I'm Steph. I'm a daughter, sister, wife, friend. I grew up in a small Ontario town I used to call Skid Row back in the day, and now I'm in another town that's not that different except geographically. Here, we have a bay and river. Where I live now there are fewer horses and cows, but craft alcohol is a big deal and there are tours organized around it. Young city folk abound, as do their shops and B&Bs and Toronto houses in the midst of 1960s backsplits. Space is at a premium. Having grown up in the country, I'm kind of bitter about that.


The idea to start a blog again originated while I was out walking for an hour thinking about the coronavirus and "social distancing," and how my life hasn't changed at all except that I have to go to the bank to deposit an American cheque and don't want to because of the current pandemic. I got to thinking about things that are bigger than we are and how we deal with them, and I felt both curiosity and a desire that I now realize is to leave some sort of mark.

These are weirdo times. But the times have always been weird, really, and we just have to deal with whatever's thrown our way if we want to survive. We all do this in different ways. We worry, we stress, we get anxious, we get positive, we adopt optimism, we get righteous, we get busy, we shut down, we pray, we rage, we exaggerate, we underreact, we make things, we destroy things. We see the silver lining, we see no hope. We feel like we need to give everyone advice, and be kind, and encourage, and show people how to be happy. We care. We are cruel. We kill, we save. We hate, we love. We send thoughts and prayers and good vibes and light. We adore strangers, we estrange beloveds. We shame, we blame, we call out, we are cynical. We say nothing. We band together, we stand apart. We overshare because honesty, we hide because vulnerability. And every single thing we say and do and think... it resonates and it repels. 

Each of us, we're being human. It's not an excuse, it's an explanation. We're discovering our world and giving ourselves to it, and we're staying where we are and living in our heads. We're privileged, we're poor, we're influencers, we're influenced, we're angels, we're devils. We're both. We're doing things and setting goals and achieving dreams, and we're living small and wondering where the time has gone and what we have to show for it, and wondering if we're doing it right or why we can't do it right or what even is right. We know it's wrong but we can't help it. We know it's wrong and we don't care. We contain multitudes.

This is what interests me most—without judgement, how we are human. Our stories. The stories we tell ourselves, the stories we live, the stories we create. Who we are by ourselves and who we are among others. 

This is me. 

Drop me a line

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