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When the extraordinary becomes Tuesday.

I’ve had a lot of dreams, the kind you spend years getting ready for. And recently, I’ve been thinking a lot about what happens after the dream. We spend so much time talking about how to manifest our dreams. Here’s what happens after you actually arrive, happiness doesn’t exist somewhere over the next mountain, in a new place, or inside a new version of yourself.

I’ve lived versions of life that looked extraordinary from the outside. I’ve sat in rooms I once thought meant I’d made it. I’ve had access, experienced luxury, traveled the world seven-star style, and I’ve also traveled across North America in my pickup truck experiencing freedom firsthand.

Dreams eventually become Tuesday. So here I am living out another dream in a cabin in the woods, and as I write this, funny enough, it’s Tuesday.

Over the past six years I’ve been on a solo journey learning who the fuck she is. The pickup truck adventure was a wild one. It forced me to become a highly adaptable, independent, tough human with what felt like superhuman capabilities, but that’s an entire chapter for another article.

Somewhere along the way, she stopped being someone I was trying to become and became someone I could finally get to know.

I’ve been listening to the little girl inside of her. Forgiving the versions of herself that were only doing their best with what they had. Learning how to love the woman she is today. Shedding identities, cities, relationships, and expectations.

I don’t believe in luck or coincidences. How’d she do that? Maybe she’s born with it, maybe it’s the fairy dust, maybe it’s the unwavering belief that everything she wants is possible, or maybe she simply lost all her fucking fucks, more than she even knew she had, and went for it.

Every time I think, “that’s the last of my fucks,” another one falls off on the trail.

The dream starts as an idea, then you imagine possibilities, then refine and make decisions, do a shit ton of work, and poof babydoll it’s your reality. Now, I’m living in a cabin in the woods, growing a giant garden, and living inside another manifestation.

It’s wild reflecting because literally it goes from day dreaming about it, through a time warp and before you know it, you’re standing in the middle of it wondering how something that once felt so distant, impossible even now feels completely normal.

But arriving somewhere isn’t the same thing as becoming fulfilled. We adapt, and we’re remarkably good at normalizing what once felt extraordinary. The life you spent years trying to create eventually becomes Tuesday.

That’s exactly why life keeps handing us contrast. Contrast is life sauce. It’s part of what makes being human so beautiful. Without contrast, there is no expansion. Once we adapt to the familiar view, we naturally begin looking toward the horizon again. Not because we’re ungrateful, but because we’re alive.

My garden has become my greatest teacher. I know everyone says that, but I actually have examples. Everything growing in it depends on relationship, the soil, the rain, fungi beneath the ground, pollinators drifting from flower to flower. Nothing in my garden thrives entirely on its own. Even the weeds are responding to everything around them, and we aren’t any different.

Doing everything alone eventually lacks something that seems fundamental to the human experience: amplification. The last six years have taught me that I can build a beautiful abundant life on my own. I’m independent AF, and I’m never bored. But what if abundance and independence aren’t the final destination? What if they’re the foundation?

We know what we know. We know what we don’t know. But then there’s this vast territory of things we don’t even know exist. The most interesting parts of life aren’t hidden, they’re emergent. A forest isn’t a tree, it’s an ecosystem.

The real power of co-creation exists in relationship, whether that’s through love, friendship, community, nature, or collaboration, because relationship expands the field. It poses questions we may never have thought to ask. It reveals things we couldn’t have seen on our own. Relationship introduces contrast, ideas, experiences, and dreams to enter dimensions we simply don’t have the keys to access alone.

That’s the real power of co-creation. Alone, our thoughts compound. Together, possibilities compound.

Tuesday is always going to be Tuesday.

I’ll be over here sprinkling fairy dust on mine.