In 2023, I took a creative pause from my work in urban planning, watched my youngest child leave for college, and fell in love with a 1970 Porsche 911T. That fall, I pointed the Blue Car west and set out on my first solo cross-country road trip—part travel, part reckoning, part reinvention.

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For three and a half months behind the wheel, the open road and unplanned days gave me space to think, feel, and notice what I’d been rushing past. I began writing every day. I carried my camera everywhere. What emerged were personal essays—rooted in place, motion, and memory—about solitude, courage, grief, joy, and the quiet work of beginning again. I launched Once in a Blue Car to share these stories, and my Blue Car essay debuted in Drivers Club Magazine soon after.

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The Blue Car is more than a vehicle—it’s a companion and a lens. Through it, I explore the choices we make, the pauses we resist, and the detours we never planned but somehow needed. My writing lives in the space between destinations: roadside moments, fleeting encounters, long drives, and the inner shifts that happen when we slow down enough to listen.

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If you follow along, you’ll find reflective essays, road-trip dispatches, and memoir-in-progress chapters that ask:

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• What happens when we stop performing and start paying attention?

• How do we move forward when the map is unclear?

• What does courage look like in ordinary, unglamorous moments?

Engaging with readers has confirmed something I believe deeply: shared stories make the road less lonely. They soften grief, steady us through change, and remind us that we are not the only ones wondering how to live all our life chapters well.  

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This space is for anyone navigating change, craving motion, or listening for what comes next.