we are from the full reality of others’ lives, the easier it becomes to fill in the gaps with imagination. We compare our behind-the-scenes to their curated outcomes, our messy middles to their polished endings. This is not a fair contest, but fairness is irrelevant to comparison. Its goal is not truth; it is dominance over our attention.

There is also a subtle cruelty in comparison: it teaches us to discredit our own joys. Instead of allowing happiness to stand on its own, we interrogate it. Is it impressive enough? Is it deserved? Is it visible? We begin to rank experiences as though joy were only valid if it could compete. In doing so, we shrink our emotional range, training ourselves to overlook pleasures that do not translate into status or proof.

Comparison is especially corrosive because it is insatiable. No matter how much we achieve, there is always someone who appears further along, calmer, more fulfilled, more certain. If joy depends on being ahead, then joy is permanently postponed. Contentment, by contrast, is not interested in position. It asks only whether we are aligned with our values, our pace, and our capacity.

Letting go of comparison does not mean disengaging from the world or pretending others do not exist. It means refusing to use their lives as a measuring stick for our own. Each person moves through different constraints, privileges, seasons, and desires. What looks like success from the outside may be sustained by costs we would never choose. What looks small may be exactly right for the life it belongs to.

One way to loosen comparison’s grip is to return to specificity. Comparison generalizes: They are happier. I am behind. Contentment lives in detail: This morning felt calm. I handled that conversation with care. I am learning. When we describe our lives in concrete terms, we reclaim authorship. We stop narrating ourselves as characters in someone else’s story and begin speaking from inside our own experience again.

Another antidote is gratitude without qualification. Not gratitude that says, At least it’s not worse, or Others have less. Those forms still rely on comparison. Instead, practice gratitude that stands alone. This was good because it was good. This mattered because it mattered to me. Such statements may feel almost defiant in a culture obsessed with metrics, but they are deeply grounding.

Over time, releasing comparison creates space for a gentler ambition. We can still grow, still strive, still admire others without needing their lives to validate or diminish ours. Their success no longer threatens our joy; our joy no longer needs to be defended. There is relief in this separation, a quiet confidence that comes from no longer auditioning our lives for approval.

Joy was never meant to be competitive. It does not multiply when ranked, and it does not disappear because someone else has more. It is renewable, personal, and remarkably resilient when protected from constant comparison. When we stop asking how we measure up, we begin to notice how we actually feel. And in that honest noticing, contentment finds room to return—not loudly, not dramatically, but with a steadiness that comparison could never offer.

Savoring simple daily pleasures

Enclothed cognition is a psychological phenomenon where the clothing a person wears influences their thoughts, feelings, and behaviors.^[

Enclothed Cognition & the Curious Case of the Overstuffed Wardrobe

There’s a psychological concept called enclothed cognition—the idea that what we wear doesn’t just cover our bodies, but actively influences how we think, feel, and behave. Clothing can affect our confidence, our posture, our focus, even the way we move through the world. In other words, what we put on our bodies has the power to subtly (and sometimes not so subtly) shape who we are being that day.

Which makes the modern wardrobe paradox all the more interesting.

Most of us have closets stuffed to the brim—rails groaning, shelves stacked, drawers that barely close—and yet we still stand there, sighing, thinking: I have nothing to wear. How can both things be true at once?

Part of the answer lies in choice. Or rather, the paradox of it. When we’re faced with too many options, decision-making becomes harder, not easier. Instead of feeling inspired, we feel overwhelmed. We reach for the same safe pieces again and again, while the rest of our wardrobe becomes background noise.

And then there’s the fact that our personal style isn’t static—and nor should it be. It’s okay for it to evolve, shift, and yes, mature. Our lives change. Our priorities change. Our bodies change. Who we are at 25 is not who we are at 45, and expecting our wardrobes to remain frozen in time makes very little sense.

But developing a personal style isn’t just about practicality. It’s not only about lifestyle or body type or ticking off the “flattering” boxes. There should be room for inspiration too—our idols, our muses, the people whose energy we admire. A dash of whimsy. A hint of aspiration. Clothing that reflects not just who we are, but who we’re becoming.

