I’m sitting at my favorite café in Denver—Kaladi Bros—easing back into the rhythm of American work life after two unforgettable weeks in France with my husband and our three grown children.

The trip was anchored by a magical weekend in Megève, a charming town nestled in the French Alps with breathtaking views of Mont Blanc. We were there to celebrate my nephew’s wedding, and it was easily the most beautiful event I’ve ever attended. Our days were filled with coffee dates, strolls through cobblestone streets (Megève feels like a much older, more romantic version of Vail or Beaver Creek), and deep conversations with family. Evenings were spent celebrating the newlyweds— savoring incredible food, laughing, and dancing late into the night.

The wedding itself was a true work of art. Every detail—from the elegant floral arrangements to the intimate table settings—felt like a heartfelt reflection of the couple. None of it would’ve been possible without their extraordinary French wedding planner, whose eye for beauty and precision made my heart sing. And in true French fashion, she pulled it all off while looking effortlessly chic, even as she worked around the clock.

The whole experience left me thinking deeply about the impact of our surroundings.

If you’ve worked with me one-on-one, you’ve likely heard me say: “Our surroundings are a reflection of our inner state of being.” When we intentionally curate our environments with items that reflect what we truly value, we feel a deep sense of alignment and peace.

The opposite is also true: when we surround ourselves with things that lack meaning or purpose, we call it “clutter”—and it often creates unease or agitation. I see this every day in my work, and it’s no wonder why. We live in a culture that thrives on consumerism. Americans are especially skilled at identifying problems we didn’t even know we had—then creating solutions to fix them.

Take The Container Store. While I love it, its very existence highlights the issue. We buy too much, and then we buy more to organize what we’ve already bought. But the root problem isn’t the lack of storage—it’s the excess itself.

It’s so deeply ingrained in our culture that it feels normal. I call it the “affliction of affluence.” Our homes overflow with gadgets, trinkets, and items we rarely interact with. Those items that gave us a quick dopamine hit at checkout soon became burdens.

I invite you to take a moment this week to reflect on your own surroundings. In what ways can you make your home—no matter how big or small—feel like a work of art that reflects who you truly are?

As always, if you need support along the way, I’m here for you.