Life as Art. Food as Art.

Created with black rice, cucumber, pickled radish, ginger, seaweed, and WhereYouBean edamame beans.

The wonderful thing about creating art from food is that no two bowls are arranged the same way.

No two paths in life look alike either. We spend so much time and energy trying to fit a mold- the right credentials, the right job, the right way to show up. But the most nourishing thing you can offer the world isn’t a perfect template. It’s the distinct and specific combination of everything you care about, create, and keep returning to because it lights you up and makes you feel alive. That combination is yours alone- built from years of experience, pivoting, and following your curiosity.

No matter who you are or #whereyoubean, you have a unique skillset that no one else has. Harness it. Arrange it with intention. Offer it to the world in a beautiful way.

That’s the whole art.

**Made with Where You Bean roasted edamame. Get yours HERE.

Learning the Lessons.

Change Your Narrative, Change Your Life.

Are you piSTACHio’ing archaic storylines in your brain that no longer serve you, and allowing them to dictate your current decisions?

Here’s an effective exercise to break through your limiting beliefs:

In pencil, write down all the lies you believe about who you are/money/career/health/relationships. Be brutally honest with yourself. Leave space between each one.

Next, go back with a red pen. For every lie, there must be a corresponding truth. This will require thought and energy. Even if you don’t believe it yet, identify the truth and write it down.

For the next few days, read your list of lies, followed by its corresponding truth. During this pairing process, you’re retraining your brain through neurolinguistic patterning.

The next time the lie subconsciously comes up, your brain will recognize it and will automatically jump to the truth (YOUR TRUTH!).

The last step- take an eraser and erase the list of lies in pencil. All that remains are your truths in red.

Use these as a new roadmap moving forward. To change your life, change your narrative.

A Full-Circle Moment: 35th Annual Children's Book Illustrator Show

May this be a reminder to do things that would make your 11-year-old self proud.

I remember it clearly: I was eleven, standing in Sun Gallery, captivated by the original artwork on the walls and the authors and illustrators who stood beside it. I loved drawing and making my own little books, but seeing that level of artistry planted a seed. My mom and I returned every year through middle and high school, and each time she let me choose one book—always the one whose brushstrokes of watercolor, oil pastel, or pencil I had studied the longest.

Here I am at age eleven, with illustrator Yoriko Ito.

34 years later, I had the opportunity to experience this beautiful full-circle moment with my art featured on the walls of Sun Gallery’s Children’s Book Illustrators Exhibit. I am grateful for all the people who helped birth this book into the world, and for my mom who deliberately curated experiences that planted seeds and dreams as a child.

If you can hold it in your heart, you can hold it in your hands.

Sun Gallery’s exhibit featuring my work will run through May 23, 2026, located on 1015 E Street in Hayward, CA.

Post-op Day 3.

Day of surgery- s/p anterior total hip replacement

I’m fully embracing recovery and the slow rhythm of my days- ice for 30 minutes every hour, walk for 5 minutes every hour with my walker, stay on top of my pain meds, hydrate, eat, do my rehab exercises, and mainly rest. I’ve come to be incredibly grateful for the firsts post-op. My first shower. My first bowel movement. The first time I could put on socks by myself. My first visitor, who brightened my day with her arm full of puzzles, scar tape, a huge wooden bedside table, Nee-Doh for my hands to stay busy with, and a grabber stick. Having my mom here to anticipate my every need, cook/clean, keep track of my pain medication schedule, change out my ice machine, fill my water bottle for the umpteenth time, and wake up every two hours during the first few nights to make sure I didn’t fall making my way to the bathroom has been a huge blessing. I truly scored on the mom front, since she is a retired home health nurse. Recovery would have been impossible without her help.

Today I received an email inquiring about an older card design I’d made. It was a seasonal design, so I had removed it from my online shop. Since my energy has slowly been returning since Monday’s surgery, I replied that I could happily fulfill her order. I found myself watercoloring and hand-lettering this sweet blessing that was both timely and relevant for me and many others.

Whatever circumstance you may be facing- whether it’s a health crisis, losing a loved one, navigating a challenging career, or climbing your way out of an overwhelming financial situation- may you know God’s peace and presence in your life.

