I am not staging a cultural intervention. I am someone who cares deeply about how we see ourselves, even more importantly, how we feel about ourselves, and who cannot reconcile what she observes in the world with what she feels in her bones to be true. This is not an essay with answers. It is an invitation into a question I am sitting with myself and compelled to ask collectively.

The question is this: how have we come to accept the invented devaluation of entire decades of our lives?

Aging, a natural process, simply is, neither good nor bad. The same way a rainy day just is. Not until we bring our individual lens to it does it become something. Through the lens of perception, we give it significance.
In certain cultures, aging is revered, honored, and respected. In others, it is feared and disparaged.

Let me be completely clear about one thing before I go further: sovereignty sits at the very top of the hierarchy of values in my world, alongside love and gratitude. We are individual souls, each walking a unique path through this human experience, free to live in alignment with our own truth and spirit. So long as we move through this world with the intention to do no harm, every person has the inherent right to choose how they live, who they become, and how they express their existence. This extends, needless to say, to how we navigate the aging process.

And yet, I find myself compelled to sit with this paradox.

In my capacity as the founder of Kjaer Weis, I was introduced to numerous beauty editors, one of them was Julee Wilson, Beauty Editor at Large at Cosmopolitan. I was drawn to her wonderful, dynamic energy from day one. Recently I listened to a podcast she recorded (Gloss Angeles), where she described the aging process as something she genuinely looks forward to. She shared that the Black community she grew up in does not fear aging, older women are looked up to and revered. She speaks with confidence about who she is becoming with age; smarter, cooler, more herself, her best is still unfolding.
Her eagerness for the journey ahead speaks to an understanding of aging that goes beyond the surface. She sees her physical change, and in that same gaze, she sees the beauty in it, as she shares, there is a spiritual dimension to it.

This resonated deeply with something I have always believed; that our worth as humans is innate, not for having accomplished anything, or for looking a certain way, but simply for being born. Hearing it reflected so beautifully through Julee’s experience only deepened that conviction. I believe this is fundamental.

This perspective lives in striking contrast to a recent Goop article titled The Rise of the Starter Facelift, which describes how people are becoming “less and less tolerant of signs of aging,” some beginning facelifts in their early forties.
Less and less tolerant of signs of aging. It’s a fascinating phrase to use about something that is not only natural, but universal. While how we age can be influenced by the way we live and care for ourselves, aging itself is something every human being moves through.

The distinction itself is worth examining. Most people are not distressed by the fact that they are turning 25 or 30. We celebrate those birthdays.
Yet somewhere along the way, the visible markers that accompany later decades become something to resist. Why? What changes?
Not the fact that we are aging. We have been aging since the day we were born.
What changes is our perception of the signs associated with certain ages.
Lines and greying hair, come to symbolize something we have been taught to fear or reject. How were we conditioned to believe that the face of someone in their early forties is somehow in decline, while the face of someone in their twenties represents the ideal we should perpetually strive toward?

I believe the answer is multilayered, requiring a historical lens trained on patriarchy, cultural manipulation, control, both conscious and unconscious, a deeper dive that deserves its own separate conversation. For this piece, I want to stay close to home.

The contrast between Julee’s perspective and the Goop article is worth pausing on. Because both are speaking about the same aging process. The difference lies not in the reality itself, but in the lens through which it is viewed. One lens mainly sees beauty that has matured. The other, mainly sees physical decline.
And perception, if we choose, can be changed. Nobody forces us to believe that a youthful face holds more value than a mature one. At the core, we decide that for ourselves. And perhaps that is precisely where it originates, in our self-worth, and by extension, our self-love. Only we can determine that value. Not a cultural norm someone else invented. Not a “miracle” balm.

What if inner beauty were ranked higher than outer, or at the very least, considered equal? The scale would no longer tip so alarmingly in one direction as a youthful appearance gives way to a more mature one, because the inner measure would be steadily filling with wisdom and an expanding heart, which inevitably comes with time.

