9/2/2025

I’ve wrapped my whole existence around Ron Nicole. Every purchase, every decision, I was intentional to the core. It’s wild when I step back and see just how much care went into building it all.

And then I look at my actual life. Not the one that circles my business, but me. Somehow, I managed to create this incredible, intentional business while living a life that was mostly on autopilot.

I’ve always resisted the easy way when it came to my work. I’d hunt for better options, push against every convenience, and make choices that felt aligned, even if it meant more effort, more commitment. But in the process, I neglected myself.

Now, as I move my plaster out of this business model (yes, still an intentional choice 🙄), I keep wondering: what if I gave my life the same attention I gave my business? What would that even look like?

This isn’t me being sad. Honestly, I’m incredibly grateful. I’ve lived the rare, beautiful life of a working artist. Without it, I would’ve missed so much. And I might not even be asking these important questions to myself. But now I’m asking. And I can’t unsee the contrast, what it’s like to treat something with deep intention, and what it looks like when you don’t.

What could my days feel like if I turned off autopilot and started living with intention?

The truth is, I shaped my life to fit the business when the business should have fueled the life I wanted to live. Ron Nicole demanded all of me, my focus, my creativity, my time, my energy, my body. For years, I assumed that meant I was living intentionally, because I saw myself living, aka working, with purpose. I’d toss in a few intentional choices here and there in my personal life, which now looks like a bare minimum attempt to appear intentional. But really, I was running an intentionally structured business, one so willful that it couldn’t scale.

Every detail was chosen with care. From the jars that hold my brushes to the objects I turned into paint palettes. Nothing was ever used for its “real” purpose; everything was chosen to make the act of creating more meaningful. And it was beautiful to witness.

Meanwhile, I couldn’t even tell you where my coffee mugs came from. I drink coffee every single morning, yet never once slowed down to choose the mug as carefully as I picked my brush holders.

Is that ritual not as worthy?

Isn’t a quiet coffee just as deserving of intention as painting a Wall Candy?

It hit me: all that effort poured into Ron Nicole left me with nothing left for me. To top it off, the business is “stuck small” because I refused to let autopilot touch it. Even the wrapping paper changes with every single design, because I wouldn’t allow repetition. Every new detail demanded a new choice.

But here’s the thing: no one cares. Not really. The obsessive detail I’ve been pouring into the business could be better spent on my own life. I’m not saying I’m going to wash my hands with Ron Nicole and put out some crappy shit. But I am switching it up. From here on out, Ron Nicole will run with a little more on autopilot. It’s not to say that the initial step wouldn’t be an intentional one, but the subsequent steps must run themselves. Ron Nicole doesn’t need me micromanaging every corner.

My plaster process will always be intentional; it’s just the nature of the work. But if I’m allowed more freedom, more wildness, less rigid control, I’d not only have a fresher creative space… I’d finally have the time and energy to put that same intention back into me.

And maybe that’s the real question.

Where in my life have I been running on autopilot… and what might shift if I chose differently, even in the smallest way?

I don’t think I’m the only one asking this. So I’d love to hear from you.

This is anonymous. No names, no emails, just a quiet chance to reflect.

Where in your own life are you running on autopilot? And what’s one small thing you’d love to do with more intention?