May you be happy.

May you be healthy.

May you be free of pain.

May you live in peace.

May your life be blessed with ease.

2026: More/Less.

This is my list for 2026. What do you want more of, and what do you want less of this year?

Ways to Calm A (Very) Nervous System.

Enjoying my last days of training before surgery.

Lift weights. Push really, really heavy things because it forces you to focus on your breath and put one foot in front of the other. Which is a solid metaphor for life when you’re navigating intense stuff and about to lose your mind. Put your phone on airplane mode. Pick up your favorite book- the one with dog-eared pages and sentences you’ve underlined. Let old, familiar words wrap themselves around you like a warm hug. Close your eyes, place your hand on your heart, and take a long, deep breath. Exhale deeply. Repeat three times. Wash your face with cool water, then hydrate your skin with jojoba oil and hyaluronic acid. Go outside on a crisp morning and watch the sunrise. Take pictures of the sky and be grateful you’re alive to witness the magic of the morning. Create before you consume. Find the watercoloring set you haven’t used in ages. Grab a blank sheet of paper, dip your thick paintbrush into the colors, and allow yourself to play on the page without judgment. Vacuum. Journal your scattered thoughts, anxieties, and worries on the page. Give them some place to call home that isn’t inside your head. Take a walk outside, even if it’s just to notice the color of the leaves, or the light streaming through the trees on a random Thursday morning. Run yourself a bath with eucalyptus spearmint epsom salts, and soak by candlelight while listening to that old album you loved in 2011. Drive to visit your old friend. The one who reminds you that you’ve survived every nightmare in your life and that you’ve made it through. Hug her tightly. Listen to the Giggly Squad podcast and find yourself laughing again. While you’re laughing, realize how lovely it is to laugh when life has felt so overwhelmingly heavy. If the task takes less than five minutes, just finish it now. Take social media off your phone. Learn to graciously ask for help. Learn to graciously receive help. Because we are human, and we need each other.

Growth.

Every year, I choose a word that acts as my theme. Last year’s word was BUILD. It was divided into five categories of focus: build my speaking skills, build my business, build my body, build my bank account, and build up others.

I completed Stage Academy and 11 months (so far) of Marie Forleo’s B-school. I sent out weekly handwritten notes of encouragement to important people in my life. I explored additional income streams to create diversity.

Even with all the setbacks and challenges I experienced with my hip, I am proud to say that I am the physically strongest I’ve ever been in my life. In the past year, I increased my hip thrust from 180 lbs to 360 lbs, I’m repping out weighted pull-ups and chest dips with a 25-lb plate around my waist, and I increased my bench press to 145 lbs. These numbers mean nothing to others, but to me, they represent my consistency and dedication to progressively overload week after week, month after month with the areas that I could control. I’ve iterated and adjusted exercises to fit what I could do (hello, box squats and sled pushes!). I’m incredibly proud of my progress.

Last year, instead of a single word, my friend Keely chose a color to symbolize the themes and energy she wanted to embody in 2025. I loved the playfulness of this piece of art she shared with me, with all the words that the color orange represented to her.

This year, I chose to do both. Pick a color and a word.

My 2026 color and word for the year.

In retrospect, the most intense and challenging chapters of my life have resulted in the most profound positive growth. Of course, when I was in the thick of huge transitions, life seemed overwhelming and difficult, but emerging from them, I was changed for the better. Growth requires patience. It’s often slow and done in the dark, but the blessings that emerge are beautiful and worthwhile. The color green evokes feelings of abundance, fertility, growth, wealth, and new beginnings.

The lemon leaves on the right side of this piece represent the sour and bitter moments I know I will need to endure, especially during my rehab and recovery period. But I hope they will be balanced out with the softness of the lamb’s ear leaves, and my ability to come back from this injury stronger/fitter/faster. Ivy represents the tenacity I’ll need to continue to climb and grow, clinging to the foundations I know I can rely on- my friends, family, and faith. Ferns symbolize a rich mixture of resilience, adaptation, new beginnings, and magic. All of which I welcome with open arms.

Do you have a word or a color for 2026?

Spaciousness.

Before we create, it first helps to clear.

