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After putting pen to paper for years, I shimmied my words over to the airwaves for a quick audio experiment in vulnerability called:

Dani Kreeft Writes Out Loud.

It wasn’t too long before I felt the medium wasn’t for me, but I’ll leave the few episodes I made here for all our future generations.



I had just landed in New York City, into this perfect August day. I'd beelined it to Central Park so I could catch all the light I could.

While I was walking beside the water, I remembered this piece I'd read about Amy Krouse Rosenthal, about how she was dying, about how she'd wanted more.

More time with her husband, with her children, more time sipping martinis at the Green Mill Jazz Club on Thursday nights. And she knew she couldn't have it.

And it changed me. 

It moved me so profoundly, I can't even tell you.

How many more times, then, do I get to look at a tree?” she asked. “Let’s just say it’s 12,395. Absolutely, that’s a lot, but it’s not infinite, and I’m thinking anything less than infinite is too small a number and not satisfactory. At the very least, I want to look at trees a million more times.

Is that too much to ask?


This was a piece I originally wrote for the podcast launch party since I didn't even know how to start, how to begin to be in front of an audience and explain what the heck I was doing.

I tried to communicate it in writing, and this came out.

After I read it out loud, my friend Sarah grabbed my paper copy with this giant smile on her face, having felt so much the same. With that, I knew it was something I should shove out into the world for the chance it resonated with anyone else. 

The more I followed His lead, the more life I felt, so it became the choice we all make every day: growth or stagnation, participating or procrastinating, trying or tanking.

And really, life or death.


Honestly, I don't even know where to begin on this one.

Understanding why I've been drawn to the guys I've been drawn to in the past has been an all-out, for-years-and-years wrestle and war. But it's gifted me with the courage to dig into some terrifying shit - the stuff that makes us uncomfortable and insecure and wobbly and nauseous. 

As painful as it was, I had to go there. 
I had to go there so I could heal.

The question of the year, of all my dating years, sat heavy in the air. My brain burned a black hole into his bookshelf digging for the answer - the actual answer.
Even if saying the truth made me look bad, I knew lying wouldn’t profit, so I just spit it out.


I think we're scared to say our fears out loud for fear that they'll be shot down or go unnoticed or flagged as false or who knows. Our pride teaches us to appear unafraid, so I wanted to break that down a bit, because no one is unafraid.

No one.

The ones who do things are the ones who learn how to let it guide them without dictating where they're going.

And if that’s what I say that I want, then the question becomes, “Can I swim through the scary to fight my way forward?”


You might be wondering who I am and why I'm on the internet, so I set out to answer that and set the airwaves up so you know what to expect, what we might talk about and what's about to happen.

I don't have it all planned out by any means, so we'll just roll the dice and figure it out together.

It was in this era that God swapped my pencil for a pen and said, “Start writing higher so other people can read it. They need to hear this, too.” It’s when I officially became a writer.


If you’re on the hunt for a storyteller and wordsmith to blow the experience of your brand wide open, chances are I’m looking for you, too.