The world feels loud. Work is slow. But I still walk. A reflection from the ground up about quiet resistance, freelance life, and movement as a way to stay alive.

Even as a Trojan, I couldn’t ignore the feeling that hit me while walking UCLA’s campus the future Olympic Village for LA28. Between statues of John Wooden and Jackie Robinson, and signs that said Walk Your Wheels, I felt a quiet invitation to witness something bigger than sport. The Olympics are coming to LA. The question is: what version of ourselves will we be showing the world?

Even when the curriculum is heartbreak and the final exam is faith, I’m still here. Still learning. Still showing up. This one’s for anyone walking it in real time.

They called me relentless like that was supposed to sting. But silence and small moves are how I’ve rebuilt everything. If you knew how much power lived in every mindful step, you’d be relentless too.

Some quotes don’t need context. Just clarity. This one is for the unbreakable, the misread, and the quietly powerful. I don’t fold and you don’t have to either.

The commercial divers exhibit at the Maritime Museum wasn’t just a display, it was a portal into a world of extraordinary strength, danger, and legacy. Seeing the gear they wore, the weights they carried, and the environments they worked in was humbling. It made me reflect on how the infrastructure we benefit from today was quite literally built under pressure.

These divers weren't just brave-they were foundational! Their contributions helped create underwater infrastructure that supports our daily lives. As a diver myself (nowhere near their level), I can only imagine the physical and mental strength it took to do what they did.

Their tools were heavy. Their risk was high. Their impact was lasting. And they reminded me: Work is honorable.

I saw a jellyfish imprinted in the concrete and it stopped me.
They don’t swim by force, they move with the current.
And maybe that’s the message: Even in the softest version of myself, I still carry light. Surrender isn’t weakness. It’s wisdom.

A quiet walk beneath the largest bell in Korean history. Reflections on legacy, presence, and how peace, like grief, like strength, can echo far beyond words.

While running through a quiet Griffith Park, Formie reflects on the emotional weight of recent ICE activity in Los Angeles. As a Mexican-American fitness coach, she shares how movement can be both a release and a form of resistance honoring community, grief, and strength.

I didn’t shrink, I compressed. I folded my fire to fit into spaces where people couldn’t handle heat. But this isn’t the season for explaining who I am. It’s the season for embodying it fully, unapologetically, and in motion.

A walk on Redondo Pier turns into an unexpected moment of inspiration. From fresh seafood to California’s first surfer, here’s to bold steps and bolder ideas.

Pulled from a visit to the Terminal Island exhibit at the Maritime Museum, this quote card honors the quiet strength of early morning movement, legacy, and presence. Some trained before the sun rose, not for praise, but for purpose. This one’s for them. And for those still walking in rhythm.

Same trail, same walk but the energy shifted. Watermelon for the squirrels, LAPD in the lot, and a reminder that even under tension, movement still matters.

What started as a simple journal entry turned into something bigger, something that reminded me of Ben Franklin. The way he tracked his virtues? I did that too, in high school, in my own way. It hit me that being thoughtful, intentional, and quietly curious… isn’t new. It’s in me. It always was.

Don’te confuse caution with smallness