Why Pope Leo XIV Feels Like a Holy Spirit Mic Drop

Photo of Pope Leo XIV on May 8, 2025. Courtesy of Vatican Media

So… we have a new Pope.

Pope Leo the Fourteenth, y’all.

When white smoke curled into the Roman sky and Pope Leo XIV stepped onto that balcony, something landed — not just in Vatican City, but in the hearts of Catholics around the world. And I don’t mean a trending headline or a hot take. I mean the kind of holy disruption that feels like the Holy Spirit just walked into the room, dropped the mic, and said, “Watch what I do next.” Because honestly? That’s what this papacy already feels like. Not because he’s American (though, hello, history), or because he chose a name that roars. But because everything about his election — his missionary past, his deep roots in community, his refusal to pander — suggests we’re in for something bold, rooted, and maybe a little unpredictable. And I, for one, am here for it.

Here’s what we know:

He’s American. He went to Villanova (don’t worry, I didn’t know what that meant either — I did the research for us). Cliff Notes version: it’s an Augustinian university in Pennsylvania. So yes, our new Pope was formed in the same state that houses the Liberty Bell.

WOAH.

But also — he was a missionary in Peru for over a decade.

He’s an Augustinian. That means he’s part of the Order of Saint Augustine (O.S.A.), a religious order founded in the 13th century, inspired by the teachings of St. Augustine of Hippo — who, let’s be honest, was one of the original deep thinkers of the Church. Augustinians live in community, take vows of poverty, chastity, and obedience, and focus on interior conversion and service.

He’s also a canon lawyer. And a bishop-maker. Like, literally. He ran the Dicastery for Bishops, which basically means he helped shape the next generation of Church leadership. He knows who’s who — and who probably shouldn’t be.

And now... Papa.

I was interviewing some high school seniors when the news dropped that he’d stepped out onto the balcony. By the time I finished my two-hour drive home, my texts and DMs were blowing up with friends asking, What do you think? What do you know about him?

No pressure, guys. I was Googling like a madwoman just like you.

Here’s the thing…

We don't know him yet. And that’s okay.

When I got home and could finally watch the moment unfold — Pope Leo XIV stepping out onto the loggia, hands folded, head bowed in prayer — I’ll be honest: I got chills. Not because he’s from Chicago. Not because I know what kind of Pope he’ll be (I don’t). But because that moment — that stillness — carried the weight of, what, 2,000 years of tradition?

I mean… I don’t know exactly. But it felt holy. And that was nice to see.

Words matter. And the very first words spoken by the first American-born pope? Not in English.

Though he could’ve — he didn’t.

That was his first statement, and it didn’t need subtitles: I’m not just an American. Not anymore. He’s the Bishop of Rome. The Vicar of Christ. The shepherd of the whole world. And yeah, there’s also the whole tradition thing.

We are Catholics, after all — nobody out-sticklers us.

He spoke in Italian. Then Spanish. Then a little Latin — because we’re lit like that. But not even a “hello” in English. That wasn’t a snub. That was clarity.

And honestly? I think I like him already.

Also because he gave me mad JPII vibes.

Since Pope Francis passed, I’ve been praying for a Pope who was remiscent of St. Pope John Paul II — one who might set hearts on fire again. One who doesn’t just run the Church, but reminds the world why the Church exists. To stand on it’s tradition but understand that we have to touch hearts first.

I of course have no idea if my feelings will continue along this path. Truth is, my feelings don’t matter. This is the Holy Spirit at work, and I’m trusting that.

We don’t need to know his entire backstory to start praying for him.

When a man becomes Pope, something shifts. He’s no longer just Father Bob from back home — he becomes Peter. And Peter’s role isn’t to be trendy or to meet our curated expectations. His job is to shepherd the flock — all of us. Worldwide. Across centuries. And now, in what might be the most culturally complex moment the Church has faced since the Reformation.

No pressure, right?

So before we project, panic — maybe let’s just breathe. Pray. Wait.

Let grace do her thing before we do ours.

Trust in God’s plan.

This is a man who gave his life away.

