What I do when I’m not proving anything

I keep seeing my work as a hobby.
And honestly? I can’t imagine it any other way.

I don’t say that to sound dreamy or detached.

I say it because what I do when I’m fully myself — writing, creating, offering quiet care to horses and dogs — doesn’t slot neatly into a system.

It doesn’t punch a clock. It doesn’t scale.

It’s the work I love.

Which also means: it rarely pays the rent on time.

So every now and then, I step sideways.

I take something small, part-time.

A “no brainer” job — one that doesn’t pull too hard on my nervous system.

The kind that lets me breathe while doing it.

Something just enough to cover what needs to be covered.

These aren’t the jobs that show up on LinkedIn with fancy titles. They’re not well-paid.

But they do something else: they protect my real work.

They give my mind space to stay clear and soft.

They keep me aligned, even in survival mode.

It’s a dance between what the soul knows and what the world requires.

Once, in the middle of a personal low, my holistic therapist said:

“I’m all for natural healing. But if you’re drowning in pneumonia, antibiotics are a sacred intervention.”

That sentence has stayed with me.

Because I believe in alignment. I believe in natural rhythms.

But I also believe in doing what needs to be done — with integrity.

Survival isn’t failure.
It’s adaptation.

And choosing a detour doesn’t mean you’ve lost your path — it means you’ve taken care of yourself along the way.

People sometimes ask,
“When are you going to grow up?”
And my honest answer?

What about never?
I’m not growing up — I’m growing through.

(One of the reasons I fell head over heels for

Scott Stillman

, I Don’t Want to Grow Up. It felt like someone finally said it out loud.)

These days, I live in a forest, with a wildflower garden that grows a little wild on purpose —
not to impress anyone, but because I like how it hums when nobody’s looking.

I offer intuitive energetic care and Reiki to horses and dogs.

Not people. Not anymore.

Maybe it’s because animals don’t ask you to explain yourself.

They don’t need you to prove you’re good enough.

They simply feel what’s real — and respond in kind.

That’s the kind of work I want to do.

And the kind of life I want to live.

No show garden. No polished answers. No expert mask.

I’ve changed my tune a little here on Substack, too.

Even though I’m a Projector in Human Design, and “guiding” is supposedly built into my system, I’ve stepped away from coaching-style writing.

It didn’t feel true anymore.

I’m writing now from my own point of view — my experiences, my rhythms, my quiet lens on the world.

No more trying to make every letter “useful.”

But maybe, just maybe, someone will find something in it that speaks to them.
That’s enough.

Recently, I took a long look at my life — stripped away all the “fast-track inspiration” the internet throws at us.

And I remembered: I’m not alone.

If you haven’t read

Sandra Pawula

here on Substack, I highly recommend it.

Sometimes it feels like she’s the fly on my wall, quietly narrating what I haven’t put into words yet. (love her article ‘Try this Mid-Year Declutter and Breathe Again’)

Her writing reminded me: these phases we move through — where nothing looks shiny and everything feels in-between — are not detours.

They’re part of the truth.

So yes — I keep seeing my work as a hobby.

And I’ll keep choosing small, in-between jobs that let me stay close to my values.

Because this is my life.

And I don’t need it to look successful. I need it to feel like mine.

That’s the real work.
And the real joy.

With warmth,
Lorelai

PS No, I don’t have a freebie to lure you into a funnel 😉
But I have written a book — it’s called Healing Scars.

It’s an inspirational poetry collection based on real life moments —
60 poems, each paired with a short letter.
You can find it on Amazon, if it calls to you.