The Seed of Inspiration

For years, my work as a clinically-based wellness provider centered around adults—bright, ambitious people who had simply forgotten how to pause. In boardrooms and break rooms, I gently nudged them back to their breath, their senses, their bodies. We giggled through chair yoga, whispered our way through quiet meditations, and remembered the magic of presence. I saw again and again how even the tiniest spark—a deeper inhale, a stretch of the spine, a sip of sunlight—could begin to soften everything.

But then a little question started to tap at my heart:
What if we didn’t have to wait until we were burned out to remember how to feel?
What if the first lessons of mindfulness came wrapped in wonder, adventure, and play?

That’s how Bob’s Donuts for Breakfast was born.

In truth, the first spark of the story came from home. My two sons, Logan and Sawyer, used to ask—nearly every morning—“Can we have Bob’s Donuts for breakfast?” And I’d laugh and say, “No. You can have eggs… although that does have a nice ring to it.” It became a family rhythm, a phrase filled with mischief and sweetness, and over time, those playful words began to bloom into something more. What if that scent they were dreaming of became a real story? What if a donut could become a doorway to a deeper sense of joy, curiosity, and calm?

This book began as a love letter to the senses—a sweet, swirly story about two curious friends chasing a magical smell through San Francisco. But more than that, it’s an invitation to young readers to slow down, tune in, and trust the wisdom of their bodies. Kovee and Chestnut aren’t just adorable—they’re little guides of sensory awareness, reminding us that joy often begins with noticing.

When Kovee says:

“Breathe the air deep into your nose. Smell with all your heart,”
she’s echoing what I teach every day: that presence begins in the breath.

And when the friends tumble into a bed of marigolds and the world becomes:

“a dizzying kaleidoscope, sunlight filtering through soft petals,”
it mirrors what I’ve always known deep in my bones—beauty rushes in when we allow ourselves to feel.

The fog rolling over redwoods, the zing of ginger in the air, the warmth of cinnamon, the golden glow of a tiny donut shop at the end of a wild city adventure—these are metaphors for mindfulness. For belonging. For coming home to the now.

Writing this book let me step beyond the wellness world I knew and into the soft, imaginative terrain of childhood. I wanted to create something that would help little hearts stay open, little bodies stay curious, and little minds feel safe in stillness. I believe mindfulness doesn’t have to be serious or stiff. It can be joyful, silly, wiggly, poetic—and deeply, deeply kind.

In the end, I wrote Bob’s Donuts for the same reason I teach mindfulness:
Because some scents—and some moments—stay with you forever.
And the earlier we learn to notice them, the sweeter life becomes.