The challenge? We’re living in an era of relentless consumption. We are bombarded daily with “must-haves,” micro-trends, limited drops, influencer edits, and algorithms that know exactly how to tempt us at 9:47pm when our guard is down. Shopping has become frictionless—so easy it barely feels like a decision at all.

We’ve become narrowly focused on short-term rewards: the little dopamine hit of clicking buy now. But how often have you purchased something absentmindedly while scrolling one evening, only to almost completely forget about it until a shipping notification pops up—or worse, a mysterious package arrives at your doorstep?

Surely, if it was so inconsequential that we forgot it the moment we put our phone down, it wasn’t all that important after all.

Case in point: this afternoon, I found myself once again going through my wardrobe (a regular occurrence for me). This time, I was on a mission—to locate a pair of relaxed-fit denim chambray drawstring pants. Happily, I found them. Less happily, I realised why I’d struggled to locate them in the first place.

They aren’t chambray.
They aren’t denim.
They are cream.

Despite being a relatively recent purchase—one I distinctly remember wearing a few times—I had completely misremembered what they even looked like. A lesson there, I think.

Now, while I’m clearly a work in progress when it comes to my somewhat overzealous online shopping habit, I remain a firm believer in curating a wardrobe that genuinely works for you. The pieces in it should earn their place. They should make you feel confident, comfortable, and quietly supported as you move through your day. They should give you a small nudge toward the person you’re working on becoming—not just in how you look, but in how you show up in all areas of your life.

And let’s be clear: it is not frivolous or “girlie” to care about clothing or fashion. What we wear matters. It plays an important role for all of us, whether we acknowledge it consciously or not. But—as with most good things—there is such a thing as too much.

Striking a balance is key. Finding that sweet spot where your wardrobe feels intentional, aligned, and distinctly you. Investing in pieces that are well-considered, good quality, and genuinely loved is a far cry from mindlessly filling our closets with instant-gratification purchases.

And finally, a gentle reminder:
A sale bargain is only a bargain if you needed it anyway—to fill a real gap in your existing wardrobe.

Note to self.

Savouring Simple Daily Pleasures

There’s something grounding about listening to Matthew McConaughey talk about life. Not because he claims to have it all figured out—but because he openly admits that none of us do. His words tend to land not as instructions, but as invitations: to reflect, to recalibrate, and to choose how we show up each day.

On a walk recently, I listened to a podcast interview with him and found it really spoke to me on a personal level.

One idea that stays with me is the importance of accomplishment—not in a loud, ego-driven way, but in a quiet, personal sense. The kind of accomplishment that lets you lay your head down at night and feel that the day mattered. That sense of significance doesn’t have to come from external validation. Often, it comes from keeping a promise to yourself, making progress on something meaningful, or simply showing up with intention.

McConaughey has said, “You are what you create yourself to be.” I find that both empowering and confronting. It removes excuses. It also removes the illusion that identity is fixed. Who we are isn’t something we stumble upon—it’s something we build through repeated choices, habits, and beliefs. Every day becomes a small act of authorship.

Another perspective that resonates deeply with me is the idea that life only makes sense in hindsight. Moving forward, everything feels like a mystery—uncertain, messy, undefined. But looking back, there’s a strange kind of logic to it all. The setbacks shaped us. The detours redirected us. What felt like failure often turns out to be necessary data.

As McConaughey has reflected, everything is a mystery going forward, but a science looking back. That framing helps me be gentler with myself when the path ahead isn’t clear. Confusion isn’t a flaw—it’s part of the process.

This connects closely to how we view goals and progress. So much of Western thinking treats life as linear: start here, end there, don’t fall behind. But I’m increasingly drawn to an Eastern, cyclical view of life—one that sees growth as seasons rather than straight lines. Cycles allow for rest, renewal, and return. They make room for setbacks without labeling them as failures.

