It was all work, technically — Camden, New York, then a flight to St. Croix with a bag I’d been living out of for days. And the work came with me; the island wasn’t a vacation, it was the last leg of the job. By the time I landed I’d earned the right to be tired. Instead I decided to be somewhere.

So on the last leg, I stopped treating the trip like a thing to get through. The work still happened — calls, the laptop, the deadlines that don’t care where you are. But I stayed on the water instead of near the work. An Airbnb by the ocean, the same one bag. I bought groceries from the local store instead of booking dinners. I let the mornings start early — the light comes up over the water before the heat does, and before anything was scheduled — and let the evenings go dark and quiet, just a candle and whatever I was reading. The work still happened. But the edges of it — the early hours, the nights, the in-between — those I kept. No fireworks. No crowd. The kind of few days you don’t photograph much because you’re actually in them.

Here’s what made it — and what I’m carrying into the rest of the summer.

The Quiet Part

There’s a particular luxury in not going anywhere. Most days the whole itinerary was: swim before the heat, read through the middle of it, cook something simple, watch the light go. I kept the place lit with a candle at night — it’s the fastest way to make a rental feel like yours — and left the music low. That was the trip. Groceries and candlelight and an early swim. It sounds like nothing. It was the most rested I’ve been in months.

An unhurried life is not a lazy one. I read that somewhere, or I wrote it — either way, this was the proof.

What I Read

I brought exactly one book, and — fittingly, for a work trip I turned into a rest — it was a book about work and life. I finally started Start With Yourself: A New Vision for Work & Life — Emma Grede, and there was something right about reading it here: an ambitious woman’s no-nonsense case for putting yourself first, read from a chair by the water where I’d done exactly that. Not the beach read you’d expect. But the one that fit.

The full Summer Reading List — for the long evenings — is coming to VivreEve.

What’s Playing

The soundtrack to all of it was low and slow — the kind of music you read under, not dine to. Warm and acoustic, a little Cape Verdean soul, some Afro-jazz, a bossa track or two as the light went. It's the VivreEve an unhurried life playlist — the daytime, unhurried one. (Its after-dark sibling, the Summer Table playlist, is for the evening; this one's for the hammock.)

Where I Ate

I cooked most nights — that was half the point — but two meals earned a mention, and I love that they’re opposite ends of the same island. One night was La Reine Chicken Shack: no ceremony, paper plates, some of the best food of the trip. Another was Ama at Cane Bay — dinner by the water, the one proper night out, worth getting dressed for. A chicken shack and an oceanfront table, a few nights apart. That contrast is St. Croix, and honestly it’s the whole VivreEve philosophy on a plate: the humble thing and the beautiful thing, both done well, no need to choose.

What to Pack for a Quick Getaway

The whole trip fit in one bag — and because this was a groceries-and-candlelight kind of week, the edit skews toward the things that make a simple place feel good, not a resort wardrobe. High and low:

• A swimsuit — the one you’ll actually live in; on by 7am for the swim before the heat.

• A linen short set — throws on over the swimsuit, walks to a table at Ama, and forgives the suitcase.

• Sandals that walk all day and still read pulled-together at night.

• Sunglasses — the one accessory that does the most work.

• A straw / raffia tote big enough for a towel, the book, and the groceries.

• A compact speaker for low music on the balcony while the light goes.

• A travel candle — the thing I light first in any rental; it turns four walls into yours.

Buy the bag and the sandals well; everything else can be simple. That’s the whole formula.

Shop → The Vivre List — No. 1 — St. Croix — 2026

I flew home rested, which is not a thing I usually say about a work trip. The candle’s packed. The playlist’s still going. And I’m carrying the small discovery of it into the rest of the summer: that I didn’t need a different trip to feel this way — I needed to actually claim the hours that were already mine. Groceries, a candle, an early swim, and the discipline to stop when the work stopped.

Off the clock until next time. 🤍

— À bientôt, Eve

If you’re setting a table back home → The Summer Table.

P.S. Connect with me on Instagram @VivreEve or shop my curated recommendations on ShopMy.

VivreEve™ is a publication of Chavah Media Ltd. Some links are affiliate links — VivreEve may earn a small commission, at no cost to you.

© 2026 Chavah Media Ltd. | VivreEve™. All rights reserved.

