I’m Janet. I’m a writer, a psychotherapist, and a woman with significantly more interests than available flat surfaces to hold the supplies. At first glance, it might look like a collection of scattered hobbies. But to me, these interests are like strands of yarn—seemingly separate, but constantly weaving together to make me whole. Each one directly expands my ability to be a better artist, a deeper writer, and a more present therapist. It is all one continuous practice of paying attention.

I’ve been around long enough to have started over a few times. Along the way, I’ve had to gently reconsider a lot of things I once knew for certain. I have known profound loss, completely changed professions, and discovered that understanding exactly why we do something doesn’t automatically stop us from doing it again. Which, admittedly, is occasionally inconvenient for a therapist.

My obsession with psychology, philosophy, and spirituality comes down to a basic curiosity about being alive. What shapes us? What do we actually owe one another? And who decided how a woman should look, behave, age, or take up space? I’m interested in what we inherit from the people before us—and what we might finally choose to stop passing along. But look, I also reserve the right to break up the heavy existential questions with an essay about an exceptionally irritating customer satisfaction survey.

Books are a massive part of how I figure things out. I’ll be sharing recommendations and reviews here—the stuff that held my attention, made me think, or left me arguing out loud after closing the cover. To me, admiring a book and fiercely disagreeing with its author are perfectly compatible activities.

Then there’s painting, which makes me a little giddy. I love color, texture, light, and that rare, split-second moment when something on the canvas actually starts to work. I’m still very much learning. Some days I make something I genuinely love; other days I just produce a remarkably nuanced shade of mud. Crochet gives me a similar kind of peace. I love the weight of the yarn, the repetition, and the basic satisfaction of watching a physical object take shape. Granted, I’m still a beginner, so the final shape is rarely the one specified in the pattern.

When I need to get out of my own head, I head outside. I love hiking, being near water, and walking through woods where absolutely nobody needs me to explain anything. I’m drawn to old trees, moss, stone, and the kind of trail that makes you wonder what’s around the next bend. Though, practically speaking, remembering where I parked the car is also a useful part of the process.

Food is another anchor for me, mostly because of the company. Tony and I spend a lot of our time going out to restaurants with friends, cooking for people at home, or happily accepting invitations to pull up a chair at someone else's table. In my kitchen, recipes are treated as loose suggestions. I substitute ingredients constantly, shift things to vegetarian or vegan, work around gluten and dairy, and occasionally stumble into something so delicious I immediately regret not writing down what I did. Expect a mix of recipes here, alongside restaurant discoveries and meals worth talking about.

Travel does the same thing for my perspective. Not long ago, I went to Iceland with my sister and niece. It was breathtakingly stark—all geysers, fjords, volcanic rock, massive fields of ice, and vastly more sheep than actual humans. The people we met had a fascinating way of looking at the world. I suspect that when you live on an island capable of completely rearranging its own landscape without consulting you first, you develop a certain level of perspective. I came home with packed memory cards, plenty of stories, and ideas I’m still chewing on. I’ll share those pieces here, along with past travels and wherever we head next.

Back at home, Tony and I share our space with Shiva and Shakti, our Siamese littermates. They provide a lot of affection, great companionship, and an aggressive amount of interference whenever I try to do computer work. They have their own dedicated page on this site because I have clearly lost all control of the editorial process.

Ultimately, this website is just a place for all these intertwined pieces of my life to meet. The paintings, the essays, the books I’m reading, the manuscript I’m writing, the things I’m making, and the meals worth remembering. Some of it is thoughtful. Some of it is funny. Much of it is entirely unfinished.

So am I. At this stage of life, I’d be a little worried if I weren't.