At the start of the year, I was craving spaciousness. My mental and physical space felt messy and untidy. I was antsy, simply because I was surrounded by so many things that didn’t add value or ‘spark joy,’ in Marie Kondo’s words. This led to a week-long stint of deep decluttering. I donated clothes, books I had read before but no longer fit my current life chapter, shoes that were cute but uncomfortable, bike jerseys and helmets, pots and pans, and a ton of old art supplies that I knew I’d never use. I tossed old journals, photos, and worn-out clothes. I felt like a snake, shedding old skin that represented a former version of myself. I thanked that former self, but understood I needed to rid myself of it to emerge as a newly upgraded version.

Clearing things out allowed me to see everything that I owned. It was eye-opening just how many things were occupying my physical space that simply didn’t add value. Removing those created space for everything I cherished and loved and wanted to welcome into my home.

My mental space also needed a deep decluttering. I deleted all social media apps from my phone starting on January 1st. The difference was immediate. Now, my brain can finally breathe again. I’m no longer scrolling while waiting in line at the grocery store or during free moments between seeing patients. My nervous system is more regulated. Ideas have returned because I’m inviting boredom back into my life. Time slows down now, enough for creativity to plant its seeds in the fertile soil of my quiet and spacious mind. Without the onslaught of reels and dopamine hits and seeing into the intricacies of strangers’ lives whom I’ve never met on the internet, I now have the time and capacity to reflect and intentionally choose how to live my life.

With more spaciousness, I can begin to create from the center- starting with my theme of 2026. From that place, I can begin designing experiences and goals around that theme in ways that feel meaningful and deliberate.

I know this year will be filled with growth opportunities, sweet moments, challenges, and beautifully joyful memories. I hope to arrange everything that comes my way with grace, ease, humility, and patience.

It starts with clearing out space to create from a blank canvas. A tabula rasa, waiting to be filled with life’s art that has yet to unfold and be revealed.

Hope.

With everyone posting their highlight reels from 2025, this reinforced how 2025 was one of my most challenging years. I know pain like a roommate. It’s there when I wake up, when I walk, when I sit, when I sleep. It dictates where I go and what I do. It controls my decisions and what I physically can say yes or no to. It has humbled me more than anything else in life.

And yet, it has become my greatest teacher. I’ve started to look at pain as pure salt. I’ve learned that I can allow it to shrink my world so I am all-consumed by it, like a glass of salt water. Or, I can expand my sense of Self, and my perspective of life in general. Doing so allows me to embrace stillness, deepen my empathy, and better understand those living with chronic pain. My awareness and the amount of bitterness I taste depend on the container that I put it in. I can choose to be a cup or a lake.

I spotted this rainbow on my drive today—a huge symbol of hope. My surgery date is less than a month away, and I am counting down the days until I can resume my normal activities with more flow and ease. Nonetheless, I am grateful for everything this painful season has taught me and gifted me, and for the friends who have consistently stood (and sat) by my side with bright hope and a sense of possibility for what 2026 holds.

If you’re currently navigating a season of pain, know that you’re not alone. Take one day at a time. Or even one hour at a time.

The default mode in these challenging moments is to be a cup. Choose to be a lake.

Emerging from the Pain Cave.

People say love is complicated. I’ll argue that pain is, too. As athletes, we’re told to push past it, ignore it, or even seek it out. But this year, the pain cave I sought in endurance races became my home. I watched as my life slowly shrank as the activities I enjoyed doing outside became increasingly limited due to hip pain. I halted running. And then hiking, because stepping up or down sent shockwaves of pain through my left leg. It hurt to sit. I’d sleep in strange figure 4 positions. But when simply walking on flat surfaces aggravated my pain, I reached my breaking point mentally.

I needed answers, which is what we’re all seeking when grasping for relief. My MRI confirmed my worst fears, yet illuminated a clear, concrete path towards healing. I’m already looking forward to 2026 and being able to enjoy the parts of my life I’ve missed on a deep, visceral, physical, and emotional level.

Chronic pain makes it hard to feel joyful, creative, and positive. But now I understand how many of us deal with it daily. It’s a good reminder that we’re all navigating silent battles under the surface, so being extra kind to one another goes a long way.