My fuckyeah is creating something new every day, exploring the world, and helping people find their fuckyeah.

No, I did not always know this was my fuckyeah. And no, I didn't always have this cheesy-yet-R-Rated terminology to describe the good life we've all but quit looking for. 

In fact, if you had asked me what I “wanted to do with my life” just a few years ago I would’ve told you I planned to be the Creative Director of a gigantic hipster brand.


See, I had just spent 13 years mastering the art of pulling myself up by my bootstraps while also climbing a corporate ladder. (Not an easy feat, btw; requires a lot of ‘core strength.’) By age 28, I managed the creative side of a colossal retail business; I lead a huge network of people and directly supervised a yearly volume in the double-digit millions of dollars. And while that kind of success looked sexy on paper, I quickly realized “sexy on paper” wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.  

There was a time when I LOVED my job. But that time was fading into the distance, quickly replaced by exhaustion and frustration. I was burnt out and full of questions. How do people figure out WTF to do with their lives? Why are so many of us depressed, scared shitless and bored senseless? I was floating outside my body, watching myself slip silently into a lame adult life - and I needed to do something about it, asap.

So, I got to work. On myself.

I tried every self-help strategy known to humankind. (I’m here to report that some of ‘em help and some are just money-grabbing bullshit.)

I bought digital tickets to online career-focused women’s conferences. I braved a cloud of toxic morning-breath to practice ‘simhasana’ breathing and “access my inner power.” I journaled. Made a vision board. Meditated. Took my “inner artist” on a date. I wrote a letter to myself, from myself, giving myself permission to be myself. I did a lot more than I care to list...and I was still burnt out and annoyed. And besides, where was the hard science in all this self-help WooWoo? Pissed off at the huge gap between scientific research and the warm-fuzzy brand of #selfcare dominating pop culture, I decided to roll up my sleeves and do the research for myself. So, I hit the books.

The big books. The heavy shit.


You know those scholarly medical journals with groundbreaking scientific studies that are impossible to read? I read them.  (So many, actually, that when I type a medical question into my browser, Google assumes I want a scholarly article and not WebMD, lol.)

You know the shelves of beautifully informative and painfully dry books on cognitive therapy and positive psychology? I read them, too. Maybe all of them. Turns out I am an obsessive researcher.

Guess what happened after all that reading, research, letter-writing, vision-boarding, and trial + error?

I got clear on what I actually wanted - and finally had the tools to change my life. A year into my self-help quest, the Universe handed me an opportunity: stick it out at my fully formed boss-lady-career, or quit my job and reinvent my life.


Convenient side effect? I found my fuckyeah. 


"Cool. But, ummm, why should I listen to you?"


The short answer?

1. I’ve done all the research you don’t have time to do.


2. I’M YOU.

I have equal parts lofty goals and time invested in my Netflix account. I read dense psychology books and lose hours on my Instagram feed. I’m great at explaining complicated stuff and summarizing it in ways that won’t bore you to tears because I’m equal parts nerd and artist. I’ve done it all because I also happen to be a professional guinea pig: I’m a big sister.


Danielle is the fucking best. She’s whip-smart, earnest, intense, and beautiful. This isn’t an oh-boy-look-at-that-ugly-baby-bless-its-heart kind of “beautiful.” Nope. This girl a total babe, inside and out. She’s my people. Got a problem with Danielle? Then you have a problem with me, my friend. If she needed to evade the law to survive, I’d break any law to help her in a heartbeat. Bury a body? Toss me the shovel. I am a big sister.

My point?

I “big sister” the shit out of every situation in my life. I try things, I experiment, I report back. I share shortcuts, pitfalls, and advice.

Even when I’m doing my own thing, I’ve always got one eye on my crew. I take care. As a big sister, I am also bossy. A very loving kind of bossy: I tell people I care about what they shouldn’t bother caring about (like what other people think of you because they’re dumb and you’re amazing). I give unsolicited advice because I genuinely believe - and hope - that it will help somehow.


I am a big sister, I care deeply, I see the bright side, I am bossy- and I am compelled, by virtue of these characteristics, to tell you about mistakes I’ve made that you can avoid and the realizations that have changed my life. I can’t help but tell you what will make you happier, more confident and really alive- because nobody is teaching us this shit in school, and we’re on our own trying to figure it out hustling at work.

Look, when it comes to life, I already know that I know nothing. In fact, I think the wisdom that comes with age is the acceptance that we know and control nothing - and I don’t have much ‘age’ under my belt. But I also know a handful of things have changed my life for the better, and I need to tell you about them - because they might change your life for the better, too - and because, you know, big sister. I don’t pretend to have all the answers; Find Your Fuckyeah is just my way of ‘taking care.’ It’s a cheat sheet for life from your big sister (and an open letter to my 17-year-old self).

Anyway, you’ve been warned.