I am not suggesting for a moment that there is anything wrong with wanting to look our best, quite the opposite. There is everything right about it. It is one of life’s great joys and pleasures, and I enjoy it myself, believe me. What I am reaching for is something underneath that, a refocusing of how we understand Beauty altogether, to incorporate everything we are, in the fullest sense. A wider, deeper understanding. What I like to call True Beauty.

Which brings me back to where I started. Am I a hypocrite for asking these questions? Perhaps that’s exactly the point, there is no single answer. What matters is the intention behind the choice, and whether it comes from joy or from fear. If we were living in our most empowered self, having nurtured our inner beauty and integrated it with the outer, would we still make the same choices about our appearance?

I don’t proclaim to have all the answers. It’s complex, and it is deeply individual. What I do know is this: we owe it to ourselves, to our bodies, to our wellbeing, to honor this beautiful experience called the cycle of life, by living it fully, through every decade, whatever that looks like for each of us, and without shame.

I would love to hear your thoughts.

Becoming a beautician and developing an interest in skincare and make-up was never in my cards. Having grown up quite “au naturel” all my life, with visions of studying architecture after a year of traveling post-college, I suddenly found myself landing a year-long apprenticeship at a luxury spa in Copenhagen. This came after the realization that architecture, which would require another six years in school, was something that, after tasting the freedom of travel, no longer felt possible.

A friend introduced me to the owner of Abby Beauty Cult, the name of the spa. From day one, I was mesmerized by her. I wanted to be in her orbit. She embodied everything I was drawn to; a connoisseur of art, a love of culture and all things French, impeccable style. She playfully said with a wry smile, “Anything but YSL itches.” I was hooked, even though I had only just learned what YSL meant…

She taught me a lot. Opinionated yet deeply kind, she opened a door into a world I hadn’t known existed. I ended up loving my time at ABC, especially the ritual of painting on people’s faces. It was a profoundly formative year. After my exam, she pulled me aside and told me she had taken a liking to the way I did make-up, and suggested I go to the Christian Chauveau School of Make-up in Paris. I jumped at the opportunity, never to look back.

I look at this young woman now with so much tenderness. You can see her experimenting with her make-up and hair in ways she never had before, quietly coming into herself. Looking at this photograph, I sense that part of her already knew she was stepping onto an adventurous and creative path, while another part had absolutely no idea where it would lead, let alone that a world of fashion shoots and professional make-up artistry even existed.
But she finds out. She adapts. She finds her footing, loving the creativity, the collaborations, the artistry, the travel.
She soon realizes that make-up holds power, and that by helping whoever sits in her chair look their best, she can also be of service. Women who may have arrived hesitant, uncomfortable in their own skin or feeling unworthy, would leave lighter somehow, transformed not only by a few enhancements but by being truly seen. What began as creative play slowly became something deeply meaningful.
Years later, working more and more with “real women,” not just models, that meaning deepened even further.

At the same time, another realization emerged. The products I carried in my kit contained ingredients more suited to maintaining a car than nurturing human skin, yet they were quietly incorporated inside products labeled beauty, a truly horrifying discovery.

There was a clear correlation between the skin issues so many models suffered from and the products all of us make-up artists were using daily. Seeing the short-term effects was alarming enough but imagining what a lifelong use might mean became impossible to ignore. That realization became the catalyst for launching Kjaer Weis, an organic beauty brand so pure one could technically eat it. (We once made cookies from our lipstick formulation, simply adding eggs and sugar.)

An alternative was possible. And with it, a new understanding of what True Beauty could be, was born.

Sliding door moment or destiny? Perhaps they are the same thing. All I know is this path has always felt deeply mine and still does, creative, inspiring, purposeful, at times challenging, yet with much more to come.
And somehow, looking at her now, I think she knew.