Last week I wrote about setting the summer table — the linen, the glasses, the food mostly already done. But the part that actually makes people stay isn’t on the table at all. It’s the two things you can’t really photograph: the sound, and the light.

The light.

Start lower than you think. One pillar candle down the middle, a few tea lights in the glasses you didn’t use, a hurricane to keep the flame from the breeze. Overhead light off, entirely. The table you fussed over for twenty minutes starts to look like something out of a film the moment the only light on it is moving.

The sound.

Music low enough that no one mentions it — but the silence never arrives. It should come from somewhere that isn’t your phone propped against a water glass. I keep one small speaker on the table; nothing technical, just something that looks like it belongs there and disappears into the evening once it’s playing.

The playlist.

The VivreEve Summer Table playlist — soul, slow grooves, a little after-dark — runs a little over an hour, which is about the length of a good first sitting. Press play and leave it.

That’s the whole production. Light it. Play it. Then sit down. If you’re just setting the table, start here → The Summer Table.

Shop the Summer Table Edit -> The Summer Table

Everything I set a long evening from: linen tablecloth, napkins, wine glasses, tumblers, candles and holders, Ina Garten’s go-to dinners cookbook , Irreplaceable: 60 of Humanity’s Most Treasured Places, speaker .

What’s the one thing you always reach for when you set a table in summer? Tell me in the comments - I’m always editing.

À bientôt, Eve

P.S. Connect with me on Instagram @VivreEve or shop my curated recommendations on ShopMy.

VivreEve™ is a publication of Chavah Media Ltd. Some links are affiliate links — VivreEve may earn a small commission, at no cost to you.

© 2026 Chavah Media Ltd. | VivreEve™. All rights reserved.

There is a particular kind of pressure that arrives with summer - the sense that the season is supposed to be effortless, and that if you are doing it correctly, you will be barefoot on a terrace somewhere, unbothered, with something cold in your hand.

I have spent enough summers now to know that the effortlessness is the most engineered part of the whole thing.

The good news, the thing I have actually come to believe at sixty-four, is that a beautiful summer table asks for far less than we think. Not more dishes. Not a theme. Not a color story you saw somewhere and felt vaguely guilty for not executing. What it asks for is a few good things you return to, and the confidence to stop there.

This is how I set a table now, when people are coming and the evening is long.

Start with the cloth, not the centerpiece

For years I worried about centerpieces. Now I start with linen and let everything else follow.

A washed linen tablecloth - the kind that wrinkles the moment you look at it, and is better for the wrinkling - does almost all the work. It signals that the evening is unhurried before anyone has sat down. I keep two: one in white that goes with everything, one in a faded olive I reach for when the tomatoes are good. LINK: linen tablecloth

Cloth napkins, always. Not because paper is a crime, but because a heavy linen napkin in someone’s lap tells them, quietly, that you went to a little trouble. They cost less than people assume and last a decade. LINK: linen napkins, set

The glassware earns its keep

If I were starting over and could buy one thing well, it would be glasses.

A handful of simple, slightly heavy wine glasses that feel good in the hand, and a stack of short tumblers that work for water, for a negroni, for the children’s lemonade, for everything. Mismatched on purpose. The table looks collected rather than purchased, which is the entire goal. LINK: wine glasses, LINK: tumblers

Light it like you mean it

The single most underrated move in summer entertaining: as the sun goes down, get low and warm.

Candles in mismatched holders down the center of the table - more than you think you need, fewer than would be a fire hazard. Unscented at the table, always; you want people to smell the food, not the wax. I keep a drawer of plain beeswax for exactly this. LINK: candles

When the light drops and the candles take over, the table you fussed over for twenty minutes will look, suddenly, like something out of a film. This is the closest thing to magic I can reliably promise you.

The food should be mostly already done

The part nobody tells you: the host who is happiest is the one who is not cooking when the guests arrive.

I have edited my summer menus down to things that sit well - a big platter of tomatoes and good olive oil, something cold and poached, bread, a bowl of stone fruit at the end with nothing done to it. The triumph of summer cooking is the restraint. If I am reaching for one book this season, it is the one that taught me to stop fussing. LINK: Ina Garten's go-to dinners cookbook

Have something cold and ready to pour the moment people walk in. A pitcher of something - even just sparkling water with a lot of citrus and a few herbs from the pot by the door - means your hands are free and your face is glad to see them. That is the whole job.