A cyclical mindset feels more forgiving. More human. More open to possibility. It reminds me that just because something didn’t work this time doesn’t mean it never will. You’re not starting over—you’re coming back wiser.

And maybe that’s where humility comes in.

One of the most poignant reminders I take from McConaughey’s philosophy is this:
“Humility is admitting you have more to learn.”

That sentence alone feels like a compass. It keeps ambition from turning into arrogance. It keeps confidence flexible. It keeps curiosity alive.

I don’t want to build days that prove I know everything. I want to build days that prove I’m still learning—still growing, still creating myself, one intentional choice at a time.

Savoring Simple Daily Pleasures

There’s something deeply refreshing about a fresh attitude — the kind that begins not with grand resolutions, but with small, intentional changes. For me, that shift has started with decluttering. Not just clearing physical space, but creating room in my mind, my heart, and my daily life.

Our homes hold energy. When our environment feels calm, orderly, and intentional, our minds seem to follow suit. Fewer distractions allow us to think more clearly, focus more deeply, and prioritise what truly matters. Clutter, on the other hand, can quietly overwhelm us — even when we don’t consciously notice it. Visual noise becomes mental noise.

This truth became crystal clear while we were away at our special place on the coast over summer. Life there is simple. Our days unfold easily, with fewer possessions, fewer decisions, and far less “stuff.” We lived happily with very little, and I barely noticed what was missing. In fact, nothing felt missing at all.

Returning home — blissful as it was — came with a moment of reckoning. As I unpacked, I realised how many belongings I had completely forgotten about. Things tucked away in cupboards, drawers, and shelves that had quietly accumulated over time. It was a gentle but powerful reminder: we need far less than we think.

Now, I’m not a minimalist. I appreciate beautiful things, sentimental pieces, and the comfort of a lived-in home. But I am a neat and tidy person, and I thrive on order. I enjoy systems, structure, and knowing that everything has its place. So I made a decision: over the next few days, I will move through our home methodically, room by room, questioning what truly belongs.

What do we need?
What do we love?
What can be donated, rehomed, sold, or let go?

From the infamous junk drawer to my wardrobe, from bookshelves to ornaments and knick-knacks, nothing is off-limits. The goal isn’t perfection — it’s peace. To streamline our spaces and restore a sense of calm, clarity, and flow. To create a home that supports us rather than overwhelms us. Ahhhhh.

Adding to this sense of grounding is the return of our cats from their staycation at the cattery. Watching them settle back in — utterly content, relaxed, and happy to be home — was a beautiful reminder of what a home should provide. Familiarity. Safety. Comfort. Love. A place to exhale.

And really, isn’t that what we want our homes to be for ourselves and our families too?

Tomorrow, I’ll write my list. I’ll move intentionally from one area to the next, without rushing, without pressure. Just thoughtful, mindful action. My hope is that as the new school year begins, I’ll feel as ordered in my mind as my home feels around me. Calm in my soul. Grounded in myself. Present for what truly matters.

Because sometimes, a fresh attitude doesn’t come from adding more — but from gently letting go.

Savouring simple daily pleasures

There’s something about being by the ocean that gently loosens life’s grip.

On this beach holiday, time feels different. The days are unrushed, the air is softer, and for once, I’m not racing toward the next thing. Instead, I have space to breathe, to reflect, and simply be.

Each morning begins with the sea after my walk or yoga, (and coffee, naturally). Slipping into the cool salt water feels like a quiet reset — every stroke washing away noise, expectations, and the mental clutter I didn’t even realise I was carrying. Out there, floating between sky and water, there’s no urgency. Just movement, breath, and presence.

The sun does the rest. Warm on my skin, it invites stillness. It reminds me that rest is not something to be earned — it’s something we’re allowed to receive. Lying back, listening to the waves, I feel myself soften in ways that everyday life rarely allows.

Long walks along the shore have become my favourite ritual. With nothing but sand beneath my feet and the horizon stretching endlessly ahead, my thoughts finally have room to unfold. These walks offer a gentle but powerful opportunity to look inward — to really delve into my intentions, goals, aspirations, and desires.

