I AM still alive

As someone may have noticed, it's been very quiet on my blog these past few months, and by very quiet, I simply mean... NO blogs. There were several reasons for this: the desire to blog hasn't disappeared, but other activities were screaming for attention. And since I hope to make progress with that, it was high time to put all my energy into it, and not, as I used to, spending a few hours a day, at least, half a day, or even a whole day, on Hive. Besides, I've also more or less decided that blogging on Hive isn't really worth it anymore. At least, not for the rewards. Those are truly for very few people, and I clearly don't belong in that group. So if I do write a blog post again, it's because I genuinely want to share something with the people I've been in contact with since 2018... and in that respect, rewards are somewhat less important. But spending my time on Hive all day long is a thing of the past.

Now, don't think I was completely gone right away, no, I wasn't. But lately, I've mainly been trying to survive in what can best be described as a chaotic cross between website development, existential stress, and domestic disasters.

It all started with an idea we'd been toying with for a long time, and the final decision: "We're going to build a website." A simple, innocent sentence. A sentence you say to each other, just one evening while gaming, wonderfully relaxed. And especially without realizing that you're using your mental health as an experiment.

I Thought It Would Be Easy

In my perhaps naive mind, this was a job that would take a few days. As soon as I could really get down to it, I thought, it would be fixed in no time. You know how it is: a little text here, a picture there, a button on the left, a menu on the right. In my mind, it was a bit like assembling an Ikea cabinet. Only digitally, of course. Unfortunately, this time I didn't have a manual, and the reality was even more difficult than replacing that one missing Ikea screw.

Before I knew it, I was in a digital realm where codes like PHP, CSS, HTML, and WordPress cohabited in some kind of sadistic student dorm with no rules, no logic, and no manual. Every time I fixed something, two other things broke—as if my website was permanently celebrating Carnival.

Painting The Dutch Coalition?

And in the midst of all this chaos, I also tried to paint. My half-finished ostriches stared at me as if they had scheduled a team meeting to assess me. I felt their disappointed energy every time I walked by. I still carried paint on my hands daily, but not on my canvas. Because every time I picked up a brush, my PC seemed to nag me that something needed immediate attention. And if it wasn't my PC, it was Skipper.

Spoiled Diva

Since the weather got colder, Skipper has been acting like a cross between a spoiled diva and a worried toddler. Every fifteen minutes, he's barking as if I've forgotten he exists. He wants to go outside, back inside, back outside, back inside, play, sleep, not sleep, play, eat, not eat, and above all: his full attention. Just try focusing on building a website when that's not your daily work, and you don't really know what you're working on with so many codes.

I Felt Like A Beginner Again!

And as if that wasn't enough of a circus, there was also photography. I've photographed dogs for years. At events, in the studio, outdoors—dog photography was my territory. My playground. My domain. You'd think I'd have taken care of the photography for our website just like that. Well, let me disabuse you of that illusion. Let me put it this way: if dog photography was comparable to a night out, then product photography was comparable to the hangover you get after that night out where you've had a few too many drinks and carried on for a little too long.

Suddenly, everything was difficult. I seriously felt like a beginner, and while I've never hesitated for a moment with dogs about which settings to choose or how to compose, I was completely at a loss with the settings and composition for the product photos I had to take for my website. I honestly felt like I was about to start a new YouTube channel at any moment, with the first video being... "Hi, I'm Hetty-Rowan, and I'd like to welcome everyone to my TED Talk about how I suddenly don't know how to work photography, composition, or my camera anymore."

In a nutshell, I've been busy lately with photography, coding, painting, dog management, and trying to maintain my mental stability. We've all seen a Mad King; anyone else going completely crazy seemed a bit much.

Relax, Take It Easy!

However, taking it easy wasn't an option. Because there was a much heavier story at home. My partner.

He works full-time in a job that mentally drains him. A job where the salary is just enough to survive, but you can forget about enjoying life. Unless you take on two side jobs. If that's not enough to completely demotivate you, there's the part about how they treat employees as if they're not people but machine parts.

At home, that stress should just melt away. But financial stress doesn't melt away; it sticks like superglue.

And yet… despite it all…
Despite the fatigue, the frustration, the underpayment, and the lack of perspective… he gets up from his bed at seven in the morning on weekends. Not to rest. Not to do anything fun. But to work in his workshop on our urns, artwork, projects, ideas. Because Letza.life is his and my dream. It's our escape. Our only path to a decent future.

I know how hard it is for him right now, and that's why I felt extra pressure to finish that website. And yes, amidst the panic and chaos, I succeeded:

https://letza.life

The website is alive. It breathes. It still shakes a little sometimes. But it is here.

The site is in Dutch. But for the non-Dutch speakers among us: Open the site in Google Chrome → right-click → "Translate to English". Or just use Google Translate for websites. You don't need Chrome at all. It works surprisingly well and will have to suffice until my nervous system is ready for another round of website struggles. Yes, an English translation is planned.

If you'd like to take a look, I appreciate it more than you think. See anything strange? Something crooked? Something that looks like it was designed by Skipper? Let me know. And if you see something you'd like to order, just send an email to info@letza.life.

I'm taking a break for a bit, trying to finally finish my ostrich painting. And then I'll continue with other creative projects and give Skipper my full attention for a while!