COURAGE OVER FEAR

The Grand Design Experiment

What if you could minimize fear in life—or even possibly live without it entirely? What if you could build a braver life, inside and out, room by interior room—would you do it?

Of course you would. I would too. Fear is the worst. It’s the defense mechanism meant to save us, but it misfires all the time and, more often than not, holds us back, crippling our progress and causing us to miss opportunities.

The challenge is to tame the dragon, because fear is normal, even necessary. And despite what we may wish for, it’s inevitable. It’s the body’s alarm system, our biological and psychological response to perceived threat and uncertainty. Our brain registers the “unknown,” and our nervous system floods itself with signals to freeze, tighten up, pull back.

It’s just the way we’re wired, and when left unchecked, that protective reflex can become a crutch without even knowing it— and that’s when it gets dangerous, because taking the next step, making the tough call, or crossing that threshold is sometimes exactly what we need to do.

The antidote? Living with both, but choosing courage over fear—and then balancing the two.

Courage is movement through fear, not its absence. It’s mastery over the million triggers that tell you something’s wrong when, in truth, there’s nothing to be afraid of. The thing about fear is that most of it isn’t the primal kind that saves us—because when it is, it’s obvious and instinctive; we know how and when to respond.

The courage required to combat this more pervasive shade of fear is more deliberate, and it can be learned. It’s what our memory muscles need to summon when uncertainty, overwrought logic, or the need for control tries to keep us small.

I love Mel Robbin’s five second cure to unfreezing fear:

FINDING COURAGE

Making the Move

We meet courage everywhere — in the work we build, the selves we shape, the people we love, and the spaces we create.

This is my story of finding the courage to completely change life course midstream — to take what felt steady and familiar and trade it for something unknown but true, at least to me.

A valuable lesson about taking the shot and making the move started the ball rolling:

At the end of last year, I completed and closed out four large design projects. They were big lifts, complex work, but we had done it. We had worked with terrific clients, and each project was a creative accomplishment in its own right. It had been a few years since my work had last been published, but I knew these jobs were special.

With the emphasis on digital media today, there are fewer print magazines, and those that have survived have very limited space—making them harder to get into. While digital platforms offer a larger audience, access there, too, can be limited.

I wasn’t working with a PR firm, I didn’t have a publicist, and it had been ages since I’d been in touch with any editor friends. In fact, there had been so much turnover among the magazines that I no longer knew many of the editors. What I did know was that these projects deserved to be seen.

I spent weeks—before, during, and after installations—debating how I could get these projects in front of the decision-makers, the actual editors-in-chief, without being lost in a sea of digital submissions. Then, finally, I came up with a plan.

I hired professional photographers to shoot the projects. It wasn’t rocket science; I knew I needed the best possible images. I also knew that if I chose photographers already working with, or frequently published by, the magazines, I’d stand a better chance. So I chose my photographers strategically.

I’d also been told that with declining print circulation and budget cuts, when using a favored or magazine-approved photographer, editors might run the very photos submitted. That appealed to me because it could benefit us both—I’d have creative control over how we shot the projects (I’m a wannabe photographer and, like any creative, love creative control), and they’d have ready to print images. So, I had the projects shot.

Once the photography came back, I hit a massive wall of fear. The pictures were beautiful, but my confidence started to wobble. Was the work really worthy? I stalled for weeks, questioning what to do next. Should I reach out to the editors I already knew and risk being quietly dismissed, or make a bolder move and go straight to the editors-in-chief, hoping to be seen?

Late one Sunday evening, I had had it with my fear and decided I was going to send each editor-in-chief (of my three targeted publications) a visual deck with a written brief on each project.

But then another wall appeared: I wanted to go directly to the chiefs, but I had no idea what their email addresses were—so down the rabbit hole I went, searching for and piecing together what they might be. If truth be told, amidst my fear, I almost found solace in the idea that these would be long shots to find.

Armed at midnight with what were only calculated guesses—- and no assurance my emails would be seen—I held my breath (and had a small panic attack) and sent them. I was freaked out. What if the emails were never seen? What if they were seen? Maybe that would be worse—because then I could be rejected. FEAR FEAR FEAR.

Five minutes later, at 12:05 a.m., the editor-in-chief of the largest magazine emailed me back, thanking me for the pictures and copying the design director and other editors, advising that they’d be in touch. And immediately, they were.

By 9 a.m. the next morning, I’d heard from the other two editors-in-chief. I had placed all four projects within hours. I was shocked. I’m still shocked. Fast forward: three of the four have been published already, and the last one will be out soon.

The moral of the story: make the move.

Fear was a mountain I had created around my self-worth, not my work. There was a moment I considered not sending anything—and I could have easily done that or been turned down—but in the end, I sent those emails. I had nothing to lose other than my pride.