Not the loud, performative goals we often make in January, but the quieter ones. The ones that ask:

How do I want to feel this year?
What do I want to create more space for?
What am I ready to release?

Here, away from routines and responsibilities, the answers come more honestly. They’re shaped by intuition rather than obligation, by desire rather than expectation.

This fresh start doesn’t feel like a dramatic reinvention. It feels calmer than that. More grounded. Like a subtle realignment — a remembering of what matters and a renewed commitment to move forward with intention.

As the year opens up ahead, I’m carrying this feeling with me: the rhythm of the waves, the warmth of the sun, and the clarity that comes when we give ourselves permission to pause.

Sometimes, all it takes to begin again is a little space, a deep breath, and the willingness to listen.

Here the days are unrushed, the air is softer, and for once, I’m not racing toward the next thing. Instead, I have space to breathe, to reflect, and simply be.

One question has followed me along the shoreline, echoing with every step:

What would you do if you knew you couldn’t fail?

At first, it feels almost uncomfortable. The mind wants to edit, to shrink the answer, to stay sensible and safe. But the longer I walk, the quieter those limits become. Without fear of failure, what rises instead is possibility. Curiosity. A sense of expansion.

It’s surprising what comes up when failure is no longer part of the equation. Dreams feel bigger. Ideas feel bolder. The usual “I can’t” begins to lose its power. In its place comes a much more interesting question: How?

This year, I’m choosing to shift the conversation I have with myself. Instead of saying, “No, I can’t,” I’m learning to say, “How could I?”
Instead of shutting down hopes and aspirations before they’ve had a chance to breathe, I’m allowing them space to grow.

This doesn’t mean reckless leaps or unrealistic expectations. It means approaching life with openness, creativity, and self-belief. It means trusting that even if the path isn’t clear yet, it will reveal itself step by step.

As the year stretches out ahead, I’m carrying this question with me:
What would I do if I knew I couldn’t fail?

Along with the rhythm of the waves and the warmth of the sun, it’s a question I plan to return to often — letting it guide my choices, shape my goals, and remind me that sometimes the biggest shift begins not with action, but with belief.

Here’s to a year of asking how.

Savoring Simple daily Pleasures

As 2026 begins, I’m not interested in counting time anymore. I’m interested in choosing it.

For years, I measured life by milestones, deadlines, and checklists—waiting for the next achievement to validate the present moment. But this year, I’m stepping into a different mindset. One rooted in intention. One that asks not how much did I do? but how deeply did I live?

“Don’t count the days, make the days count” isn’t just a motivational phrase—it’s a practice. A decision to show up awake, engaged, and aligned with what matters most.

Choosing Intention Over Autopilot

Starting 2026, I choose to live deliberately. That means being mindful about where my energy goes, who I allow access to my time, and what I say yes—or no—to.

Intentional living requires boundaries, and boundaries require bravery. They ask us to disappoint others rather than abandon ourselves. They ask us to trust that protecting our peace isn’t selfish—it’s necessary. When we set clear boundaries, we create space for what truly nourishes us.

Learning to Let Go

Growth isn’t always about adding more. Often, it’s about releasing what no longer fits.

Letting go can look like shedding outdated beliefs, unrealistic expectations, or relationships that drain rather than support. It can mean releasing the need for constant control and allowing life to meet us halfway. Letting go isn’t failure—it’s wisdom. It’s trusting that what’s meant to stay will stay, and what leaves creates room for something better aligned.

Listening to Intuition

There’s a quiet intelligence within us that already knows the way. Intuition doesn’t shout—it whispers. It shows up as a nudge, a pause, a feeling that something is off or deeply right.

In 2026, I’m committing to listening. To honoring my inner voice even when it doesn’t make logical sense. Especially when it doesn’t. Intuition is built through trust, and trust grows when we stop outsourcing our decisions to fear, comparison, or external validation.

Redefining Success

We’ve been taught that success is about outcomes—titles earned, goals checked off, boxes completed. But accomplishment alone doesn’t equal fulfillment.

