Shellie Vandersluis

I keep saying “next month I’ll be organized” like December isn’t chaos on steroids.

“Let’s circle back after the holidays” is corporate for “see you in March.”

Me trying to eat healthy before Thanksgiving: a short tragedy in three acts.

People keep asking about my Thanksgiving plans. I keep thinking about how confident my answer would be if I actually had one.

I love when people ask “any weekend plans?” like my answer isn’t always “recover.”

My holiday prep plan is mostly just vibes and denial.

It’s that magical time of year when I confuse exhaustion with coziness.

I like writers who admit that “writing about work and life” sometimes means staring into the middle distance wondering why every project is due at once.

There’s something spiritual about putting on pajamas at 5 PM and pretending the day is over.

Cave people had cave walls. I have my Notes app. Same ancient storytelling energy.

I’ve started narrating my life like a moody indie movie. The soundtrack is mostly coffee machines.

Every candle in my house smells like either “forest regret” or “cookies that never existed.”

Today’s forecast: 60% coffee, 40% doing the thing I have been avoiding, 100% pretending it was my plan all along

My Thanksgiving planning process is basically me checking the calendar, shrugging, and hoping a decision magically appears.

No one warns you that adult friendship season is just sending “we need to hang out soon” until February.

I keep thinking I’ll have a peaceful evening, and then I remember I exist.

Currently alternating between cozy gratitude and mild seasonal despair. It’s called balance.

Me: I’ll finish everything early so I can relax for the holidays.
Also me: starts eight new projects on November 12.

Sending free copies of Naming Risk, Changing Culture for anyone who’s ever said ‘we should’ve seen that coming.’ https://www.askshellie.com/new-book

I love how November gives me the confidence of a person who thinks they have plenty of time before the holidays.

I just made a to-do list titled “catch up on my other to-do lists.” That’s where we’re at.

November is the month where my brain says “finish everything before the holidays” and my body says “nap.”

Writers who post about both deadlines and existential dread, please stand up. Or don’t. We’re probably all sitting hunched over a laptop anyway.

Focus is hard when half my neighborhood smells like pumpkin bread.

November is for scented candles, warm drinks, and pretending the chaos is “festive.”

Chronic illness taught me patience. Mostly because I’m always waiting… for energy, for test results, or for someone to call me back.

We’re at the point in the year where every text starts with “sorry, I just saw this.”

If you write about work and life but your “work” is sometimes overthinking emails and your “life” is mostly snacks and pacing while thinking of better sentences, I think we’d get along.

This time of year my diet is 60 percent leftovers, 30 percent candy I said I’d throw out, and 10 percent guilt.

My toxic trait is thinking “I’ll get my life together after Halloween” like it’s New Year’s.