Created by Midjourney with a custom Tio moodboard
Thanksgiving Holiday season has always felt like a hinge in the year to me. A slow turning from the noise of fall into the quiet work of winter. A pause before the deep cold settles in. A time for gratitude and small, ordinary grace. This year I found myself holding onto that pause more fiercely than usual. I needed it. Maybe you did too. There’s a particular kind of exhale that happens when you sit long enough at a table filled with people who know your history, your quirks, your battles, the shape of your resilience. For a moment, the pace of the world loosens its grip. Presence returns. You remember what matters.
But the moment Thanksgiving ends, something shifts. The ads multiply. The countdown timers appear. Every inbox fills with declarations of urgency disguised as generosity. The transition is like going from a chapel to a carnival in about eight seconds. And this year, for the first time, I realized just how tired I am of that sharp turn. Not just tired, but almost allergic to it. The commercialization of this week has grown so loud that it drowns out the whole purpose of the holiday itself.
And here is the part that isn’t comfortable to say out loud. I accidentally joined the carnival.
Created by Midjourney with a custom Tio moodboard
I launched Muse Under Siege on Black Friday. The cart was set to close Cyber Monday. I even had emails ready. But at the last minute, I couldn’t send them. Not to my own list anyway. That was intentional, and maybe a little conflicted. I care deeply about this course, and the people I want in the founders or beta group are the ones who have been with me the longest. The ones who understand the heart of the work. But as I looked at the week ahead, at the pace people were already trying to manage, something in me resisted. I didn’t want to add even an ounce of pressure to your holiday table. I didn’t want to send “one more thing” into an already flooding inbox. I didn’t want to contribute to the noise.
That hesitation should have been my first clue that the timing was off. But I pressed ahead anyway, mostly because I was so focused on finally launching a project that has lived in every corner of my mind for months. I’ve wrestled with this course for three years. I’ve been stuck on it. I’ve turned it over, rewritten it, reshaped it, doubted it, returned to it. When I finally pushed it out into the world, it felt like breaking through a creative wall that had held me in place. That kind of breakthrough can make you feel like everything is aligned, even when it isn’t. I had a bit of tunnel vision, the kind that comes after a long stretch of pushing, revising, fine-tuning, and reimagining. I felt free again, and in that freedom, I lost sight of the bigger picture.
And sure enough, the launch went nowhere. No sales. Nine new people on the list. And instead of disappointment, I felt this unexpected clarity settle in. It was almost a relief. A gentle reminder that the path I want to walk doesn’t run through the Black Friday corridor. I don’t want my work to live inside scarcity language or countdown timers or the tired trope that so many people use of, “Oops, I meant to close the cart but forgot so here’s one more day.” B.S. Whether true or not, it feels manipulative in a world that’s already on edge. And it isn’t how I want to serve.
What I want is compassionate capitalism. Service first. Transformation first. I want to create work that helps artists break through the barriers that hold them back. I want to lift people into the freedom of creative play, deeper confidence, and a sense of belonging that isn’t manufactured through tactics. I want to build a body of offerings that make people feel seen, supported, challenged, and transformed, not pressured or cornered by urgency.
So rather than hiding the misstep, I’m owning it. And I’m choosing differently moving into December.
Quiet Mending on the easel after buffing
Many people don’t realize that the traditional Twelve Days of Christmas don’t happen before Christmas, they follow it. The Twelve Days originally started on December twenty-fifth and continued through the eve Epiphany on January fifth. It was a season marked by feasting, community, generosity, and reflection. A season of receiving, not rushing. A season of noticing the sacred in the ordinary, of letting the light grow slowly instead of trying to manufacture it through endless noise.
I’m returning to that rhythm this year.
Instead of leaning into the frenzy that leads up to Christmas, the one that capitalism has gleefully inflated, I want to begin something on Christmas Day itself. Something slower. Something rooted in generosity. Something that feels more aligned with the values I claim to hold. So, for the Twelve Days of Christmas, I’m giving something away each day. Not filler. Not fluff. Real gifts. Real value. Things that I hope will encourage your creative practice, your curiosity, your confidence, and your sense of play. Some days it may be a downloadable resource. Other days a prompt, an ebook, a small course, a behind-the-scenes look at process, or something reflective to carry into the new year. I’m still putting the pieces together, but the heart of it is simple. I want to give something that feels like a blessing, not a marketing strategy.
The Twelve Days are an invitation to slow down. To return to presence. To savor what we already have. To step away from the furious pace that pretends urgency is the same thing as meaning. I want to create a pocket of space for you in the middle of all that. A small daily touchpoint during a season when the world is shouting. A reminder that creativity grows best in environments that feel generous and grounded, not frantic and pressured.
Launching my course during Black Friday taught me something important: timing matters. Intention matters. Alignment matters. And when something feels out of step with your deeper values, it’s worth listening. I’m listening now. And I’m grateful for the nudge.
Thank you for being here. Thank you for your patience, your presence, and your willingness to walk this creative life with me as I learn out loud. December will look different for me this year, and I hope it will offer you something meaningful too.
Keep making, keep growing, be you.
PS: The Muse Under Siege course is off the market for now. It may find a home in my membership community when the time is right to launch that. Right now, I have paintings waiting, gifts to prepare, and a December grounded in generosity to create.
Snap shot of the painting ready to package for shipping or delivery
Quiet Mending Encaustic Painting