It’s hard being human, but here’s something that helps me!
Over the last five years, I’ve gone through one of the hardest but most necessary transitions of my adult life: learning how to be at home.
For most of my life, I’ve been out—working, teaching, traveling, meeting people, constantly moving. I wasn’t a “homebody” because home was just the place I crashed. People used to walk into my house and say, “Wow, I thought your space would be more… Alison.” But honestly, I wasn’t home enough to make it feel like mine.
For a long time, home was just something I maintained while living life somewhere else.
When I started spending more time at home—by choice, by circumstance, by necessity—I realized how disorienting that can be. Going from a team, an office, an external sense of accomplishment, to being home alone, responsible for my own energy and structure… it’s a big shift.
And then, recently, when my longtime remote employee and friend Mallory moved on after seven years, it felt like the final chapter closing on a business I’d been building for almost two decades. I was so proud of her and her Pickleball dreams, but also so sad. Because even when you know it’s right, endings are still endings. I’ve been reminding my coaching clients of this: you can grieve what’s over, even when you’re grateful for what’s next.
Finding Structure Through Sound
These days, what helps me feel grounded—when the house is quiet, when the kids are gone, when I’m not sure where to put my creative energy—is sound.
What I listen to is how I structure my day.
There’s not much else keeping time except school drop-offs and Eric’s work schedule, so what goes into my ears matters. It affects my mood, my productivity, and my sense of connection. It’s become the invisible scaffolding of my day.
For about twenty years, I was strictly a nonfiction reader—essays, memoirs, business, and personal development. Then around 2021, I burned out. I got sick, signed my book deal, and found myself unable to read anything that sounded like me. When you’re writing your own book, you start comparing every word. Should I have said it like that? Are they doing it better? I could feel myself spiraling, so I just stopped.
I put away the self-help and reached for fantasy—and, let’s be honest, fantasy smut. It was fun. It was escapism. It was healing in a way that surprised me. And when I couldn’t even do that, when I was really sick, I listened to gospel choirs and meditation music and Native American flute playlists. My nervous system just needed quiet beauty, not more ideas.
The Rhythm of My Day
Morning: Grounding and Focus
In the morning, I try to avoid my fantasy audiobooks. I need clarity, or to be able to connect to myself. So I often play music to pump me up or get me going.
My go-to listens:
Sometimes I’ll do a podcast, recently
My go-to listens:
- The Michael Singer Podcast — soothing, present, idea-expanding.
- Good Hang with Amy Poehler — creative, funny, and full of heart.
If I’m anxious, I don’t add words at all. I play mantra music or just sit in silence and let my body regulate before I start adding new thoughts.
Afternoon: Creativity and Decompression
After a few coaching calls or a consulting project (my current one is a multifamily real estate investment firm—basically a second language), my brain needs to unwind. That’s when I cue up the fantasy audiobook, go for a walk, or start making dinner.
Music also shapes my after-school rhythm.
- My high-schooler gets calm quiet.
- My elementary-schooler gets full pop-song joy.
- My middle-schooler’s playlist changes by the day.
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And when I’m cooking alone, I close the kitchen door, turn on Diana Ross & The Supremes Greatest Hits, and let myself have my own rhythm again. It’s where I sing, recharge, and remind myself that creativity isn’t just work—it’s how I exist.
Evening: Inspiration and Rest
Later in the day, I often turn to something spiritual or inspiring—Elizabeth Gilbert, Martha Beck, Signs by Laura Lynne Jackson, or whatever feels like medicine that day. Again, it might be nonsense!
At night as I do art to unwind and fall asleep, I choose light audiobooks or rom-coms I’ve already read. The familiarity helps me drift off without missing anything important. And lately, as my nervous system has healed, I find myself driving in silence more often. The need for constant input is fading, which feels like its own kind of healing.
Protecting My Input
A big part of nervous-system regulation is protecting what comes in.
People sometimes ask why I’m not on Marco Polo or some other similar app. The truth? I don’t need another thing that makes me feel behind. I keep my communication pace intentional—slow enough that it works for my body and my family.
I don’t read a lot of news. I use Pinterest more than Instagram because it fuels my creativity instead of draining it. I’ve stopped trying to optimize every minute of my life. I’m no longer chasing efficiency; I’m cultivating presence.
Rebellion Days and Real Connection
Some mornings I wake up and decide it’s a rebellion day. I watch a show before work. I give myself permission not to be productive. And somehow, those days always give me the most life.
Because rebellion, for me, isn’t defiance—it’s how I find my spark again.
My social life looks different now too. It’s less coffee dates, more spontaneous chats with the gas-station clerk or the thrift-store friend I keep running into. It’s small but it’s real. And sometimes that’s all the connection I need.
The Takeaway
So, this is my “audio rotation.”
It’s part nervous system care, part creative strategy, part rebellion.
I still give myself permission for rebellion days—the mornings I watch TV before work, the moments I say, “I don’t have to be productive to have worth.” If that’s what serves me that day.
And maybe that’s the whole point.
Whether I’m listening to mantra music, fantasy smut, Amy Poehler, or silence, what matters is that I’m tuning into myself.
The sound of my day is how I stay connected to my life.
Your listening habits can become your rhythm, your structure, your medicine.
Whether it’s a podcast that inspires you, a mantra that calms you, or silence that lets you breathe, what you put in your ears matters.
I call it my audio rotation—part nervous-system care, part creative fuel, part rebellion. It’s how I stay connected to my own life, one song, one chapter, and one quiet moment at a time.
I WOULD LOVE TO KNOW:
How do you people schedule your time? Do you have as many existential crisis as I do about it? PLEASE SHARE!