A book left out, a little music

I always leave one beautiful book on the table outside, or on the chair near the drinks. Someone always picks it up. It starts a conversation that has nothing to do with me, which is exactly what you want as a host. LINK: Irreplaceable: 60 of Humanity's Most Treasured Places .

And music low enough that no one mentions it, but the silence never arrives. This is what I put on - soul, amapiano, slow grooves, built to last a long evening. Press play and leave it.

The music has to come from somewhere that isn't your phone propped against a water glass. I keep one small speaker on the table — nothing technical, just something that looks like it belongs there and disappears into the evening once it's playing. That, the candlelight, and the playlist are the whole production.

On the table tonight: ts· the candle holders · the VivreEve Summer Table playlist.

The point of all of it

A beautiful table is not about the objects. It is about removing every reason for you to leave it - to be up, fussing, apologizing for the thing that isn’t perfect. You set it well so that you can sit down and stay.

That, at sixty-four, is the only entertaining philosophy I still believe in. Set it beautifully. Then sit down.

Shop the Summer Table Edit -> The Summer Table

Everything I set a long evening from: linen tablecloth, napkins, wine glasses, tumblers, candles and holders, Ina Garten’s go-to dinners cookbook , Irreplaceable: 60 of Humanity’s Most Treasured Places, speaker .

What’s the one thing you always reach for when you set a table in summer? Tell me in the comments - I’m always editing.

À bientôt, Eve

P.S. Connect with me on Instagram @VivreEve or shop my curated recommendations on ShopMy.

VivreEve™ is a publication of Chavah Media Ltd. Some links are affiliate links — VivreEve may earn a small commission, at no cost to you.

© 2026 Chavah Media Ltd. | VivreEve™. All rights reserved.

Somewhere along the way we decided Easter baskets were for children — that past a certain age, the morning arrives without chocolate, without a small pile of things chosen just for you. I’d like to make the case for undoing that. Not with sugar and plastic grass, but with the kind of quiet, useful, slightly indulgent things that make an ordinary week feel tended to. An adult Easter basket is really just permission to be looked after. Here’s what I’d put in one.

The case for slowing down.

If the basket has a theme, it’s this: things that ask you to stop for a moment. I keep this linen meditation cushion by the window — it’s the only one I’ve found that doesn’t look like gym equipment left in the living room. Near it, the Deck of Calm cards, which I’m skeptical of in principle and reach for anyway; you pull one, you do the small thing it says, you feel marginally more like a person. For anyone in a genuinely depleted stretch — a new mother, or just someone running on empty — this self-care bundle is the thing to send when you don’t know what to say. And when the day has been too much, the Calm Club Big Night In set or the Relaxation Rituals box are the closest thing to a night off that arrives in a box.

The small tools, too: an eco massage roller for the knot that lives between your shoulders, a lavender acupressure pillow that sounds like nonsense and works, a jade roller and gua sha set for the ten minutes at night that feel like a ritual rather than a routine, and peppermint and lavender shower steamers that turn an ordinary shower into something closer to a spa you didn’t have to book.

A little reflection.

Easter is, at its heart, about renewal — so a couple of things for the reset. The Reset Guide is a journal that actually gives you somewhere to put the intention instead of leaving you staring at blank pages. And Rishi’s organic lavender-mint tea is the cup I make when I want the idea of calm to become the fact of it.

The everyday, upgraded.

The most quietly luxurious gifts are the ones that improve something you do every single day. Good hand cream is the whole thesis: L’Occitane’s shea butter for the bedside, CeraVe’s fragrance-free therapeutic cream for skin that won’t tolerate anything fussier, a vitamin E treatment for hands that have earned it. Small things. You notice them constantly.

For the table and the kitchen.

If your person’s love language is a slow morning, the Ember temperature-control mug keeps coffee at exactly the right heat for hours — the rare gadget that earns its place — with a cold version for iced drinks that refuse to be watered down. Then the pantry pleasures: lavender-infused honey for toast and cheese boards, a good cold-pressed olive oil that makes an elegant gift on its own, and — for the person who’d rather make the treat than receive it — a lemon-lavender doughnut kit that fills the kitchen with the right kind of Sunday.

And when you truly can’t choose, a Haven Well Within gift card lets them pick their own version of all of this.

On presentation.