April brings with it the very first signs of life reawakened, of rebirth after everything seemingly died the previous fall, closed shop, shut down, hidden from plain sight beneath a frozen surface for months. And then here it is. It re-enters our world with a soft knocking at first, then louder and louder, not invasive, but eager, almost joyful. It arrives wrapped in a memorable explosion of pink, white, yellow, and the lightest green. Textures and shapes on end, and more beauty than one can quite fathom.

Spring carries a quiet potency, a renewed sense of optimism. As the poet John O’Donohue reflects, the renewal of the earth can remind us that nothing essential within us is ever truly lost. I find that deeply beautiful.

Did you ever play the game of “what if” when you were younger? What if you could only pick one vegetable to eat for the rest of your life, what would it be? (I picked potatoes.) Or what if you could only experience one season for the rest of your life? Spring, without hesitation. I remember imagining traveling the world in pursuit of it, starting in Japan for the cherry blossoms in their full expression, then moving on to the US, and ending in Scandinavia. Experiencing that same fresh, giddy energy again and again. Heaven, really, though I never pursued it.

I’m not entirely sure where this love of spring comes from. Perhaps it began with growing up in Denmark, with its long, dark winters. Maybe that contrast instilled a kind of childlike giddiness for the return of light, for witnessing spring do its quiet magic.

There’s a wonder to it. A soft, almost bubbling jubilation expressed in plants and trees, as if they can’t wait to emerge in their most precious outfits, no hand-me-downs in sight, everything new and crisp. Sometimes even accompanied by a fragrance so delicate it feels like a secret. And then the birds, chirping as if in celebration, as though this might be their favorite season too.

To me, it all feels like the butterflies in your stomach, as a child on Christmas Eve, that moment when the realization settles in, it’s actually here. And the instinct to savor it, fully, before it slips away.

Spring feels like a return to lightness, not only around us, but within us. A rekindling of our inner light, of faith, perhaps even a quiet certainty, one expressed so effortlessly in nature and its unwavering rhythm, something we can lean into. To me, spring is a reminder of regeneration, both in the world around us and within ourselves, an invitation to begin again, no matter what came before. What a gift to receive, every year.

Much darkness is being unmasked. Our understanding of life, so far, is being challenged, turned on its head to the point where the brazen reality lands like a shock to our system, slowly getting absorbed, in disbelief, and at times, crushing to our core. How have we been living inside this theatre play, never fully seeing the string masters hiding in plain sight?
I believe it is because we, humankind, at our core, are rooted in goodness. Without a doubt, that is our foundation and it runs deep. Think of the people around you: individuals anchored in love, empathy, kindness, respect, and a genuine desire for one another to flourish. The kind of psychopathy we are now uncovering, has not been within the realm of our experience. We have measured ourselves and the people around us as a baseline for how humanity conducts itself, our moral compass switched on, so from that perspective, how can we blame ourselves? We may have been fooled, but that is not the same as being fools.

And what if the enormous duality of this moment is what we have collectively called in, without consciously knowing it? What if this pivotal juncture in history is actually humanity’s deepest self, rising up, demanding clarity, transparency and truth, having intuitively known that so much around us has been out of alignment, out of order with what is natural and good. Not just a little off. Inverted.

Think of farming, an area very close to my heart. In its original intelligence, it is organic, pure and miraculous. Nothing added, nothing forced, just life, expressing itself in its gift to us, through the frequency of crops bursting with vitality, nourishing us the way nature always intended. And yet, it requires a certification, a complicated process of approval, simply to confirm its natural essence.
Conventional farming, on the other hand, covered with toxic chemicals to prevent other living creatures from consuming it, is deemed perfectly safe for us to eat ourselves… No certification, nor explanation required.

Or consider the sky. The wonderous blue, now often laced with long white trails that spread, thin, and settle into a milky haze. Geoengineered spraying programs that filter and block the very sunlight that sustains us, acknowledged at local government levels, including in my own town, without the weight of announcement that such a revelation deserves. The single greatest source of life, intelligence and energy available to us, freely, unconditionally, every single day, is being deliberately obscured. Not by weather. Not by nature. By choice.

Two examples out of many.

