"Roots, Rest, Grief, and Death" - One Creative's Chorus
I’m drawn to patterns. I’ve read that it’s not just me—our brains are wired to seek them out—and that tracks because this fascination has been a constant in my life. Patterns are part of what compels me to write about how I’m shifting. I’m slowing down and savoring the way I work, and this shit is way lighter on my brain and my spirit than my former, fast-ass ways.
Over the years, I’ve experienced the full range of financial realities as an entrepreneur. There were times when I felt the pressing need to create, to produce something that could generate income quickly. But there were also times when I was driven by something else—by intellectual curiosity or spiritual inquiry—creating from a place of cosmic obedience and passion rather than solely necessity.
In my 20s, 30s, and even early 40s, I would often burn through the night, sacrificing sleep to stay laser-focused on launching a course, collaborating on a project, or meeting a freelance writing deadline. I was undeniably creating impact. People would tell me how much my work moved or helped them, and sometimes the words would flow effortlessly. Alongside my own blogging, I worked with a range of editors—some incredible, some mid. One of the incredible ones would later become my short-term literary agent (shout out to Nick Chiles!) and helped me birth my most recent book. But despite all these genuine connections and heartfelt impacts, I couldn’t seem to crack the pattern that kept me from translating that energy into consistent financial stability.
From 2012 to 2015, life felt like a whirlwind of upheaval. We became nomads, not because we wanted to, but because we had to. Once both of us stepped fully into self-employment, we weren’t generating enough income for the kind of stability two people raising children need. So we packed up and traveled, spiritual and emotional resources aplenty, financial resources not so much. Our journey eventually brought us back to Jamaica, where my partner and I are from. Living there for half the year became a vital financial strategy. We could move with the seasons, traveling in the off-season when flights, short-term housing rentals, and real food were still within our li’l rinky-dink budget.
By 2016, when I launched my podcast, I felt a new rhythm begin to emerge. It was subtle, but it was there. Over the nearly 300 episodes, the show brought more impact and attention—people began inviting me to speak about the intersection of liberation work and parenting. Slowly, damn near imperceptibly, a path opened. One listener, in particular, became a vital part of that shift. She had benefited from my work and had the resources to offer support.
She came through like a force of nature, machete in hand, cutting away the dense overgrowth I had been chipping at for years but could never quite clear. That’s when the soil beneath the foundations of what I now call Savorism began to soften and take root.
