I was pronounced dead twice before I ever made a sound.

Long before I understood the word intuition, my life was shaped by a knowing that refused to negotiate with fear. This is a letter about living between worlds — about the kind of truth that arrives quietly, before proof — and about why real leadership begins in the body. If you’ve ever sensed something quietly before the evidence arrived… this is for you.

You can feel what’s true — and still not know how to move. This letter is for the ones with clarity but no map, and the quiet work of orientation that makes real change possible.

Many people rush toward a new year hoping change will come from better plans or stronger resolve. But before anything new can take root, something old must be allowed to end. This winter letter explores why clearing, grieving, and letting go are not delays—but the very ground from which real transformation grows.

A midsummer note for anyone living in the questions. There’s a certain kind of ache that doesn’t mean something’s wrong—it means something is waking up.

Lately, I’ve been feeling a restlessness that doesn’t want to be solved. It wants to be listened to. There’s something stirring under the surface of my life, something tender and wild, something that feels more like ripeness than confusion.

In this midsummer letter, I’m writing from the edge—where grief meets joy, where the ache opens into aliveness, and where the questions are louder than the answers. It’s not a polished reflection. It’s a real one.

If you’ve been feeling a shift you can’t quite name…If you’re finding yourself more tender than usual…If you’re living between clarity and becoming…This letter is for you.