To me, this is a call. A call to deepen our spiritual activism, to take up more space in the light than ever before, more determined, more alive, more anchored in our Divine essence. In the powerful residence of love inhabited in both men and women. Do not be fooled by its presumably soft title. This is not a passive force, this represents authentic power, the place where sovereignty lives, where healthy boundaries are sacred, where a simple “no” is a complete sentence. And where righteous anger doesn’t get corrupted by the corruption we witness, but is alchemized into something fiercer, igniting us to stand firmer, act truer, solidified in the most powerful energy of all: Love.

If that feels too impossible and the question whispers, what difference can I possibly make? The answer is not to meet darkness with more darkness. That path leads nowhere new. It is Love, and more Love, quietly, persistently, stubbornly offered, that will eventually dissolve what fear has built.
Let it ripple outward from you, in whatever way you are called, through the fabric of your daily life, because nothing is too small. Let your kindness rise just a little higher in volume. Hold the door. Offer a compliment. Ask the question you would normally swallow. Move through the world from your sovereign self.

Love in action holds profound power. And if enough of us can keep our hearts open, truly, stubbornly, radiantly open, we, as a collective, can create a tipping point. I believe that the old ways, the fearful ways, the inverted ways, can be replaced. With harmony.

I genuinely do.

What if it was sensorial, a feeling, something that happens between the lines? The intangible, that when experienced, feels surprisingly profound.
What if living in awareness of beauty, allowing it to become an inner sanctuary, could bring genuine value to our lives? Bringing presence and meaning into what we have presumed mundane. Offering depth and worth where, by habituation, we have glazed over and kept looking outward, far beyond ourselves.

I think it begins with awareness. Awareness of the intrinsic beauty within habitual things.
The perfect shape of one’s favorite coffee cup, and how its presence offers an unspoken ritual, gracefully. The patina of a piece of jewelry passed down through generations, the warmth it provides as you contemplate the lives it has witnessed, the family members who wore it before you, and how it extends a subtle sense of safety and continuity. Or genuinely feeling the beauty of your partner sensing your mood, offering a hug before you even knew you needed it. That awareness creates the opportunity to gently shift our focus from the matters, small or large, that endlessly play themselves out in our minds. It does not make them disappear, but it places them on an imaginary shelf, where they are acknowledged, yet not in charge.
I think we unconsciously know when we are touched by beauty. Our hearts are moved, sometimes only for a second, but the experience opens a doorway to grace. The intersection between the physical and the spiritual. A doorway to wholeness.

I listened to a conversation with the Irish poet John O’Donohue on the inner landscape of beauty. He recited Meister Eckhart, the 13th-century mystic: “There is a place in the soul that neither time nor flesh, nor any created thing can ever touch… a place in you that nobody has ever reached, that no one has ever damaged or diminished.”
O’Donohue continued by speaking of the serenity and tranquility within each of us, and how beauty assists us in entering that tranquility as often as we can. It is within everyone.
That resonates deeply with me. I believe beauty, practiced as attention, offers us the possibility of a richer life. A way of slowing down. Of embracing the mundane as ritual. Of softening what feels habitual or monotone through greater awareness, and through that awareness, greater connection.

Perhaps beauty is not something we need to seek out or strive toward. Perhaps it is something we return to. A quiet remembering. A gentle shift in perception. And maybe that is enough, to simply notice, and to let what we notice move us.

Intuition has been my lifelong companion, my inner compass, my closest ally throughout my life. Even before I knew what to call it or understood where it “came from,” it was there, limitless in its reserve if I paid attention, always guiding, clearing the path further when I followed its lead, and patiently waiting when I let my mind overrule its clear direction out of fear or a misguided sense of conformity.

This is a love letter to that part of myself that never left, and now lives in humble confidence that comes from having tested intuition against life and watched it keep showing up, time and time again.

