One thing I learned from penning my first book is that as much as I relish writing, it can also be uncomfortably sloooowwww and time-consuming. And the creative process itself is not the only thing that is painful — there’s no tactful way to say it other than, after hours upon hours seated at the desk to write, my butt is killing me. So when the exciting news of a second book deal came through, a walking desk was top priority on my list. With a second-hand treadmill (thanks,

tim wright/unsplash.com When meeting someone for the first time who learns I am a psychotherapist, I typically encounter one of two reactions. The person either a). slightly cowers while hesitantly asking if I am currently psychoanalyzing her or b). utters something to the effect of, I could never do what you do. Don’t you get tired of hearing people’s problems all day long? My answers to each? a). I am definitely not trying to diagnose you right now. I am happily off-duty an

jennifer pallian/unsplash The months of Many and June are replete not only with blissfully longer days, but often with full schedules as well: graduations, proms, end-of-school-year celebrations, outdoor parties, and various sporting events. With so much of the good stuff happening at once, we can easily descend into an unconscious state of automatic pilot, losing sight of the fortunate nature of all the busyness. As author Dan Harris aptly describes, it’s analogous to “drown

Photo by Juliette Leufke/unsplash Question: What’s it like to be a published author? Answer (How long do you have?): #1. Awesome. #2. Somewhat like bringing a baby into the world (read about the similarities here). #3. In retrospect, though, the process is summed up perfectly by Adam Grant, NYTimes best-selling author, professor, and motivation/meaning expert in his popular TedTalk. In it, he discusses the trajectory of any creative project resembling something like this: Thi

Photo by Bonnie Kittel/unsplash.com “Books are out there to show your heart, to show your soul, to tell… your readers: You are not alone.” — Paulo Coelho New Year’s Eve 2011: My little guy, not yet three weeks in this world, is cradled in my arms as tears spill down my cheeks, occasionally landing on his softly swaddled form. Raw with exhaustion, frustration, and worry, I brace myself for another round of this precious, six-pound bundle refusing the breast. Not only is his on