Skip the plastic. A fabric tote or market basket becomes part of the gift and outlives the holiday. Arrange by moment rather than by size — a morning-ritual cluster, an evening-wind-down cluster — so it reads like a little narrative. Tuck in dried lavender or eucalyptus for the scent. And write the note; the note is the part they keep.

Then hand it over, and let someone be looked after for once.

À bientôt, Eve

Shop the Grown-Up Easter Basket -> Grown-Up Easter Basket

P.S. Connect with me on Instagram @VivreEve or shop my curated recommendations on ShopMy.

VivreEve™ is a publication of Chavah Media Ltd. Some links are affiliate links — VivreEve may earn a small commission, at no cost to you.

© 2026 Chavah Media Ltd. | VivreEve™. All rights reserved.

There’s a version of Easter morning that’s over by ten a.m. — the chocolate gone, the plastic eggs already underfoot, the sugar doing its work. And there’s another version, where the basket holds a few things that are still being loved in July. I’m firmly in the second camp. None of this is anti-candy — it’s just that the basket is a chance to give something that lasts, and children remember the rabbit they still sleep with long after they’ve forgotten the chocolate one. Here’s what I’d choose.

Books to begin a tradition.

The loveliest Easter gift is one you can reread every spring. The Country Bunny and the Little Gold Shoes is the classic I’d start with — gorgeous, and quietly empowering in a way that’s aged beautifully. Kevin Henkes’ When Spring Comes is all hush and anticipation, perfect for the youngest listeners. Eric Carle’s The Tiny Seed teaches patience and growth without ever feeling like a lesson. And The Bunny Book is a warm little tale about becoming who you’re meant to be — a good one for the board-book years.

Soft friends that stay.

A plush companion is the centerpiece, and the right one becomes permanent. The ballet bunny in her tutu is made for imaginative play; the Little Nibble bunny in coral blush has the softest fur and the floppiest ears and becomes an instant favorite. For the smallest hands, the tiny gray Nibble bunny or My First Bunny — the latter designed with a grip babies can actually hold. The baby bunny boy is a sweet first companion, and the Dinkum bunny Pip is the one I’d choose for naptime — subtle colors, ultra-soft, the kind of thing that ends up in every photo for years.

For hands that want to be busy.

Play that does a little quiet development while it entertains: wooden egg shakers for rhythm and small-hand sensory work, stacking bunnies for fine motor skills and the deep toddler satisfaction of building-then-toppling, and a rabbit rattle set for the infants. For slightly older artists, color-changing markers feel genuinely magical (they blend into new colors), and a Pets painting pad gives them animals to make while quietly building creativity and control.

A little bit of spring, brought outdoors.

Easter and new growth are the same story, so a few things that get children into the dirt: a junior seed-starter kit that teaches responsibility and the small daily miracle of watching something come up, a set of properly-sized garden tools for hands that want to help, and — for mess-free sensory play — a butterfly-garden squish bag that walks them through the life cycle by touch.

The basket itself.

Let the container be part of the gift. A bunny straw basket bag doubles as a summer tote and long outlives the holiday; a fluffy basket makes the morning look like the memory you want it to be; a keepsake first-Easter basket is the one you hold onto. And a fluffy bunny purse adds a bit of whimsy while giving small treasures somewhere to live.

A few notes on the morning.

Layer it thoughtfully — larger plush at the back, small treasures at the front where little eyes land first. Use real grass (start it in a shallow dish a week ahead) or paper grass, never plastic. Tuck in a handwritten note “from the Easter Bunny” that names something specific and true about your child. And if you want to stretch the joy, number a few items so they’re discovered in sequence.

The candy will be gone by lunch. The bunny will still be here next spring.

À bientôt, Eve

Shop the The Easter Basket, Beyond the Candy -> The Easter Basket, Beyond the Candy

P.S. Connect with me on Instagram @VivreEve or shop my curated recommendations on ShopMy.

VivreEve™ is a publication of Chavah Media Ltd. Some links are affiliate links — VivreEve may earn a small commission, at no cost to you.

© 2026 Chavah Media Ltd. | VivreEve™. All rights reserved.

There’s a particular quality of light that defines the season for me. Not the bright, insistent glow of overhead fixtures, but something quieter—the way mercury glass catches candlelight and sends it dancing across walls, how metallic surfaces seem to hold warmth rather than simply reflect it, the soft shimmer of flocked greenery under string lights.

This year’s approach to decorating leaned away from color and toward something more fundamental: creating spaces that glow.

