What If Everything Works Out?

Lately, every time doubt sneaks in, when I open the fridge and realize I forgot to eat again, or when I open the 48th browser tab and forget what I was even doing, I say it out loud:

“What if everything works out?”

I’ve been saying it in the shower, while clicking “save” for the eighth time, while trying to remember what I meant to Google before the cat walked across the keyboard. I say it when I get a weird comment or when something doesn't upload, or when I wake up in the middle of the night thinking, Why am I doing all of this?

But really…
What if, at the ripe old age of 51, everything actually does work out?
What if it’s been working out all along?

Not in some perfectly plotted, everything is easy kind of way, but in the mess, in the chaos, in the slow unfurling of all these quiet things I didn’t even know I was building. What if every heartbreak, every weird job, every dead-end moment and strange turn led me right here, to this glow?

Because here I am. Launching a website. Publishing children’s books. Telling stories that were tucked in my bones for decades. And people are actually reading them. Visiting the site. Leaving reviews. Showing up.

Maybe not in droves, maybe not in viral waves, but they’re coming, one firefly at a time.

And yes, it’s exhausting. I’ve lost 7 pounds this week because apparently anxiety burns calories, and also I forget to eat when I’m building empires. My desk is a sea of sticky notes and half-finished ideas. My brain is one long run-on sentence. But my heart? She’s still glowing.

What if this is the part where it all clicks? Not because I forced it, but because I finally stopped waiting for permission.

What if everything works out because I decided it would?

Even when my lifelong fear of jinxing it creeps in, even when I feel like just writing these thoughts down might unravel them, I still repeat it.
Naaahhhhhh... WHAT IF EVERYTHING WORKS OUT.

And maybe, just maybe, that's the kind of hope that keeps us going. Not all at once, but in tiny sparks. A good sentence. A kind comment. A moment that reminds you to keep showing up.

So if you're reading this, and you’re starting to second-guess your path, try whispering it, just once:
What if everything works out?

Say it again if you need to. And then go do the next right thing. One small, stubborn, beautiful step at a time.

I’d love to know what this stirred up in you… thoughts, memories, tears, a little hope? Leave a comment below. I read them all, even if I’m wearing fuzzy socks and crying into my matcha.

Juggling, Grieving, Creating... and Still Catching Fireflies

I don’t know how to explain what my life looks like right now.
I just know that at 51 years old, I’m finally starting to feel like myself. And it’s wild.

This whole creative tornado… launching books, building a website, running a vintage shop… it’s beautiful and deeply weird and sometimes too much. Like most big life shifts, it’s also a mirror. And when you look in that mirror long enough, you see who’s really still standing there with you. That part is both heartening and heartbreaking.

Right now, I’m:

• Running my Etsy shop

• Shopping for it

• Listing and shipping vintage finds

• Writing (and rewriting) three books

• Doing my own graphic design

• Learning to edit videos, record audio, and market like I know what I’m doing

• Walking that exhausting tightrope between “I’m annoying,” “I give up,” and “OH MY GOD THIS IS ACTUALLY WORKING”

• Feeling waves of grief, especially for my mom

• Trying to make time for fishing with Mark, and for just being with Mark

• Babysitting my granddaughter

• Paying bills

• Folding laundry

• Feeling everything

I know I’m lucky in a thousand ways.
I have a roof over my head, people who love me, and the ability to create something from nothing.
I’m not blind to that.

But knowing you’re lucky doesn’t make you less tired. Or less overwhelmed. Or less human.

I had to pull back from the never-ending dumpster fire that is this country.

I haven’t stopped caring.
I still write the letters, call my reps, speak out when I see injustice.
I will always do that.

But I can’t let it consume me, or it’ll eat the part of me that creates.
And if that happens... they already won.

Choosing to create something joyful in the midst of all this mess, that’s not selfish.
It’s survival.
It’s also power.

I never understood that until I started living it.

Joy is resistance.
Kindness is resistance.
Telling soft stories with sharp edges and hope buried inside them... that’s how I’m staying upright.

And no, this isn’t about winning an award for doing too much.
I don’t want a trophy.

I just want a little cabin on the seashore.
I want to write.
I want to paint.
And I want to catch fireflies.

So if you’re here, reading this, maybe you’re juggling too.
Or maybe you’re grieving. Or building something. Or trying to feel like yourself again.

You’re not alone.
And you don’t have to be perfect to make something beautiful.

Let’s carry it together.

Jennifer

P.S. Got thoughts?
Feel something? Think something? Trip over your shoelace on the way to the comment box?
Me too.
Say hi below. I read every one and carry them with me longer than you’d think..