Intuition, if recognized at all, is most often filed under a soft attribute, despite its immense power. A concept unable to be measured in a linear fashion, doesn’t line up neatly in black and white on an Excel spreadsheet, nor does it have the ability to be patented, or I trust it would have been incorporated into mainstream life and business long ago. And that, in fact, is its beauty and its quiet power.

It stands firm in confidence. It whispers where the brain often shouts. It waits patiently, understanding that neither decision-making or speed has any inherent value if it isn’t rooted in connection or direction. On the contrary, intuition holds the wild nature, the untamed, uncontrollable energy of the divine feminine that we all inhabit, men and women alike, confidently rooted in the heart, leaving the brain, in all its brilliance and majesty, as a precision instrument of its guidance, if we let it.

And why is that so hard to do? Because so much emphasis in our lives is placed on taking information from the outside; our upbringing, education, culture, allowing that steady stream of external input to become our primary compass for living. All while carrying this magnificent fractal of the Divine within us, a fractal connected to the all-knowing, a much higher vantage point for any question we could possibly muster. Yet its intangible nature often leaves many of us choosing safety and rationality, repeatedly overruling that inner feeling, or relying on historic data that gives the mind a sense of security, while disallowing the internal inspiration the unknown jump, that calls for our full wingspan to be expressed.

So how do we connect, or reconnect, with our intuition when it was never truly gone? Through silence. Through allowing ourselves a new, internalized way of listening. Through learning how it speaks to you. It may come as instant emotion, a visual, or as a quiet sense of knowing. For me, practice has been everything, like flexing a muscle over a lifetime and I’ve come to understand that my body knows long before my brain has a chance to argue.

Recently, I read a piece by Dr. Zach Bush where he speaks about how inflammation in the cells can mute intuition. Imagine that, and how it makes absolute sense when we view ourselves as a holistic system: mind, body, and spirit, none of it separate. When one system is inflamed, it affects the others. It puts into perspective how what we feed ourselves matters not only for our physical wellbeing, but also for the dimming or strengthening of our inner, steady companion.

We are powerful beyond our wildest understanding. We carry an internal intelligence that operates around the clock, teaching us to trust ourselves, no fees attached. That, to me, is a thing of beauty.

I have an artistic temperament, and for as long as I can remember, beauty has had a profound impact on me in a way that feels almost sacred. I don’t experience it only as an idea, but as something physical—anywhere from an ache in the chest to a kind of joyful reverence. There is often a longing in it, too, as though beauty points toward something just beyond my grasp.

Certain things create this feeling immediately: a piece of art or design made with devotion, the silence of nature, the lines of a building shaped by care. And, unexpectedly perhaps, the gentleness of a kind heart. These encounters sometimes feel like being touched by something extraordinary, or perhaps simply a gift of wonder.

For years, working within the fashion and beauty industry, I often felt a subtle unease that took time to understand. I was surrounded by individuals of physical beauty, by objects of elegance and craftsmanship, and I honor that world deeply. Yet I often sensed that beauty was being asked to remain light, momentary, and visible, while the kind of beauty that moved me most was quieter and inward. Not separate from what I saw around me, but going deeper, asking for more time, more reverence, and perhaps its own language.

Possibly this is why I’ve been reading, trying to understand my own devotion to beauty more clearly. In the words of philosopher Roger Scruton, beauty is “an ultimate value, something we pursue for its own sake.” He places it alongside truth and goodness, and when I read that, something in me settled. It named what I had felt but never fully articulated.

We often say that beauty is in the eye of the beholder, and in many ways that feels true. And yet, there are moments when beauty seems to stand before us, undeniable. A sunset that stills us. A cathedral that lifts our gaze and quiets our thoughts. In those moments, I don’t feel as though I am choosing beauty; I feel chosen by it.

To be in the presence of beauty like this is to feel connected—to something larger, kinder, and more enduring than myself. It has the power to soften me, to realign my perspective, to keep me open when cynicism would be easier.

Beauty is power.

Not loud or forceful, but gentle and elevating.

A higher power felt rather than explained.

