In the middle of one October night the first autumn storm hit our old farmhouse in Denmark.
The night was dark, nothing could be seen from the windows of our house. But I heard the storm clearly. The trees were roaring, and the wind in the chimney was howling. The beams in the attic cracked like old bones being shaken.
It was 3 am when the storm was at its worst, threatening to blow the original roof off of our home. How do I know?
Because I was up there, in the attic, in the middle of the night. Listening to the roaring trees and the rain on the windows, walking with my 9 months old baby, who had been up for 2 hours every night that week.
To me, the storm outside that night was only an echo of the storm within me. This autumn I’ve dealt with some intense over-thinking, that I so far have not been able to shake.
That’s why, in the middle of the night, feeling deeply sleep-deprived, I’m thinking about writing, books, newsletters, videos, publishing. I’ve written a…
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