Dear Muser,

Turkey gravy stress — oh, it’s a thing.

And if you’re new here, let me explain, gravy stress is that high-pressure Thanksgiving moment when you’re sweating over a bubbling pot, whisk in hand, praying it thickens while everyone hovers expectantly.

Which brings me to the photo below — snarky newlywed me, looking off to the side like, “Can’t you tell I’m in the middle of gravy stress right now?”

And now that I’ve told you about it, good luck whisking gravy with a calm mind ever again.

But you know me better than that — I’d never leave you hanging on Thanksgiving week.

So before we tumble into the chaos of timers (not working, of course), dry turkey (brine, baby, brine), and gravy (fixing all cooking disasters), I want to give you something small.

A sanity gift.

It takes five seconds and the ability to “see” something when you close your eyes.

(Coming from someone who can’t visualize anything with my eyes closed, this is already a minor miracle.)

Yes — fun fact: I can’t see a thing with my eyes closed. Tell me to picture a beach or a mountain or even Alex, and I get…nothing. Blank screen. Not even static.

It’s called aphantasia, and while spell check keeps trying to rename it fantasia (as though I’m auditioning for a Disney film), it’s really just my quirky mind doing its own thing.

But when I needed a place to contain my creative chaos and emotional whirlwinds, my mind delivered this one tiny miracle:

a golden vault.

I couldn’t visualize it clearly — of course — but I knew it would be gold.

Inside it, a bright white light would glow.

And in that light, the words would sit, inviting me to let my stress go.

So I did what anyone with a non-visualizing brain and a dream would do: I hired my friend to make it.

And now that I’ve just gotten the vault back, let me tell you — this golden beauty is the real deal.

I’ve never seen anything like it.

(I know, I know.)

Because when I place heavy thoughts inside the vault, something shifts. The room doesn’t change — but I do.

I get enough space to see things for what they really are.

And yes, I admit it: I want to click the little vault door again and again.

Because once you set down the thoughts clinging to you — once the gravy stops bubbling over in your mind — the gravy begins to thicken.

The loved ones.

The quiet moments when everyone can’t get enough of Mom’s broccoli soup.

The laughter.

The blessings of being together.

The gratitude that has been waiting patiently for its turn.

So today, I’m giving you the imagination version of my vault — the way it might have started if I could visualize anything at all.

Next week, my Muse-letter Musers will get the real one — the gold vault strong enough to hold whatever you ask it to.

But for today?

Take the tiny golden fantasy reset.

It’s yours.

Happy Thanksgiving, dear Muser.

I’m grateful for you — more than you know.