The deep work is only part of what helps. The rest is small. Breathing. Settling. Sitting with something instead of moving away from it. Getting comfortable being uncomfortable. Those small skills hold the bigger work up, and none of them cost anything.

So I wanted to make something for the woman who isn't ready for coaching, or can't spend the money on it right now. A mother of three who rarely gets an hour to herself. What she has is twenty minutes on a folding chair at soccer practice.

The world keeps getting faster, and that makes it harder to come down. You can't settle at that pace, and nobody hands you a slower one.

So: something she can put in a bag. Something she can do next to her kids, or on her own with the door shut. Not a program. Not a commitment. Colored pencils, a page, and twenty quiet minutes that belong to her.

Something to calm the noise. That's why it's called that.

And when I look at the pages now, half are places she could be. A porch. A hammock. A fire pit with friends. The other half she'll probably never go — a street in Mexico, a garden in Japan.

I didn't plan that. But it makes sense now. She may not be getting on a plane today. But she can go there for twenty minutes with her pencils.

Talk soon,

Christi