Today, I needed a break from reporting on the Charlie Kirk story for work. As a breather, I wandered over to my blog and caught myself laughing at my own Target trap story. You know the one: I walked in for shampoo and deodorant, and walked out with a cart full of non-essential crap that somehow included a hideous pumpkin-shaped mug, a candle that smells like a forest I’ll never hike, and enough paper and gel pens for me to re-write the Bible.

Naturally, that led me to re-read my Amazon adventure piece, where I admitted to the slightly haunting thought that my final resting place might be a cardboard box with a two-day shipping label, bubble wrap included.

At first glance, these are just funny little anecdotes, the kind of everyday absurdities that make life entertaining (and keep my family rolling their eyes at me). But the truth is that both stories touch on something deeper: patterns.

While waiting for a press conference to begin, I scrolled past a Mind Space post that made me stop in my tracks:
🌀 “Patterns aren’t mistakes. They’re messages.”

Jaw-drop moment. Could all this nonsense really be about life on repeat and not just my terrible shopping habits? Maybe it wasn’t my ADHD that made me have a sensory breakdown in front of the shampoo shelf at Target. Maybe, as Mind Space suggested, it was about life on repeat. Am I stuck in a rut? Or am I avoiding something bigger?

We’ve all been there, diving into a new routine with the best intentions, only to fizzle out right around the same aisle where Target distracts us with office supplies and lip gloss. Losing momentum, hitting the same wall of burnout or distraction, swearing this time will be different… and then watching it all circle back again.

I’ve done this more times than I can count. Start strong, burn out. Decide to “just push harder.” Cue frustration, guilt, shame, and the occasional muttered, “Why does this keep happening to me?”

But maybe it’s not happening to me.
Maybe it’s speaking to me.

That impulse buy at Target? Maybe it’s not about shopping. Maybe it’s about chasing that little dopamine hit in the candle aisle when life feels heavy.

That Amazon grave joke? Maybe it’s not about death by two-day shipping boxes. Maybe it’s about realizing how much of my life I’ve packed into routines that don’t always leave room for breathing.

These aren’t random quirks. They’re patterns. Strategies that once helped me stay busy, feel safe, and earn approval, but now, they keep me circling the same loop.

And the loop isn’t punishment. It’s a pause.
A reminder to stop, slow down, and take notice.

That Mind Space post nailed it: awareness beats willpower because willpower is like a 3M Command Strip,  it holds for a while, but eventually it gives out. You can force yourself to stick to a routine, push through burnout, or resist the Target dollar section for a week or two… but sooner or later, the old pattern sneaks back in.

Awareness, though, is different. When you actually notice the pattern as it begins, the thought, the urge, the familiar feeling, you get a choice. You can pause before the cart fills up and before the cycle comes to a close. That pause is power. That pause is what shifts the whole story.

No productivity app, no habit tracker, no color-coded calendar has ever stopped me from repeating the same story. But noticing the story while I’m in it? That’s different.

It means I can laugh at myself for walking out of Target with a cart full of things I never planned on buying, and still pause long enough to ask what I was really looking for in the first place.

That reflection has felt even closer to home lately, as all this shopping chaos collided with preparations for my daughter’s engagement party. Case in point: I bought solar-powered lanterns for centerpieces. I didn’t like the white “weathered” look, so I stripped them and repainted them ivory. Didn’t like the first coat, so I redid them. Noticed brush marks, redid them again. Missed a few tiny spots (wrong glasses), and… you can guess what happened next. That project turned into a two-week vortex of lantern madness.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m thrilled for my daughter. She’s stepping into this new chapter with so much love, ambition, and determination. Soon she’ll be a wife, a lawyer, and maybe not too far down the road, a mother. And while my heart is overflowing with happiness for her, there’s also a tender part of me still catching up to the reality that my little girl is grown. I ironed tablecloths and tied ribbons around the s’mores favors, all while quietly processing the bigger truth: life’s patterns aren’t just mine, they’re hers too, and I’m learning to let go as she begins weaving her own.

It means I can catch myself mid-burnout and ask, What part of me still thinks exhaustion equals worth? And that’s when I pause, not just to rest, but to really reflect. My baby girl is grown. While my heart is bursting with pride, I’m also quietly reckoning with the shift. She’s ready. She’s stepping into roles I once carried. And in those pauses, I realize I don’t want her to inherit the belief that running herself into the ground is proof of love or success. I want her to see that balance, joy, and gentleness are just as worthy.

And sometimes, it also means giving myself permission to pause instead of pushing through.

As I work to loosen my own loops, here’s the question I’m holding onto:
✍️ What is one emotional pattern that keeps repeating in my life, and what might it be trying to teach me?

I don’t feel pressure to answer it today. I’ll let it hang in the background, like that random song stuck in your head.

Because once we actually listen to the pattern, it starts to loosen. And the Amazon boxes, the Target runs, the overstuffed schedules, they all start to look less like traps and more like messages we can finally hear.

Patterns aren’t flaws. They’re clues.
And if I’ve learned anything this week, it’s that sometimes the best thing we can do is stop outrunning the cycle and start listening.

After all, once a pattern is truly understood, it’s less of a trap and more of an inside joke you’re finally in on. It’s like catching the magician’s hand; suddenly, the trick doesn’t work anymore.

So, stay curious, and be kind, especially to yourself.
And for the love of George Dayton (the banker who founded Target), stay out of the dollar section. (Or don’t.)
And yes, maybe still grab the candle. Just admit it’s therapy with a wick, call it self-care, and move on.