Prior to December, I was familiar with the term chemtrails, though I had never looked deeply into it. I live in the country and, on occasion during my walks, I would notice the sky crisscrossed with airline trails. It happened infrequently, which in theory would suggest that on certain days the local airport was unusually busy. That did not seem likely, yet I took no action and buried the thought under a mix of curiosity and healthy suspicion.

Then came one particular day in December. It was sunny and the sky was a brilliant blue. In the afternoon, while at home, I noticed an unusual number of white lines over our deck, crisscrossing in all directions like a chessboard. Curious, I got into my car to see if I could get a broader view, and indeed I could. All over our small town, the sky was marked with lines going in every direction, some fresh and thin, others already spreading, slowly creating an ever-expanding cloud cover. I found a high vantage point where I could clearly see what appeared to be two planes flying back and forth, leaving white trails behind them that eventually closed over the sun. Just like that, the sky shifted from clear to cloudy.

The entire spectacle felt deeply off. Wanting some explanation, I decided to go to our small local town hall.

The first person I spoke with was the town clerk. I explained that I was hoping to speak with someone who could clarify what was going on with the airplane activity. She replied matter of fact, “You mean the chemtrails?” Surprised, I asked, “You are aware of this?”

“Yes, it’s awful,” she said. I followed up by asking what the town was doing about it.

“Nothing,” she answered. “We can’t do anything. It’s in the hands of the federal government.”

She suggested I speak with the First Selectman down the hall. He was in a meeting, so instead I spoke with his secretary and shared the same concern. She echoed the same response: “You mean the chemtrails?” Again, I expressed my surprise that she seemed so familiar with the concept, yet also confirmed there was nothing they could do. Like the clerk, she said the matter fell under the federal government’s authority. I replied, “Isn’t that what small communities have representatives for? And if this is indeed chemical trails, it affects us all”. She acknowledged this and simply said, “It’s horrible.”

I left town hall perplexed, with the words “awful” and “horrible” ringing in my ears. I went home and began researching.

It has been a month of discovery, spanning everything from the most sinister interpretations to the suggestion that it is all nothing more than condensation trails. Yet it seems that nearly everyone, from government officials to insistent critics, agrees on one thing: geoengineering is real. Where there is little agreement is on the extent and implications of it. I will leave further research to you, should this subject interest you, as there is no shortage of material to explore. All I can say with certainty is that endless trails from low flying planes crisscrossed our small town in a way that felt entirely unnatural, ultimately covering the sun and transforming a bright day into a gray haze. Why? I would truly like to know.


That said, I do not expect to receive an answer. Instead, I have come to the conclusion that from this point forward, all I am interested in is Truth, nothing else. No half-truths or lies, no off the wall conspiracies or cover ups, no gray zones. No truth rooted in tribal opinions, rigid beliefs, rumors, or assumptions.

I am speaking of Truth with a capital T, the kind one feels when standing before a breathtaking sunset or a miraculous full moon. A truth that exists beyond the human mind and cannot be captured in words because it lives beyond spoken language. A truth so honest and real that it touches invisible strings within us, connecting us to something larger, where even a brief experience of it dissolves the need for outside answers. This truth does not come from people in power, perceived experts, or external authorities. It is a truth that must be found within. It is the cultivation of inner knowing, the practice of listening to one’s heart, and the strengthening of that muscle to previously undiscovered depths. It is a truth that does not seek to be right, only to be felt, and it carries no agenda beyond goodness.

And how beautiful it is to take this experience, truthfully just one of many in recent years, of realizing the world is not what I once thought it was and allow that realization to become a catalyst for turning inward even more. To move closer toward that quiet and unbreakable space of connection. To further, master the art of listening. To understand deeply that the all-knowing resides within us. This may sound like defeatism or cynicism, but it is quite the opposite. To me, it is truly a thing of beauty, a profound reminder of my true essence, my God given sovereignty, and the understanding that this is an inside job, not an outside expectation.

