Late last year, I signed up for LinkedIn Premium. I haven’t noticed any dramatic changes. My profile views didn’t skyrocket. I may see slightly more information about who’s looking at my page, but nothing earth-shattering.

What I did do, though, was quietly sneak something into my skills section.

“Tetris Master.”

Recently, I worked up the nerve to venture into the attic where most of my life has been packed away. I’m in the process of transitioning everything from the locked-away tower of the attic into a storage unit where I can actually access what doesn’t fit in my immediate living space. On my first trip up, I was hunting for old sketchbooks. One oversized newsprint pad. Whatever art supplies might still exist. What did I find?

Two weeks ago, I traveled to NYC to attend a design workshop hosted by Allan Peters, based on his book Logos That Last, at the Museum of Arts and Design. This was the first time I’d attended something like this, and all I can say is that I can’t wait to do more.

I’ve spent a long time working through fear. I carried a sense of judgment around my early career and college choices, even though there was nothing objectively wrong with them. I did well. I worked in my field. I built experience. Still, my path wasn’t linear, and that made me feel unready.

Recently, I’ve noticed how much I value silence. Not just quiet moments, but intentional silence. The kind I seek out on purpose. Noise-canceling headphones. A corner seat in a café. Painting when the world around me settles. Silence has become the place where my creativity feels strongest.

Is AI making us lazy? Is it “cheating”? I don’t buy it. Tools don’t erase taste, judgment, or originality. They don’t give you a point of view. They don’t decide when to push, when to break a rule, or when to leave white space on purpose. People do.