Robert Prevost didn’t exactly climb a ladder to get here. This isn’t The Thorn Birds — or that mess of a film Conclave. We’re not here for drama in cassocks or star-crossed Vatican romances. We’re here for a Pope who said yes to the cross, not the spotlight.

He spent years in Peru — teaching, pastoring, forming future priests. Not exactly the fast track to St. Peter’s Basilica. He served the poor. He knew names, heard confessions, buried the dead, baptized babies. He washed feet long before he ever wore the Fisherman’s Ring.

What does he bring? A missionary heart. The kind of heart that made John Paul II a giant. The kind that doesn't flinch at discomfort or difference. The kind that still believes the Gospel is good news.

Couldn’t say. But that is what I am praying for.

Would a pope by any other name.. or something like that…

He chose Leo.

The name Leo, meaning "lion," echoes deep biblical symbolism — a reminder of courage, kingship, and Christ Himself, the Lion of Judah (Revelation 5:5). In choosing this name, Pope Leo XIV signals a papacy that may roar not with volume, but with conviction — one rooted in strength, justice, and the bold tenderness of the Good Shepherd.

Saint Leo the Great defended doctrine when the Church was on the edge. Leo XIII faced down modernity with courage and curiosity. The name “Leo” carries history. It speaks of boldness — but also balance.

I don’t think he chose it lightly.

Our secular world would tell us God is dead — a relic, a whisper, a fading myth. I reject that opinion with every fiber of my soul. If the newly baptized at the Easter Vigil have anything to say about it, the Church isn’t a crumbling relic — she’s a lion, alive and awake, and today when our new pope stepped out, she roared.

Jesus, be with Pope Leo XIV.
Give him strength. Give him wisdom.
Give him a heart that keeps burning for the Gospel.
And help us — all of us — keep our eyes fixed on You. Always.

DIY Disaster: The Night Our Bathroom Tried to Sink the House

The real Old Faithful—majestic, powerful, and exactly the kind of geyser you'd expect to see... outdoors. Unlike the surprise version that erupted in our bathroom last night.

You know how sometimes you're just minding your business, trying to upgrade your bathroom, and then your house decides to test its emergency response system? No? Just me? Cool.

Here’s the story. Yesterday, my husband Denniss and I were in the trenches of a mini-bathroom reno. And by “we,” I obviously mean he – because my role was making the hard-hitting design decisions and offering the kind of moral support that only someone armed with Pinterest boards and strong opinions on tile can provide. He tackled removing the old vanity like a seasoned pro. We decided to leave the mirror/medicine cabinet for later. It looked like it was connected to the light switch, and I had to run to pick up the new light at Home Depot. The plan? Wait to take it down when we were ready to swap out the light fixture. It had been hanging there perfectly fine for, oh, 27 years, so we figured it was in it for the long haul. (Spoiler: it was not.)

In order for our new vanity to lay right we had to fill in the spot where our old vanity was sitting on the original flooring - so we pulled our extra laminate flooring planks we had stored in the shed. Turns out, they were about as straight as a curly fry, so my husband laid them out with some bricks over them to let them chill and straighten overnight. The plan was for him to install the vanity today. Easy. Simple. Foolproof.

Cut to 10 PM. Denniss and I are downstairs, editing a photo (just practicing some new techniques), when we hear this massive crash from upstairs. We sprint up, and guess what? The mirror decided it was done with life on the wall. It fell, smashed into the pipe, and suddenly we had our very own Old Faithful in the bathroom. Water. Everywhere. Gushing like it had been waiting it’s entire life for this exact moment.

Cue the chaos: It was all hands on deck. I was barking orders like a pirate captain—directing the boys to grab every towel, bucket, bowl, and random Tupperware they could find. If it could hold water, it was enlisted. Meanwhile, Denniss was racing to shut off the main valve like his house depended on it (which, considering the amount of water that was flowing-that is not an exaggeration- I am convinced our well was trying to empty itself). We were moving fast, but the water was faster. It slipped through the ceiling, gave our dining room table an impromptu bath, and then took a casual stroll down to the basement. Because of course it did. Why settle for ruining one floor when you can try to ruin three?