True success lies in expansion. In what we learn along the way. In how much more resilient, aware, compassionate, and capable we become through the process. Goals matter, but growth matters more. The journey shapes us in ways the destination never could.

Reframing Roadblocks as Pathways

What if the very things we label as obstacles are actually instructions?

Problems often appear as detours when, in reality, they are redirections. They build strength, clarity, and depth. What feels like resistance may be life refining us—preparing us for something bigger than we imagined.

The other side of exerted effort is profound reward. Not just in what we gain, but in who we become.

Being Brave Enough to Live Fully

Aging, as Bette Davis famously said, “isn’t for sissies.” Neither is living with intention.

It takes courage to keep evolving. To question old narratives. To remain open-hearted in a world that can harden us. Bravery isn’t the absence of fear—it’s choosing growth anyway.

So as 2026 unfolds, I’m not counting days. I’m making them count—by choosing presence over pressure, intuition over fear, growth over perfection.

And that, to me, is a life well lived.

Savoring simple daily pleasures

There’s something about returning to a place that already knows you.

Our recent trip away to our much-loved lakeside spot felt like coming home in a deeper sense — not just as a family, but to myself. Lake Taupō has always held a quiet magic for us, but this time it offered something more: perspective.

After a full and busy year — one marked by growth, change, and more learning than I could have anticipated — I found myself drawn to long walks by the water and cold, bracing dips in the lake. Those moments became small rituals. Space to breathe. Space to think. Space to feel.

The year behind me has been anything but light. We were in Taupo quietly celebrating my husband’s milestone birthday, a moment that naturally invites reflection, and it arrived alongside seasons of stretching, recalibrating, and navigating uncertainty. Growth, I’m learning, rarely feels graceful while you’re in it. Often it feels uncomfortable, messy, and demanding.

But somewhere between the stillness of the lake and the rhythm of my footsteps along the shore, clarity arrived.

A simple truth landed — one that felt both grounding and empowering:

As long as I don’t quit, I can’t lose.

Failure only happens the moment I stop reaching for my goals and dreams. The moment I give up. Everything else — the missteps, the slow progress, the fear — is just part of the journey.

Simple doesn’t mean easy. In fact, I’m realizing that sometimes the most direct route is also the most challenging. There are no shortcuts around discomfort. No gentle detours that lead to meaningful change.

If I want to move forward — truly forward — I have to accept that growth doesn’t happen inside my comfort zone. Change doesn’t exist there either. Comfort may feel safe, but it’s also static. And my dreams require movement.

What struck me most on this trip was how clearly I could see that action beats fear. Every time. Fear thrives in hesitation and overthinking. Action — even imperfect action — dissolves it. One step forward quiets a hundred doubts.

Being immersed in a place as ancient, spiritual, and grounding as Lake Taupō helped me see all of this from a fresher perspective. Away from the daily busyness, routines, and constant mental noise, I was able to zoom out. To remember what matters. To reconnect with where I’m headed rather than getting caught in how far I still feel from the destination.

And so now, as we return to everyday life, I’m carrying more than just memories with me.

It’s time for planning. Time to set intentions, define tasks, and choose focus areas for the next 12 months. Not in an overwhelming, all-or-nothing way — but with clarity, commitment, and courage.

I don’t need everything figured out.
I just need to keep going.

The lake reminded me that progress doesn’t have to be loud to be powerful. Sometimes it’s found in quiet resolve. In cold water that wakes you up. In walks where answers arrive unannounced.

And most importantly, in the decision to keep showing up for the life I’m building — one step, one brave action at a time.

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When My Own Ethos Calls Me Out- Savouring simple daily pleasures

Enclothed Cognition & the Curious Case of the Overstuffed Wardrobe

Savouring Simple Daily Pleasures

Savoring Simple Daily Pleasures

Savoring Simple daily Pleasures

Choosing Intention Over Autopilot

Learning to Let Go

Listening to Intuition

Redefining Success

Reframing Roadblocks as Pathways

Being Brave Enough to Live Fully

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