Don’t forget Wayne Gretzky’s famous words: “You miss 100% of the shots you don’t take.” That has stuck with me for years, and it could not be more true.

PLAYING CHESS

My Life Architecture Story

Which leads me to now.

Our lives and careers take us on a winding journey—full of twists, turns, and more than a few detours. Mine was no different. I never imagined that my early years in journalism and broadcast news would evolve into owning a small luxury brand, or that another professional chapter steeped in design would ultimately lead me here—building something entirely new once again. But it did.

Life, I’ve learned, is a bit like playing chess. It’s emblematic of foresight, strategy, and trying your hardest to make the right moves. By extension, business implies a similar kind of deliberate design: the discipline to avoid acting impulsively, to think several steps ahead, and to align decisions with intended outcomes—all while positioning yourself to win.

Yet in both life and business, as in chess, you can be outmaneuvered, make a blunder, get checked, or even have to sacrifice. Ah, the game of life. You just don’t know the outcome until you live it—it’s not for the faint of heart, that’s for sure.

To ensure I was ready to embark on N B 2.0, I did my homework and prepared myself in every way I could think of before committing. One of the most helpful pieces I found was from Harvard Business Review—an article about using strategic thinking to create the life you want. It so perfectly mirrored everything Life Architecture is—and what the business opportunity of Life Architecture represents.

The idea of applying business strategies to life—and life strategies back to business—especially during times of transition or existential change, was remarkable. If you’re contemplating a big change, I highly recommend it.

During this time everything seemed to flow—my reasoning, my research— leading me to the conclusion that this transition was right, that my plan was viable, and that my vision was meant to be.

So you’re watching—and reading—in real time my very own design experiment: my dream of creating a media company, specifically a content-to-commerce platform built around the concept of Life Architecture—a modern framework merging deeper, meaning-driven lifestyle content with AI and commerce to create a more integrated approach to information, education, and entertainment.

The mission? To make it immersive, beautiful, accessible, and fun for all—with features like either–or–more, giving you the freedom to engage, or purchase at the price points you prefer.

Life Architecture will remain design-centric. After all, I’m passionate about architecture and interior design and will continue to take on select projects from time to time. I’d miss it terribly if I didn’t. But this venture allows me to bring all my skills together—from writing (The Living Edit, our digital magazine and Substack), and retail (which fuels the commerce side of what we’re building) to of course, all things home and design.

Not to mention my love of cooking, fashion, health, wellness, pop culture, music… life itself.

The plan is to expand and grow creatively into the richer matter of life, beyond the surface of design, because the scaffolding below is what creates real context—what provides deeper experience and self-knowledge.

I will always love building dream houses for clients. Now, it’s simply time to build another kind.

I’m well aware that this will either be a great success—or it won’t. I have a small but mighty team of smart, talented, and nimble women and men who want this to work as much as I do.

It’s going to be a wild ride, a high-stakes game of chess: me against the odds, at midlife. But it’s been in me forever. It’s now or never—and I just couldn’t face never. I physically felt the need to do this.

There is fear, yes, and even more—epic risk in what I’m doing, with an equivalent outcome: one of epic success or epic failure. I’ve experienced my fair share of perfection paralysis too, but I’ve come to see it as another form of fear—and I understand the risk-reward ratio. I’ve lived both, and no matter the outcome, I have me.

Despite the unknown economic winds, I feel strongly that we’ll succeed—not only because we’ve done our diligence, but because our timing and thesis are right. We’re building for today’s world and the future—one where people are spending more time at home, increasingly relying on digital media for connection, entertainment, and commerce, and becoming ever more integrated with AI.

Life Architecture meets that moment. It reflects what people are craving: a deeper, more meaningful framework for how to live, learn, and create from home.

But if it fails, I’ll honor my courage for trying. I’ll also know that taking the shot—just as I did that Sunday night, sending decks to editors—is required work for all of us. Because if we resign, we lose automatically. On the other hand, if we play, we have more than simply a chance of winning. We may actually win.

In my case, the course change and calculation has been deliberate. I can honestly say it’s driven by conviction and, most importantly, courage and grit—qualities I know I possess. Like chess, if i must resign, so be it. But if it’s a grand success—well, checkmate—my intuition will have served me. And it usually does.

So there you have it.

My path is laid, and the outcome unknown. I’ve jumped off the deep end and hope you’ll join me as we work to build Life Architecture one block at a time. I hope you’ll build your own life architecture too and treat it as a grand design experiment. Just as I’m doing.

What I can tell you about all of this—and what I remind myself daily—is that both success and failure require courage. We must fortify ourselves to move through both.

Everyone’s journey is different, informing and shaping us at every stage of life. You just have to lean into the moment—into the eye of the dragon—and tame it to be your gentle monster. There, for your defense, not your defeat.