Thankfully, we were quick enough that our hardwood floors on the main floor were spared. But our chandelier? Swamped. We set up buckets under every drip, mopped up the puddles, and laid towels on the waterlogged carpets as best we could, and placed every fan we owned (which, surprisingly, were more than a few) on the most affected areas.

Last night as I dozed off to sleep, I was mentally preparing to become best friends with a shop vac and a drywall patch kit.

But, surprise! Turns out this was less of a DIY fix and more of a "call in the pros before the house floats away" kind of situation. The plumber came, the insurance kicked in, and a team of very nice gentlemen arrived to demo the bathroom, a few ceilings, and pull out some carpet. Now we get to live with the constant hum of fans and dehumidifiers—like a spa day, but for the house, and way less relaxing. Really it’s more akin to having a wind tunnel experiment in our own house. At least it’s only for a week. And really, it could have been worse. Thank God we were home when it happened.

Moral of the story? Maybe don't trust a 27-year-old mirror—especially one that's been clinging to the wall since the Clinton administration. Or at least give it a good shake every once in a while to make sure it's still committed to the relationship. Because if it's plotting an exit strategy, better to find out before it decides to make a dramatic exit.

Cheers,
Nicóle

The Moon Follows

Lately, I’ve been spending extra time with the night sky—partly because the crescent moon and planetary parade have been gorgeous and partly because my dog Lucy thinks 2 a.m. is adventure hour. So, there I was, staring up at the night sky (again), and there she was—the moon, staring right back. And I started thinking about how it’s always just there—watching, glowing, following.

There’s something comforting about that, isn’t there? In a world that never stops shifting—where trends fade, plans change, and life moves faster than we sometimes want—the moon stays the same. A quiet, steady presence. A constant in the chaos.

This poem is a nostalgic, quirky take on everyday life, late-night thoughts, and the little moments we don’t always notice—like whether my kid will even see the moon or just keep staring at a screen. The moon sees it all. Says nothing. Just keeps shining, like a quiet witness to all of life’s tiny absurdities.

What follows are my moonlit musing on life’s small, silly, and suspiciously profound moments—because if the moon can keep glowing through it all, so can we.

When I was little,

I thought the moon followed me home.

Hung just outside the car window,

peeking through tree branches,

floating over highways,

never too far behind.

The moon knows things.

Watches me spill coffee down my shirt at 7 a.m.,

nods like it saw that coming.

Sees me stare at the ceiling at 2:36 a.m.,

debating if I missed my true calling—

Should I have been an archaeologist?

A beekeeper?

Or at least someone who knows how to fold a fitted sheet?

The moon saw me set my alarm for 6 a.m.,

watched me hit snooze five times,

then scroll my phone for thirty minutes

like that wasn’t the plan all along.

The moon saw me aggressively whisper “thank you”

to the self-checkout machine,

because I refuse to be rude to robots.

(It’s only a matter of time, anyway.)

The moon saw me whisper “oops” to myself

when I tripped over absolutely nothing.

Saw me open my laptop with great intention,

then immediately check the weather,

like I don’t already know what season it is.

The moon has witnessed it all—

every text I typed and deleted,

every awkward wave when I thought someone was waving at me,

every time I sang the wrong lyrics to a song

and kept right on singing.

The moon watches me rehearse arguments in the shower,

perfectly phrased comebacks

for conversations that no longer need me.

It sees me laugh too loud in the car,

then immediately wonder if I’m actually funny

or just bad at silence.

And now I wonder—

when my daughter stares out the car window,

will she think the moon follows her too?

Or will she be too busy looking down

at a tiny, glowing screen,

learning from a machine

that already knows where she’s going?

The moon sees it all.

Says nothing.

Just keeps shining,

like a friend who knows too much,

but lets you pretend otherwise.

5 Delightfully Simple Ways to Add Whimsy to Your Day

Life can feel a bit routine sometimes, but adding a sprinkle of whimsy doesn’t have to take a ton of time or effort. Here are five simple ways to turn an ordinary day into something magical:

Write a Tiny Poem on a Post-It Note

Take two minutes to jot down a silly rhyme or a heartfelt haiku.

