Welcome to Mia’s Queue, a free newsletter for “humans in the loop” who care about conscious culture in a tech-driven world. I explore how taste and curation shape who we are, how we grow, and why we connect. Sometimes that means learning from secret agents of taste who elevate signal in the noise; other posts turn inward, reflecting on the process of flowering and noticing what makes life shimmer. This edition is about my efforts to move out of my comfort zone.

At the start of spring break earlier this year, my kids suggested we take a psychology test while waiting for our soufflés to arrive. It was the first time I’d taken them on a solo road trip, and I was nervous about everything going well, starting with navigating winding Highway 1 along the California coast.

My son pulled up the quiz he’d taken as part of his AP Psych class, and we all got to work on our phones, answering questions about our traits and predilections on a scale of not-at-all (0) to double-rainbow-all-the-way (5). We read our answers aloud, delighting our inner pop psychologists.

It was all fun and games until my needle-scratch moment: a big fat zero on one item, the only nil in our dozens of results.

My adventure score. It was non-existent.

My kids erupted with laughter. I chuckled too, but inside, my ego deflated right beside that soufflé. I know my adventurousness is probably not the headline of my personality, but zero?! When I imagine my best self, she is adventurous! She likes to try new things and meet new people and explore new areas — especially if there’s easy parking and excellent food.

If I’m honest, though, the score made sense. I am a creature of habit. I’ve had the same partner for 30+ years, the same address for 20+ years, the same job for 14+ years. I’ve operated in well-worn grooves that’ve formed a nice safety net around me for a long time. I’m really grateful for this! Particularly while raising kids, it’s been a life-saver to have a solid foundation and community.

But now one of these things is not so certain (the job), and so the net is developing some holes. While this is scary, deep down I know it’s also a good thing. Overall it has gotten harder for me to be brave. Always choosing driving over public transportation has put my city at arm’s length. Letting bad news overtake my mind has made the world feel dangerous. Isolating behind a computer has made IRL stuff feel like a lot of effort. Getting myself “out there” makes me shudder before I’ve even tried. I can talk myself out of any daydream with boring counterpoints about practicality.

The result is Me v. Me. Ambitious me paces the cage. Safe me whispers that the bars are there for a reason. Neither of us trusts the other with the gun. I picture a dusty duel outside a Pioneertown saloon; two rhinestone cowgirls trying to force the other to stand down. This boho town definitely ain’t big enough for the both of us.

I’m desperate to disarm this stalemate. My strategy? An experiment to try being just 2% braver each day. Not 100%, not 10%, just 2% — enough to extend my pinky toe a few millimeters past the fortified border of my comfort zone. So far I’ve:

…formalized an advisory role with a company I admire
…pitched a collaborative project with a creator I love
…posted through discomfort on LinkedIn
…volunteered in a challenging area
…pressed publish on this very newsletter (that required being 4% braver)

I can already tell how tiny shifts start to melt paralysis. It doesn’t even matter what the answer or outcome is (although of course positive results feel great). Once the brave deed has been done, it’s like, “OK, what else can I tackle today?!”

This practice is moving me forward in more ways than one. Every “no” or no answer builds resilience and reminds me that rejection isn’t the end of the world. Every “yes” offers solace that while I don’t know where I’m going, exactly, I am at least being intentional about the journey. I can even see faith cresting on the horizon like a rising sun.

Back to spring break in Big Sur, a day after that fancy lunch, the kids and I went on a rugged hike that required crossing a large stream. They scrambled ahead, leaving me alone on the opposite bank. I studied the rocks too long trying to find safe passage. The kids cheerfully urged me on, reminding me that my adventure score was already in the toilet. That was the nudge I needed to cross the f’ckin stream already.

It was no big deal. From then on, every time I did something out of my comfort zone, we’d laugh and re-tally my adventure score. The number went up and down and up again. By the end of the trip, it was definitely not zero anymore.

I did it. I solo piloted an adventure with my kids and a gleeful time was had by all.

That’s the thing I missed back at the restaurant: adventurousness isn’t a personality trait, it’s a practice.

I’m choosing braver, one micro step at a time.

In my queue right now…

👩🏼‍🎨 Nieves Gonnzalez

I could devote a deep dive to Lily Allen’s new album (wow), but what I really want to celebrate here is the artist who did the cover art. Working primarily in oil painting, Nieves Gonnzalez roots her work in classic styles like Spanish Baroque but with a contemporary twist. Her timeless portraits of women with agency in big puffer jackets are the hi/lo pairing I didn’t know I needed. Love love love.

📘 Greta Morgan “The Lost Voice”

One of my favorite Goodreads rituals is following writers I admire and seeing which books they give five stars to. That’s how I discovered “The Lost Voice” by Greta Morgan — my top book of 2025. Holly Whitaker called it “one of the most healing tomes I’ve ever read,” and I’d have to agree. It’s got everything I love: indie rock life, vision quests, and a powerful reckoning with what it means to lose something essential to your identity — and then reimagine it in ways that are surprising, actionable, and heart-opening.

🎶 Tame Impala “Deadbeat”

Usually I’m a sucker for what the critics crown — and they don't like this album — but I don’t care! It’s good practice for me to check other people’s opinions at the door and tune in to what actually lights me up. This one does it. Tame Impala peels off onto the dancefloor, and I’m right there with him, arms wide under the mirror ball.

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