What signifies a year well lived? Are there any rules or criteria that need to be met, any number of new discoveries, or is it a case of our own perception?
Do we personally get to conclude for ourselves? I trust we do. Truthfully, how could it be otherwise. We are all sovereign human beings, perceiving experiences through our own, consistently expanding, unique lens, and from that perspective, I believe for many of us at years end, we discover that the seemingly unruly chess pieces fall into place.
Perhaps the bigger picture we could not see in January or April, when we were in the midst of challenging and unwanted ordeals, now makes sense. In hindsight, we might even realize that the experiences clearly happened for us, not to us, and they brought in new shades and textures to our life’s tapestry, a roundness and added depth to our being, or new prospects that at this point we could not imagine being without. In fact, we might even file them under appreciatory growth.

Perhaps our heart expanded. Perhaps gratitude holds a whole new meaning, or perhaps trusting the process got elevated to a new status, all brilliant inventory for the new year that lies ahead. Or perhaps the opposite holds true, nothing makes sense, we cannot wait to turn the page on New Year’s Eve, and though January 1st theoretically is just another day, symbolically it holds the closing of a chapter we cannot wait to move on from, with exhausted, yet great anticipation of a fresh, new year.

Either way, a lifetime will inevitably bring a cornucopia of experiences, and we will look back at certain years with joy and gratitude, and others with hesitant acceptance.

Personally, in addition to my continuous desire for each year pushing my personal growth, what age has taught me, is that my perception expands in parallel.
At this point, a year well lived does not require big settings or adventures, instead with glorious age I have learned that a memorable year very much resides in the seemingly mundane. The joy of a pink sunrise behind the trees in our garden, memorable conversations and belly laughs with old friends, the joy of a book that stays with you, weeks after putting it down, the childlike excitement of serving homegrown vegetables, or gratitude for the bursts of creativity that seemingly come out of nowhere.

Happy New Year!
2026, here we go, lets make it a year well lived.

This past week I visited my old pal, as I do monthly. It was early morning, the sun was rising, traffic was smooth, I was listening to my playlist and hitting Bach’s, Air on a G String as I passed underneath the George Washington bridge, I turned it up and sailed down the westside highway, feeling blessed beyond words. It was like the memories of all these many years collided from all directions - the bonkers, brilliant, invigorating and also challenging ones, all compiled together in a smorgasbord of emotions. Above all: gratitude.

New York has been so good to me, so formative to the person I am today. I often think, I couldn’t have done it without you!
The city has a reputation of being tough, even ruthless, and while that exists, it has never been my dominant experience, on the contrary. I have felt embraced and supported through thick and thin, in fact from the first day, the city has felt as much mine as anybody else’s, an accomplishment for a metropolis this size, most cities leave you feeling like a guest.

New York brought more culture and experiences into my life than I could have ever imagined, more connections with people from all walks of life, more incredible, lifelong friendships. It showed me a version of humanity where people simply coexist despite their cultural and religious differences.
It gave me the courage to start my own business, gently nudging when I hesitated, its entrepreneurial backbone holding me up when I doubted, confirming, I’ve got you.

I love this city, I always will. Its’ complex beauty and unmistakable energy - I will never tire of them. Yet in the end New York became like the best meal I could have ever tasted, but I was full, unable to eat another bite.

Now it feels fantastic to be in nature and I am grateful for the opportunity to occasionally visit, to experiene again what I used to call my “NY moments”. This time was no different, the city happily embracing me, all decked out in its December best.
New York, thank you. You are indeed A Thing of Beauty.

I wasn’t familiar with Thanksgiving yet because it wasn’t a holiday I grew up with, but it didn’t take long to love it. When I moved to the US for the first time as an au-pair at 19, I experienced the tradition with the family I was staying with. It felt just as magical as the movies depicted.

The simple message, anchored in giving thanks, never stops being important, even for those of us who opt out of a turkey.