Stick it somewhere random,

• On your bathroom mirror

• Inside a favorite book

• On a loved one’s lunchbox

Instant day-brightener!

Make Your Morning Coffee (or Tea) Feel Fancy

Pour your drink into your prettiest mug. Bonus points if it has a saucer! Add whipped cream or a sprinkle of cinnamon, just because.

Create a “Pocket Treasure”

Find a small object that makes you happy—a smooth stone, a trinket, or even a folded note. Slip it into your pocket to carry a bit of joy around all day.

I love these heart shaped rose quartz stones.

Pause for a Mini-Adventure

Even if it’s just a stroll through your backyard or a new corner of the neighborhood, treat it like an exploration. Notice tiny details: the shape of the leaves, the patterns in the sidewalk.

Add a Dash of Color to Your Outfit (or face)

Throw on a scarf, socks, or earrings in a color that makes you smile. It doesn’t need to match—mismatched whimsy is even better!

If wearing all black or a neutral color pallet is your thing. There is a red lipstick for every skin tone.

Sometimes, the tiniest shifts in perspective can bring the most joy. Whimsy isn’t about perfection; it’s about noticing the magic in the everyday.

What’s your favorite way to add a little sparkle to your day? Share your ideas in the comments!

Idle Curiosities - The one with Norovirus

We’re still enjoying snow on the ground - a week later. Yay….

Hi Friends. It’s Me.

Back - albeit a little bit later than planned. Norovirus struck Sunday night - as I was beginning to compile this post my daughter woke with the vomits. The last 48 hours have been fun. So, I’m going to start us off, with this simple thing we can all do - and should do. Wash your hands friends!

Could you do a “No Buy” year? I think they lost me on the no-lattes part.

I really enjoyed this from the NYC Ballet. Because ballet shoes.

What this artist does with ceramics is rather lovely.

Nelly Furtado is hoping we have a “ Body Neutral in 2025” and that we love with every inch of our hearts. I can get behind that.

Natalie Bertinelli - Box Dye and self love on a Monday night. Celebrities are just like us, well, maybe at least Natalie is… and you know, she was married to a rocks star, so there’s that.

Sweatpants and look chic - I can get in to that.

I love how she’s FINALLY owning who she is, and not trying to fit someone else’s idea of what/who she should be.

I won’t be upset if it goes away, but I am worried about what that would mean for the First Amendment.

As a wedding photographer - it’s toxic stuff like this - why I won’t be upset.

Because the Gen Z - likes to pout. But I still think they’re pretty cool.

Have a great week friends. ❤

Junk Journals and the Beauty of Imperfection: A Poem and Creative Tribute

Ever heard of a junk journal? Think of it as a scrapbook’s artsy, rebellious cousin. It’s a place where old receipts, paper scraps, and forgotten photos become treasures. It’s messy, it’s fun, and most importantly, it’s yours. If the idea sparks even a flicker of interest, trust me—you’re about to discover a creative outlet you didn’t know you needed.

Last fall, I bought journals for my daughter and me. She wasted no time, diving straight in—papers flying, layers piling up—like a tiny creative tornado. Mine, on the other hand, sat untouched on my TBR (to be read) shelf, quietly judging me every time I walked by. It wasn’t until Christmas break that I finally cracked it open, and honestly? The wait was totally worth it. Taking my time gave me a chance to collect all kinds of fun ephemera, so when I finally got started, I had plenty to work with. The result? A cover that feels like me: sentimental, a little quirky, and the perfect blend of creativity and chaos.

The Joy of an Intentional Mess

Junk journals are all about freedom—the freedom to create without rules, precision, or Pinterest-approved perfection. Sure, I can spend hours scrolling through those jaw-dropping layouts online (seriously, how do some people wield washi tape like sorcery?), but for me, this journal isn’t about chasing that level of artistry. It’s about something simpler: stealing moments with my daughter, giggling over random scraps of paper, and letting our stories and memories spill out in their own beautifully messy, magical way.