The Philosophy: Texture Over Trend

Holiday decorating often falls into two camps—either a riot of color and pattern, or stark minimalism that feels more austere than celebratory. I’ve always been drawn to a third path: curated abundance. Spaces that feel layered and rich without overwhelming, sophisticated without being cold.

The key is treating light as your primary design element. Everything else—the ornaments, the greenery, the vessels—exists to interact with that light. To catch it, multiply it, soften it, send it where you need warmth most.

The Elements

Mercury Glass & Metallic Surfaces

Mercury glass has earned its place as a seasonal staple for good reason. The silvered, slightly imperfect finish does something unique—it diffuses light rather than simply bouncing it back. Place a mercury glass vase near a window during the day, and it glows from within. Set it beside candlelight in the evening, and it becomes a soft lantern.

I layer mercury glass in varying scales—large vessels on the mantel, smaller ornaments clustered on surfaces, vintage finds mixed with new pieces. The effect is cumulative; each piece amplifies the others.

Warm metallics—gold, brass, copper—add a different quality. Where mercury glass softens, metallics add drama. Gold ornaments catch and concentrate light, creating small moments of brilliance throughout a room. The key is restraint: enough to create visual interest, not so much that it tips into excess.

Flocked Greenery

There’s something about flocked branches and garland that reads as both natural and theatrical. The white-tipped needles catch light like fresh snow, creating texture and depth that plain greenery can’t match.

I prefer pre-lit flocked pieces—the embedded lights create that coveted glow-from-within effect, and the white flocking diffuses the light in a way that feels softer than traditional string lights on unflocked branches.

The garland on our mantel incorporates flocked pine with gold and bronze ornaments, red berry picks for subtle color, and metallic ribbons that add movement. It’s substantial without being heavy, festive without being fussy.

Strategic Lighting

Lighting makes or breaks the entire aesthetic. I rely on three types:

Warm white string lights (never cool white—the difference is everything) embedded in trees and garland. They create base-level ambient glow.

Candlelight (real or LED) for flickering, dynamic light that makes everything feel alive. Our crystal chandelier becomes particularly magical in candlelight—the faceted drops send light patterns dancing across the ceiling.

Accent lighting from table lamps and sconces, creating pools of warmth that anchor different areas of the room.

The goal is layered lighting—multiple sources at different heights and intensities, so the space never feels flat or one-dimensional.

Considered Color

While this approach is primarily about metallics and neutrals, I do use color—just sparingly and strategically. Deep red berries throughout the arrangements add visual punctuation without overwhelming the palette. The red reads as organic rather than decorative, a nod to winter botanicals rather than traditional Christmas color schemes.

The Approach: Composition Over Collection

The difference between a space that feels curated and one that feels cluttered often comes down to composition. I think about holiday decorating the way I think about setting a table or arranging flowers—it’s about creating visual relationships between objects.

On the mantel, I work in odd-numbered groupings. The large mercury glass vessel anchors one side, balanced by the garland’s natural asymmetry. Ornaments and berry picks create visual rhythm without strict symmetry. The gold mirror frame acts as both backdrop and amplifier, reflecting and multiplying every light source.

The tree itself follows similar logic: flocked branches create the foundation, metallic ornaments in varying sizes and finishes add depth and interest, and the whole thing is lit from within. I clustered similar ornaments in small groups rather than distributing them evenly—this creates visual moments rather than uniform coverage.

The Reality: Make It Sustainable

Here’s what I don’t do: I don’t spend December stressed about creating some Instagram-perfect holiday moment. Everything you see here was put together over several years, with pieces added gradually as I found things that felt right.

Most of these pieces pack away easily and store well. The flocked garland and tree come pre-lit, eliminating the annual light-stringing frustration. The ornaments are largely unbreakable or carefully wrapped. The mercury glass serves me year-round in different contexts.

This matters because holiday decorating should add to your life, not create work that makes you dread the season. If something requires extensive maintenance, complicated setup, or fragile handling, it probably won’t get used.

The Takeaway

Creating a space that feels warm and celebratory doesn’t require following trends or purchasing elaborate displays. It requires understanding how light works in your space, choosing pieces that interact with that light in interesting ways, and composing those pieces with intention.

The rest—the specific ornaments, the exact shade of metallics, the style of greenery—is personal. What matters is the underlying approach: treat light as your medium, use texture to create interest, and remember that the goal is atmosphere, not perfection.