I have so much to be grateful for and I feel the power of having its presence, part of my day to day, especially when things aren’t going the way I planned or would prefer. We are all so attached to what could have been or what should be, finding it hard to even recognize the actual presence every moment holds. A reminder of the many, many things that are going right I find, gives a healthy and humbling perspective, with a simple change of outlook, a mountain of impossibility can turn into a temporary bump in the road and it creates empathy.
The mind is transformational.

I have a practice that I call my 5G’s, my 5 Gratitudes. It works for me, sets the tone for the day and provides a healthy amount of genuine humility. In addition to that, studies show that gratitude carries a vibrational frequency of 540 MHz, equal to the frequency of Love. Imagine bringing that energy into the world on a daily basis and practicing holding on to it throughout the day. Not only does it make a difference in my life, and my mood, but it also brings a very different frequency to the others in my orbit. It is an invisible but powerful energy exchange.

This Thanksgiving, I will light our home with candles, spend time with loved ones, cook and take walks in nature. And I am certain to catch a glimpse of those floating giants that take me back to my wide-eyed youth. All in the spirit of giving thanks.

Despite all the adversity in the world, there is so much goodness to be found on a micro level; our family, friends, community. It becomes more clear to me every day that everything is held together by an invisible string.

It’s hard to think of something more beautiful than nature when she is shedding her leaves. What’s actually an end-of-life process feels magical, as if the leaves are determined to leave us in awe. Fall nudges us to slow down and take notice of another year winding to an end.

I’m reminded how much the human spirit is innately connected to nature, and I contemplate our universe—its vastness and how everything is intricately strung together. I once saw a quote that read something like, “The forest is my church.” This resonated with me. I surely worship at its altar. It is my spiritual nourishment.

I didn’t grow up with organized religion. My parents had apprehension toward it. Their experience of it was often one of judgment, and I believe that because of this, they encouraged a moral compass that came from the heart—a simple yet foundational teaching: “Do unto others as you would have them do unto you,” combined with an understanding that there is “something bigger out there.” Something we can’t explain.

That “something bigger” was of great interest to me from a young age, and I would seek solitude in what we called gammel haven (“the old garden” in Danish) at our farm—a small, almost enclosed garden with tall trees like columns in a circle. There was nothing but tall grass in the middle and a circular, carved-out bike lane etched by us kids riding our bikes endlessly. In the gammel have, it was calm and majestic.
Just enough sun would peek through the top, and this “peep hole” became my gateway to “something bigger out there.” I would dream and feel observed by whatever energy I was certain I was in the presence of. It was a sense of connectedness.

The beauty, design, and ingenuity found everywhere in our natural world reveal a truth: life is delicately balanced and brilliantly engineered with everything it needs to sustain itself. From the squirrels to the snails, we all play a role. We are all participants in a collective “something bigger”—the grand scheme.

For me, this instills a sense of comfort and trust. Even in uncertainty and chaos, the sun will rise, the seasons will change, and things will begin anew.
Even departed leaves serve their purpose long after they are gone—decomposing into rich organic matter that enriches the soil and gives young seedlings nutrients and protection. In nature, even death has beauty and purpose. It’s as if everything is conspiring for our good, even when we can’t see it.

Wherever you find your sanctuary this season, nurture it. Just standing among tall trees mid-transformation can provide healing, strength, and perspective. I know they still have the power to help us simultaneously get lost and guide us back home.

When I reflect on Beauty and its multifaceted meanings, I believe it adds immense value to our lives. But its meaning has been widely misunderstood, minimized and industrialized to create the kind of dissatisfaction that undermines our very nature.

More than an idealized standard, beauty is a state of being, felt through the human senses. It’s not something we are supposed to idolize in its current narrow and manufactured state, it is a deeper sense of truth, woven into the very fabric of our existence. Beauty is an experience we are supposed to live.

Beauty is being present and immersed in a moment, and beyond being observed, it is to be felt. This explains how a letter, a song, a historic building or a painterly sunset has the power to move you. Moments of joy and peace, experienced when you open your eyes to the world around you, proof that beauty, love and truth are inextricably linked.

Welcome.

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