Every page we create is bound to be a little chaotic, a little imperfect, but completely, wonderfully ours. And that, I’ve realized, is the real magic. The memories we’re weaving into these pages are already perfect, so why shouldn’t the journal reflect the imperfect, joyful mess of making them?

Junk journaling in full swing with my daughter—papers, pens, stickers, and a little creative chaos on the table. The perfect mess for making memories!

A Cover with Heart

The front cover of my scrapbook journal got the full decoupage glow-up—layered scraps, vintage florals, and meaningful details that reflect the things I love, all tied together with a playful, whimsical twist. It’s the perfect preview of what this journal holds: pieces of life, arranged to tell a story. Symbols and imagery that resonate with me make their mark here, from elegant monograms to timeless reminders of love and beauty. It’s a mix of nostalgia, creativity, and personal meaning—perfectly imperfect, just like the stories inside.

The chaotic masterpiece that is my junk journal cover—florals, vintage vibes, and a whole lot of “let’s slap this on and see what happens.” Perfectly imperfect and totally me.

If the front cover of my junk journal invites you in with a gentle, “There’s magic here,” the back cover shouts, “And don’t forget your sense of adventure!” With vintage florals, quirky quotes, and a little poetic drama, it’s a playful and heartfelt reflection of everything I love. The touches of wisdom and whimsy, like thoughtful sayings and old-school clippings, add a nostalgic charm. It’s a layered, joyful space—just like the stories this journal is meant to hold.

The back cover of my junk journal: where florals, sassy quotes, and a touch of poetic mischief collide. Basically, it’s a party of whimsy and wonder.

A Poem for Gram: Adding Heart to the Chaos

When I finally started my journal, I knew I wanted to capture moments with my daughter right away, but that’s not where I began. Instead, I skipped ahead (technically) and started with my grandmother. I wrote her a poem—a tribute I guess, but really, the poem is about the memories we shared I treasure most. For that perfectly imperfect touch, I copied the poem onto vellum paper and layered it onto the page. One line stood out to me as a favorite, so I bolded it with a thick marker—like shining a little spotlight on what mattered most. My handwriting is messy and the whole page is a little chaotic.

The result wasn’t neat or pristine, but it was heartfelt. And isn’t that the point?

A Pocket of Nostalgia

Because every good journal needs a pocket (or three, or four, or five..), I added a little envelope to the page. Inside, I tucked a handwritten version of the poem and a photo of Gram I printed on regular paper and decoupaged onto card stock. The tactile elements—the crinkle of vellum, the texture the decoupage added to the smooth paper—giving the page a nostalgic, lived-in feel. It’s the kind of page you want to touch, hold, and linger on, which felt exactly right for a tribute to Gram. I don’t think it’s quite done yet. I want to add a penny I found the other day - (I’ll add the poem at the end of this blog post, so you can understand why.) And maybe a few more photos or notes here and there.

This page celebrates my Gram’s birthday with a handwritten poem, meaningful photos, and a pocket for keepsakes.

Life Lessons from Gram: Why Imperfection Is Beautiful

If Gram taught me anything, it’s that life isn’t about perfection. It’s about the people you love, the memories you make, and the time you take to honor those moments.

Junk journaling embraces that philosophy perfectly. Each page is a bit unpolished, refreshingly raw, and brimming with heart. There’s no pressure to make it flawless or pristine—it’s all about making it yours.

Your Turn: Start Your Junk Journal Today

So, what’s stopping you? Got some paper scraps lying around? Maybe a few old photos, ticket stubs, or even receipts? That’s all you need to get started. Grab a journal, some glue, and let the magic happen.

Don’t overthink it. Don’t aim for perfection. Just dive in and let the memories guide you. Trust me—it’s the kind of mess you’ll be glad you made.

Why You’ll Love Junk Journaling

• It’s therapeutic. There’s something incredibly freeing about cutting, gluing, and layering without overthinking.

• It’s personal. Every page tells a story only you can tell.

• It’s easy to start. No fancy supplies needed—just some scraps, a journal, and your creativity.

Whether you’re documenting family moments, creating a tribute to someone special, or simply making art for the joy of it, junk journaling is a creative adventure worth taking.

So go ahead, make your own intentional mess. Your future self—and maybe even your Gram—will thank you.

