v.52 Offering, Asking, and the Courage to Be Seen.
Welcome to Life, Created—This weekly (ish) dispatch is a space for us to dig deeper, share ideas, recognize microjoys and build community beyond the mindless scroll.
THE RESET IS FINALLY HERE 🥳
The Reset: I Am Not For Everyone applications are open for only three more days.
I haven’t offered something like this in six years, and space is limited. Applications close on Friday at 11:59pm, and we begin on September 15th. 👉🏽 [Learn more here].
Onwards to today’s essay:
Lately I’ve been noticing the difference between offering and asking, and how often both show up in the work we share, the relationships we nurture, and the communities we build. Sometimes what we extend to others is an offering, and other times it’s an ask.
An offering feels steady because it comes from clarity and trust. It says, This is what I’ve created, this is what I know, and I’m placing it here for whoever it’s meant to serve. An offering doesn’t need persuasion and it doesn’t perform; it simply stands in its own truth. You can see it when a writer puts their words into the world without obsessing over who will read them, or when a photographer hangs her work because it reflects how she sees the world. Even small gestures can be offerings, like cooking dinner for a friend without expecting anything in return, though let’s be honest, some of us still hope they’ll stay and do the dishes.
Asking is different, though just as necessary, because it’s how we invite support and create connection. Sometimes asking sounds like reaching out to a friend and requesting an introduction for a job opening (raises hand), and other times it looks like trusting someone enough to watch your kid when you’re overwhelmed. When the ask is personal and tied to something we care deeply about, it can feel more tender, because we’re not only asking someone to say yes to the thing we’ve created, we’re also inviting them to see us more fully, and that’s never comfortable no matter how many times we do it.
That’s the real challenge, because the difficulty isn’t in the act of asking itself but in what it requires of us. To share something we’ve made is to place a part of ourselves in front of others, and that’s true for anyone who creates, whether writers, filmmakers, photographers, entrepreneurs, or artists of every kind. When the work carries our own voice and vision, the lines between asking and offering begin to blur, and the question becomes less about the project itself and more about whether we’re willing to be seen inside of it. Which, if I’m being honest, is the part most of us would rather skip altogether. Or maybe that’s just me.
This distinction has been on my mind as I opened applications for The Reset: I Am Not For Everyone. On paper, it’s a three-month experience led by me. In practice, it’s an offering shaped by both my personal journey and the frameworks I’ve taught for years, and it’s work that invites us to look closely at who we are in times of transition and to choose how we want to move forward.
And here’s where it gets sticky. Sharing it is my offering, extending the invitation is my ask, and learning to live in between the two is the messy, human part. I’d love to let The Reset stand on its own, but the truth is that if I don’t tell you about it, you’d never know it exists. Which would leave me writing essays about offering and asking while hiding my own work, and that feels a little absurd.
So I’ll land here. The Reset is my offering, and the ask is simple: if you’re curious, read more about it and see if it feels like the right fit for where you are today. Applications close Friday at 11:59 p.m. ET, or sooner if all spots fill. We begin September 15. [Apply here → The Reset].
And whether or not The Reset feels right for you, maybe it’s worth paying attention to where you’re standing in your own words and work. Are you offering, or are you asking? The distinction matters because the energy behind each one shapes how it’s received. When we know which place we’re coming from, we can move with more honesty, more trust, and a lot less second-guessing.
This week’s microjoy: In the mornings, light reflects off the window prisms and spills into my office, scattering across the ceiling and weaving through the plants. It reminds me to notice what is still good. A quiet microjoy that exists regardless of whatever bullshit the world throws our way, proof that beauty will always insist on showing up.
P.S. Per usual, if this resonated with you- PLEASE repost, comment, share and spread the word.
Welcome to Life, Created.
With love, wisdom [and small mercies] from Montclair. xx
