Hi my friends,

It feels surreal to be sitting down in a quiet home with only the monotone sound of the AC filling the air. As you can imagine, I have been experiencing very little silence since giving birth to my first son. Every minute of my day is filled with his chuckles, sounds of discomfort, farts and shrieks—it's fun, I can't lie, but I do often feel like I don't have space for thinking. He's currently asleep and, while I am frequently frozen by the "free" time afforded to me by his slumber, today I chose to be selfish and seize this brief sliver to exercise my fingers and cognitive abilities instead of checking off the never ending tasks on my weekly to-do list. For someone like me, that exercise looks like reading post-grad level literature or, in this case, writing.

Five months post-partum, as a first time mom, I am still adjusting to a new normal. If up until the day prior to delivery I had autonomy and agency over how I chose to spend my time, my routine and freedom of choice has completely been turned upside down. Don't get me wrong, this is not a complaint. I don't mind focusing all of my energies on the baby, but it does come with a lingering sense of guilt about the decreased bandwith. See, before pregnancy—and even during—I used to be the posterchild for productivity. I worked morning to evening on my many projects, refining ideas, researching for improvement and churning out email answers like that was the entirety of my job. I didn't particularly love filling my every minute with actions related to my work, but the incessant business provided an excellent antidote to my extreme case of impostor syndrome—a condition that has recurrently put me on a creative death bed in the past.

Being the co-founder of a bunch of ventures that are still in their infancy, I did not have the luxury of taking "maternity leave" as much as I would have liked. Maybe it's also the overachiever in me. My magazine launched days after I was discharged from the hospital and one month later I was on a plane to Milan with my new family to present the publication to the world, all while I should have been resting in bed. Looking back, I think I could have taken it easier but maybe that's something that's just not part of my DNA. I didn't know how to sit back and relax even when there was no child in sight. I don't consider myself particularly business-driven or savvy, and maybe that's exactly the issue with my distribution of time. I am not exactly a hustler either; I think that asking for what I deserve is essentially begging. I am much better at advising others on how to ask for more, grab a succulent opportunity or connect with a person that may be beneficial to their professional trajectory. This tendency to chaperone others on their own creative journey has had me tinkering with the possibility of pivoting to becoming an artist agent over and over. And, I guess, I tried to do that when I created RISERVE in a way. Still, pursuing this alternative path as only ever been an hypotethical as I eventually decide I would miss practicing creativity myself.

With little time on my hands, I had to get creative about my work, which now happens within a tight 1-hour window while the baby rests at different times each day. Clearly, this situation has slow down the achievements needed to run a succesful business—somethings that's becoming increasingly clearer as we begin the development of the second issue of NONSENSE.

Our magazine may be annual, but there's very little idle time between one issue and the next. Independent publishing isn't for the faint hearted, I have come to realize. It's an incessant sets of tasks and it takes a lot of energy and problem-solving, especially when you are quite literally a team of two with other jobs and a family to look after. Just the fundraising part is exhausting; demoralizing at best. Creating pitches and partnership proposals in the gaps between breastfeeding sessions, nap time or cooking has been particularly challenging, especially as I need to secure enough paid partnerships to be able to move forward with the issue—printing alone costs up to 10,000 euros and I want to pay contributors a fair fee if I am able to.

Some days are really hard. I feel confused, mortified and tired of sending cold emails. The sheer amount of letters I have to send just to get a lead is astounding. The many rejections can play with your mind and incite feelings of inadequacy. Offering up time to "discuss further" when all I want to do is lay in bed next to my child is humiliating. I get why people would rather work for other than start their own business. But then, other times, I wake up energized and ecstatic, ready to hop on the day and kick ass. My first magazine is for sale at some of my favorite bookshops worldwide and it's almost sold out. I should feel proud of what I accomplished with little resources. I wonder if I will ever be cured from my imposter syndrome. But for now, I'll rejoice the small things that make me love life daily. For example, treating every meal like we are dining at a restaurant.