Ready to Start Your Own Junk Journal?

If you’re inspired to start your own, here are some great supplies to get you started:

• Journals: Affordable Blank Journal |  Hardcover Journal (currently using/pictured)

• Adhesives: Decoupage Glue | Double-Sided Tape

• Papers: Scrapbook Paper Packs | Vellum Sheets

• Fun Add-Ons: Stickers | Ephemera Packs | Washi Tape

Junk journaling doesn’t require a big budget or fancy supplies—half the fun is using what you already have. But if you want to treat yourself, these items are a great place to start.

Happy journaling, and don’t forget to embrace the imperfection. That’s where the magic happens.

---

Here is the poem I wrote for my Gram. She wasn’t the kind of person you’d call whimsical—pragmatic was more her style—but with me, she let her guard down just enough to sprinkle in a little magic. Writing this felt like stepping back into those moments, where her practical wisdom met a soft belief in fairies, buttercups, and pennies that somehow always seemed to find me.

The pennies keep finding me—
wedged in sidewalk cracks,
winking up from the asphalt.
I pick them up without thinking,
roll them between my fingers.

And there you are again—
your voice on the wind:
“Find a penny, pick it up,
all day long you’ll have good luck.”

I rub the edges smooth.
For a heartbeat,
you’re close.

I see you—
phone cradled to your shoulder,
gum snapping,
fingers curling the cord into loops.
You’d talk about Donahue,
the guest on Oprah who made you laugh,
the dancers on Lawrence Welk
who made you feel like twirling, too.

You filled the air with stories—
steady and sure,
like background music.

Some days, I’d only half-listen,
rocking your great-grandson to sleep.
But your voice stayed.
A melody threading through the noise.

You loved the in-between walks—
after dinner, when the world softened,
or mornings, before the sun claimed the day.
I’d trail beside you,
our steps falling in sync,
until I’d dart off, caught in some wild imagining—
fairies in moonlit hollows,
their laughter like bells.

You never questioned my stories.
You just smiled,
as if you already knew.
As if the world
could hold fairies and dragons
and anything else I needed it to.

Once, you held a buttercup to my chin.
“Look,” you said,
as yellow light painted my skin.
“You’re made of gold.”

I believed you.
Because you were golden, too.

Now I see you everywhere—
your number still saved in my phone,
though I know no one will answer.
Still, I scroll past some nights,
just to feel you near.

Heaven feels far,
but you are close:
folded into the rhythm of my days.

I see you now—
in pennies,
in buttercup light,
in melodies threading through the noise.

---

Full disclosure: some links in this post may be affiliate links. If you click and purchase, I might score a small commission—like finding spare change in my couch. No worries though, I only hype what I actually dig. Transparency is key, and I’m all about keeping it real.

Idle Curiosities

This week, I’m kicking off a new series on this shiny new blog. Well, technically, I’m revamping an old favorite and giving it a glow-up—kind of like this blog itself. Your girl lives for a good theme, so here we are.

Back in the day, I called it “This and That.” A charming little round-up of all the things that made me go, “Ooooh!” over the past week or so.

Think of it as a grab bag of stuff that made me swoon, flummoxed me (fancy word for “Wait, WHAT?”), got my brain buzzing, mysteriously emptied my bank account (thanks, cart), or was just plain cool or pretty.

And so, dear reader, I present to you: Idle Curiosities—a whimsical little series where I gather all the delightful, curious, and occasionally baffling things that catch my eye, make my brain hum, or inspire a spontaneous “Add to Cart.” (even if I don’t check out right away-it’s window-shopping but like, on the internet.)

Idle curiosity, is a desire to learn or know something for personal interest, without a specific reason. It is often characterized by a sense of wonder and a desire to explore new ideas or information.

So here goes this week’s Idle Curiosities.

This year, I’m all about simplifying—fewer things to stress over, more time to focus on what I actually enjoy. One of my first steps? Embracing my natural hair. It’s been exactly a week since I decided to let my strawberry blonde, frizzy waves do their thing. And listen, this is groundbreaking for me. Normally, my ventures into “going natural” last a day or two at best before I’m back to my trusty blow dryer. This pattern started way back in 1996 when I cut my hair into The Rachel (because, of course, I did).

