Baby Audrey loved a good puzzle and some peace. Present-day Audrey loves sitting alone at lunch, away from the noise of endless meetings. It's restorative. My little oasis. And maybe, just maybe, there are others out there who get it too.

I tried pretending to be easygoing once. I’m not very good at it. I’m curious, opinionated, and the kind of person who watches a film and then obsessively researches the director. Where are the people looking for real connection, where curiosity leads the way?

I’ve lost count of how many ideas I’ve pitched that went nowhere. They’ve been ignored, shelved, or deemed “too hard.” It used to frustrate me. But recently, something shifted.

Reading Deep Work by Cal Newport helped me see the bigger picture. The work I’m doing, the experimentation isn’t just about the end result. It’s about rewiring my brain.

I used to think marketing was all creativity, big swings, and "aha!" moments. Now? It’s reports, decks, and emails about emails. After 20 years in the game, I’ve hit a wall. Is it corporate life? Seniority? Or am I just stuck in a rut?

AI is stepping in to handle the boring stuff which, in theory, should free us up for the fun, strategic work we actually like talking about. But here’s the thing: do we really want to give all that extra time back to work? Or is this an invitation to redefine who we are beyond the grind?

Lately, I’ve been hearing the phrase ‘doing it for the plot’ everywhere on TikTok, from the kids in the office (who definitely see me as the 'grown-up'), and honestly? I love it. The idea of leaning into chaos, saying yes just because it’ll make a great story later, it’s got me thinking. Maybe this year, I’ll embrace a little of that energy.

January has become my season of hibernation—a far cry from my usual jam-packed weekends of brunches, coffees, and dinners. These days, it’s all about roasting vegetables, napping, and embracing the calm. And honestly? I’m weirdly good at it.

It’s also got me thinking about the idea of “couch friends” (or sofa friends for us Brits)—the people you can do absolutely nothing with and still feel completely connected.

Corporate life is a transaction: they pay me, I do the work. Simple. Or at least, it should be. But lately, Defying Gravity from Wicked has been playing on repeat in my head, and I’ve realised why: it’s the soundtrack to my internal career crisis.

Some people commute through London without music. Just city noise, car horns, shouting strangers. Honestly, I don’t know how they do it.

For me, my playlists are everything. They’re my time machine, my escape.

It was minus two in London, and I’d just booked an eight-degree plunge pool in Shoreditch—after one too many glasses of Greek white wine the night before. Spontaneous? Yes. Questionable judgment? Also yes. But it all worked out.

This isn’t really about the plunge pool (well, not entirely). It’s about London—the chaos, the connections, and the magic of saying yes to something unexpected.

There’s a special place in hell for women who don’t support other women, and honestly, I agree. I’m loud about championing women because this corporate world isn’t easy, but nothing grates on me more than seeing women go out of their way to trip each other up.

For so long, I’ve tied my worth to what I create and achieve. But as I reflect on trust and relationships, I’m learning to let go of that. This is a thank you to the friends who remind me I’m enough—messy, unpolished, and all.

What does it mean to live authentically in a world that demands you betray parts of yourself? After watching A Jazzman’s Blues, I couldn’t stop thinking about the sacrifices we make to belong—and the toll it takes on our identity.

I keep coming back to the idea of hitting pause—quitting the grind, packing up, and searching for sunshine and self-discovery. But is a one-way ticket the answer? Or is there a way to find joy, meaning, and time to think without leaving everything behind? Maybe the real work is unlearning what we’ve been told about success and figuring out how to stay—differently.

They’re not trendy, they’re not fashionable, but these slippers are elite. The solid bottom? The furry inside? Pure genius. It’s like nanas cracked the code on comfort decades ago, and here I am in my mid-forties, finally catching on.

Sometimes, the workplace has a way of making someone seem more attractive than they might be in the real world. It's what I call office goggles. But when I talked about my work crush with my Alice whilst we were in New Zealand recently, her brutally honest feedback brought me back to reality.

For me, showing gratitude is supposed to feel genuine—a connection, a moment of real appreciation. But I have found that in corporate spaces, it often turns into something hollow: an anonymous email, a forced meeting exercise, or yet another tick-box task. Its such a shame about how the clumsiness of corporate culture risks ruining something that is supposed to be deeply human.

Sometimes leadership is less about the role and more about the weight it carries. For me, being seen as an inspiration is both humbling and heavy—a mix of pride, exhaustion, and moments of loneliness.

Dreaming isn’t about having all the answers—it’s about making space for the questions. When life feels stuck or too formulaic, letting your mind wander to bold, expansive possibilities can be the reset you didn’t know you needed. For me, it’s about imagining what’s next, even if the answers aren’t clear yet.

It’s a question my friend Ritchie asked me that I wasn’t quite ready to answer. Sitting in the sunshine of New Zealand, far from my desk and surrounded by every reason to relax, I’ve been turning it over in my mind. Work has always been a big part of who I am, but what happens when I dig deeper?