FINDING SPARK, NOT FIRE

Self in Stages

What’s important to know about fear is that it doesn’t always arrive as panic; often it accrues quietly over time—layering itself into our choices, our habits, our sense of what’s possible. The longer it sits, the more it disguises itself as reason.

Then avoidance becomes part of our self-architecture. We inadvertently build it piece by piece: the email left unsent, the decision delayed, the conversation never had.

And yet, fear doesn’t vanish when ignored; it calcifies. Then the stress builds, creating an ever-larger hurdle to mount.

It’s self-torture, and we do it over and over again—placing ourselves in a vicious circle, that broken record that just keeps spinning when all we have to do is STOP.

This is where Mel Robbins’ five-second rule is genius: count yourself down and jump the turnstile.

The courage we need in these moments is proactive, not reactive — it’s the daily-dose kind that requires mindfulness and motion. It means weaving action into the fabric of who we are, recognizing fear in real time, and choosing not to let it dictate the direction of our lives.

Another interesting thing about courage: have you ever noticed that its shape changes with time?

In our twenties, courage often looks like confidence — trying, failing, beginning again. But that same decade is also riddled with anxiety, the kind that whispers you’re already behind.

In our thirties, courage becomes endurance — staying committed when the novelty wears off, but you’re still doing it scared.

In our forties and fifties, it’s conviction — trusting your own rhythm, your own taste, your own timing. Courage has found you, even though you sometimes have to remind yourself where you put it.

And later, courage becomes curiosity — the willingness to start again, to reimagine, to keep growing when the world expects you to settle.

You have to walk through fear to come out the other side. That’s the throughline — in every decade, at every stage in your life, and in every chapter. The only way forward is through. I believe this with all my heart.

THE COURAGE TO BE SEEN

In Every Relationship

Courage isn’t only about facing fear alone; it’s also about showing up for others. Family, friends, love, work—every relationship asks us to risk being seen.

To start something new (see above!).To stay when it’s easier to leave.To leave when staying no longer honors us.To forgive.To ask for help.To speak up.

Brené Brown’s 2012 book Daring Greatly changed the way we talk about courage. I loved this book. The premise—that you can’t get to courage without vulnerability, because the two are inseparable, remains as true today as it was years ago. It was one of the first books to make emotional honesty feel not just acceptable, but powerful.

When we practice courage in our relationships, we risk being seen, heard, and loved— or at least liked. Whether old, new, or existing—family, friendship, business, or romantic—our relationships shape how we show up in the rest of our lives. They determine how we develop and balance courage among different kinds of connection, how we re-pot ourselves, and rediscover courage when relationships change or end.

The courage and grace demanded of relationships—and how we navigate them—are windows into who we are and who we become. I know, personally, that when I’m not as courageous as I should be, it’s like looking into a mirror. And it’s not a reflection I like.

Our need to be seen in our relationships influences how we inhabit space too. Home isn’t only a reflection of self; it’s a reflection of us—the relationships we nurture, the energy we hold, the shared rhythms that fill our days. The way we live with others shapes the way we live within ourselves.

And yet, fear still finds its way in. Fear of “getting it wrong” in design rarely has to do with the people we share our homes with—or even taste. It’s about visibility: the fear of showing too much of yourself when you open the front door, your most private world, and worry that you won’t be universally approved of.

But home is where we first rehearse bravery. It’s where we experiment, reveal, and refine. Aesthetic risk is simply practice for emotional risk—a physical manifestation of confidence. Your home speaks volumes about you. It is you.

To design with courage is to trust your instincts more than trends—to decorate not for validation, but for what pleases you and truly resonates. If you like a particular color, have it. If you love florals but feel they’re not in vogue, have them anyway. When a home reflects what you love, it always looks best.

And more importantly, when you allow your environment to grow and reflect who you are becoming, you invite your life to meet you there.

Because home, like courage, is a living thing. It expands when you do.

COURAGE BY DESIGN

Taking The Bite Out Of Fear

Fear rarely disappears on its own. It lingers like a shadow or weight until it’s met. The only way to quiet it is to walk toward it.

I’ve learned that the anticipation of fear is almost always worse than the act itself. The moment you take a step—make the call, send the email, have the conversation—the mountain you built in your mind collapses into a molehill. The body exhales. The nervous system settles. The story you were spinning loses its power. And you feel better.

That’s the truth of courage: it’s not dramatic. It’s restorative. Fear floods your system and then courage clears it. The act of facing what you avoid is the release itself. The tension breaks not because the fear vanishes, but because you moved through it.

This is what I mean to live with courage by design—to build a life and a self where neither waits for fear to subside before acting. It’s to treat fear as feedback, not a force.

The antidote has never been fearlessness; it’s forwardness.

Because courage, like any design worth keeping, is built one decision at a time. And when you meet fear head-on—not fighting it, but facing it—you realize the home you were trying to build was never outside you. It’s within reach, waiting for you to open the door.

That’s the architecture of a braver you.