High School me. Before I cut my hair, never needed a blowdryer.

The thing is - I don’t remember my hair ever being this wavy. I mean, sure after the beach, but no. Not like this. I remember washing it and tying it up in a Scrunchies until it dried. It would take hours and I usually went to sleep with it wet - so I don’t know if that had anything to do with it. The point is. High school me, never needed a blow dryer. Until I cut my hair and it would just CURL! Which is why I needed to dry it. OH MY GOSH!

Sorry - for the ADH fueled rant, What was I talking about - yes, going with my natural waves…

Last week, someone hit me with the wildest compliment: A girl at Costco stopped me and said, “You look like Blake Lively in This Is Us.” First of all, WHAT?! I don’t see it, but I’m flattered. Apparently, it’s the hair and the color. I had to Google Blake, and yep—she’s rocking those effortless waves I aspire to.

Naturally, this compliment was the final push I needed to actually watch the film (because -of-course-I-had-to) and then I proceeded to Google Blake Lively like it was my full-time job.

My search ended with me clicking “Add to Cart” on three Colleen Hoover books: It Ends with Us, It Starts with Us, and Ugly Love. I haven’t started them yet, but I’m bracing myself for some late-night binge reading and the inevitable emotional devastation.

Does this mean I’m in my Blake Lively Hair Era? Lol, no. I’m in my This Is My Actual Hair Era, embracing the frizz, the waves, and everything in between. Maybe. Jury is still out. Ask me next week.

While I was Googling, I stumbled across this fascinating New York Times article about Hollywood smear campaigns involving Blake Lively and It Ends with Us. Let me tell you—it’s like Mean Girls’ burn book, but taken to a corporate level. Scathing doesn’t even begin to describe it.

Back to my hair, though. Inspired by my Blake moment, I decided to invest in some products to help me keep these waves looking less “I live in a wind tunnel” and more “effortlessly chic.” I splurged on Olaplex No. 10 Curl Defining Hair Gel and Ouidad Botanical Boost Curl Energizing & Refreshing Spray, and I’m on day two and loving my hair a lot more. I’ve been using the Olaplex No. 7 Bonding Oil for a while now and when my hair is mostly air dried I finish my hair off with that. I like how it adds shine without weighing things down, and the Ouidad spray is a miracle worker for reviving second-day waves, which is giving me lots of hope that I may be able to stick to this natural hair-don’t care thing for a while.

And while we’re talking beauty, let me just say: I will forever be loyal to Clinique’s Almost Lipstick in Black Honey and Pink Honey. They’re the ultimate your-lips-but-better shades and never make my lips dry. I wish I could say the same for the Sheer Matte Lipstick in Bisou Balm that TikTok convinced me to buy on Black Friday. The shades are gorgeous, I have Amour Fou and Rose Latte but this lipstick is drier than the Sahara. Even so, I have been religiously wearing them for a month. If you try it, make sure you layer it over a moisturizing lip oil or balm. I am a fan of Aquaphor Lip Repair but at night I use the regular stuff in the tube as a mask. I’ve got this lip mask by Laniege in my Amazon shopping cart. If you’ve tried it, I would love to hear your thoughts.

I promise I was not obessing over my hair every spare moment I had.

One of things that grabbed my attention this week—is this new podcast I discovered called In the Dark. It’s an investigative series that digs into some truly gripping and thought-provoking cases. If you’re into true crime or just love a good deep dive into the human experience, this is your next listen. It’s the kind of storytelling that makes you want to cancel plans just to keep listening.

This article about Wal-Mart making it’s communities poorer has me nodding my head.

So there you have it—my week of beauty experiments, Costco compliments, Blake Lively spirals, and a new podcast obsession.

What’s been inspiring you lately? Tell me all about it.

Full disclosure: some links in this post may be affiliate links. If you click and purchase, I might score a small commission—like finding spare change in my couch. No worries though, I only hype what I actually dig. Transparency is key, and I’m all about keeping it real.