I Believe… [Boundaries]
...that without a strong ethical boundary dictating your life decisions, the invitation to slippery slopes and relinquishing autonomy is a Hallmark card designed to disappear into the mud.
Notes from the Post-it Wall | Week of May 4, 2025
I wonder how long it’ll take this Southside Chicago Catholic pope to sell of the Vatican’s parking meters.

A Non-denominational Jew Weighs in on the Conclave and Catholic Leadership
Fr. Fred came off more as a hippie than a priest. He wore the collar, but other than that, you never would have guessed he was a man of the cloth. He was a small man, cute, even. His office was adorned with macramé plant holders and beanbag chairs and quilts. It felt like a new-age birthing center without the feminists.
I Believe… [Latest Version]
...that reinvention is not about becoming something you’re not—it’s about becoming the latest version of what you are.

You Are Not the Target. You’re Just the Background Noise
The world doesn’t need more judgment. It needs more awareness.
Notes from the Post-it Wall | Week of April 27, 2025
Acknowledging when you fuck up is as important as acknowledging when someone else fucks up. Difference is, you should be harder on yourself than you are on them.
I Believe… [It Becomes About Naps]
...that, as I continue down the path of time, it is sleep that seems most important and elusive.
Notes from the Post-it Wall | Week of April 20, 2025
Between the Blue Origin Failure of Feminism and JD Vance killing Pope Francis, I have not loved the internet this much since 1997 when I learned I could use it to find photos of a topless Cameron Diaz.

A Family Business the Murdochs and the Partridges Could Only Dream of
Since my brothers and I no longer fight on a weekly basis like bony Gallagher Brothers, and we’ve moved past our Mommy and Daddy Issues, I’m at a point where I think the Himmels should once again, come together and strike out on our own. The parts and people are already in place.
We’ll call it Himmel Family Planning. “The family built to help you build your family!” We have an expert to help facilitate and elevate every stage of the family lifecycle.
I Believe… [The Future Doesn’t Love You]
...that both hope and fear are just emotional hallucinations projected on a reality that doesn’t care. The future is a rabid dog. It doesn’t love you. It doesn’t hate you. It just bites.

The Futility of Relitigating the Past: Embracing Forward Momentum
The goal is to build upon past foundations, not to dwell within them.
Notes from the Post-it Wall | Week of April 13, 2025
Caryn is a much different person than Karen.
I Believe… [Leave the Past Where It Is]
...that religating the past is a Sisyphean task that distracts from the imperative of progress.

Gold-Plated Failure: Why Chasing Money Isn’t the Same as Succeeding at Life
If you find yourself quoting Gordon Gekko like he’s a life coach, go outside, hug a tree, and punch yourself in the throat.
Notes from the Post-it Wall | Week of April 6, 2025
I had a boy dog who peed like a girl dog. I now have a girl dog who pees like a boy dog. Gender is fluid. Just like pee.

To Be or Not to Be a Mother—Elizabeth Goes to the Theater
Two plays—one looking to the past, and the other to the future—descry the plights of former and potential mothers, respectively.
I Believe… [Excusing Evil]
...that the trend to create justification back stories for villainous characters is directly connected to our need to rationalize our own shitty behavior.

The Soul-Sucking Curse of Too Much Empathy
You’re not helping anyone—you’re just bleeding empathy in every direction like a sprinkler system built in hell.
Notes from the Post-it Wall | Week of March 30, 2025
Truly unique people are rarely celebrated until after they’ve died and can no longer disrupt the careful choreography of coolness.
I Believe… [Too Little Butter]
...that empathy is a limited and local resource. Expanding one’s desire to empathize with an increasing number of people spreads it thin like too little butter on too much bread.
The sign of a good relationship is a sore, slightly bruised pubic bone. (Heh, heh… bone…)