This is a collection of stories about creativity, work, places, people, cancer, healing and the ordinary pieces of life that turn out not to be so ordinary after all.
I’ve been a designer for most of my life, with a detour into nursing before finding my way back to design. I build businesses, make things, ask too many questions and have never been particularly good at staying in one lane.
In 2025, I was diagnosed with Stage III rectal cancer. I started writing more regularly again during treatment, mostly to make sense of what was happening and keep the people I love updated.
Eventually, I realized I wanted a place for those stories.
And all the others too.
So this is it.
You don’t need to start at the beginning.
Pick a road.
Life, mostly.
The things I’m learning, losing, remembering and figuring out as I go. Family, aging, grief, work, relationships, mortality, reinvention and the occasional strong opinion.
My ongoing journal of Stage III rectal cancer, from diagnosis through radiation, chemotherapy, surgery, recovery and whatever comes next.
Many of these entries began as updates written while I was actually living through treatment. I’ve kept them rooted in what I knew and felt at the time because hindsight has a funny way of making uncertain things look inevitable.
They weren’t.
If you’re walking this road yourself, I hope something here makes it feel a little less lonely.
I’ve been making things for a long time.
This is where I write about design, creativity, branding, building businesses, collaboration and what several decades of creative work have taught me.
Including when to take back the keys.
The West, mostly, but not exclusively.
Small towns. Old buildings. History. Road trips. Beautiful places. Interesting people. And the stories that make a place worth remembering.
That’s allowed too.
Some stories fit neatly into a category.
Most lives don’t.
I’m less interested these days in making everything fit perfectly and more interested in paying attention while I’m here.
So look around. Read whatever catches your eye.
I’m glad you found your way here.
Dawn