After all, the point of all this—the lights, the reflective surfaces, the careful layering—is to create spaces that feel good to inhabit during the darkest days of the year. Spaces that glow.

What’s your approach to holiday decorating? I’d love to hear how you create atmosphere in your own space.

À bientôt, Eve

Shop the Edit

Many of these pieces go on sale after Christmas—the perfect time to stock up for next year or complete this season’s look.

View the full collection here

Key pieces from this collection:

• Mercury glass vessels and ornaments in varying scales

• Flocked pre-lit garland and trees

• Warm metallic ornaments (gold, brass, copper finishes)

• Crystal and glass lighting elements and gold mirrors

• Natural berry picks and botanical accents

P.S. Connect with me on Instagram @VivreEve or shop my curated recommendations on ShopMy.

This morning’s light came through my windows differently. Maybe it’s because I knew what today was—winter solstice, the longest night of the year arriving tonight. Or maybe it’s because I’m writing to you for the first time, and beginnings always carry their own particular glow.

There’s something profoundly symbolic about starting this newsletter at the turning point. After tonight’s longest night, the days will gradually lengthen. The light returns—not all at once, but slowly, steadily, with the patient rhythm that nature knows best. It feels like the perfect moment to begin something new.

Welcome. I’m so glad you’re here.

For those finding me for the first time, I’m Eve—a content creator, wellness enthusiast, and someone who’s learned that life at 63 holds its own particular kind of beauty and wisdom. You might know me from Instagram, where I share curated inspiration for mindful, intentional living. I’ve built a community there that values authenticity, thoughtfulness, and the art of creating a life that feels genuinely good.

But here’s what I’ve learned about social media: it’s wonderful for connection, for quick inspiration, for beautiful moments—but it doesn’t always make room for the deeper conversations I want to have. It doesn’t slow down enough for the nuance, the longer reflections, the questions that deserve more than a caption and a scroll.

That’s why I’m here. That’s why I’m inviting you into this space.

Substack offers something Instagram can’t: the luxury of time and depth. Here, we can explore ideas beyond the algorithm’s demands. We can have real conversations. We can sit with questions longer. We can go beneath the surface of “beautiful living” to examine what actually makes life feel beautiful, meaningful, intentional.

I’m not abandoning Instagram—I love that space and the community we’ve built there. But I’m creating something complementary here. Think of Instagram as the highlight reel, the visual inspiration, the daily touchpoint. And think of this newsletter as the fireside conversation, the deeper dive, the place where we unpack what it all really means.

What You Can Expect in 2026

This coming year, I want to explore themes that matter to me—and I hope, to you:

Mindful living beyond the trends. What does it actually mean to live intentionally? How do we create rhythms and rituals that sustain us rather than exhaust us?

The beauty and complexity of aging. I position my age prominently in my work because I believe there’s power in visibility. We need more honest conversations about what it means to build a life, career, and creative practice in our 60s and beyond.

Home as sanctuary. How we create spaces that hold us through all seasons—literal and metaphorical. The small design choices, the rituals of care, the ways we make our environments work for us.

Creativity and reinvention. I’m navigating the creator economy, building new platforms, learning new skills. I’ll share what I’m discovering about staying curious, adaptable, and willing to be a beginner.

Wellness that’s sustainable. Not the kind that requires a complete life overhaul, but the practices that actually fit into real days, real budgets, real lives.

I’ll be writing regularly - some posts will be deeply personal reflections. Others will be practical guides. Sometimes I’ll share what’s working in my business as a creator. Sometimes I’ll just want to sit with a question together and see where it leads us.

This is meant to be a conversation, not a monologue. I hope you’ll use the comments to share your own reflections, questions, and experiences. That’s how we build community—not just through consuming content, but through genuine exchange.

An Invitation

As we stand at the threshold of the longest night, turning toward the light that will return tomorrow, I’m curious: What are you calling into your life in 2026? What are you ready to release? What does “turning toward the light” mean for you right now?

I’d love to hear your thoughts in the comments. Whether you’re finding me for the first time or you’ve been part of my Instagram community for a while, welcome. I’m honored you’re here.

Here’s to the returning light—and to all the conversations ahead.

À bientôt, Eve

P.S. Connect with me on Instagram @VivreEve or shop my curated recommendations on ShopMy .