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Team Kibi Anderson, Los Angeles, CA (2026)

09/01/2026

We’re closing camp tonight, and there’s one question I really want to ask: Where are you in your own saga with rest?

Maybe you’re doing things now you wouldn’t have done a year ago, or joy has started finding its way back in. I also know some of you are still in the struggle, trying to figure out what you need and what keeps getting in the way.

I want to hear those stories tonight.

This is our final Rested Rebel Summer Camp of the summer, and I’m ridiculously excited to spend it in community with you. Selfishly, I want to listen. Every time I hear these stories, I understand a little more about where people are getting stuck, what’s getting easier and what we’re all learning about capacity as we actually try to live this stuff.

I’m also hoping we get to recognize ourselves in each other’s stories. Somebody shares something and you think, Oh, me too. Maybe we close camp feeling like we’ve found a few more of our people.

So if you’ve been watching Summer Camp from the sidelines or you’ve been on the fence about joining us, this is it. We’re closing camp tonight. Come pull up a chair.

Let’s leave a little lighter than we came.

🔥 The Saga of a Rested Rebel
Tonight • 4pm PST/7pm EST
FREE

Come sit around the campfire. RSVP at the link in the comments.

08/28/2026

When does “I can’t keep doing it this way” become “I can’t keep doing this”?

I learned the difference years ago when I almost blew up my career and became a chiropractor.

I was working at a bank, where I’d been brought in to build an entertainment practice. Then the 2008 financial crisis hit, and anything remotely connected to risk disappeared overnight. I had worked incredibly hard, gotten to the point where things were supposed to move—and nothing I did could make them move.

I was disappointed, angry and exhausted. My answer when something wasn’t working had always been simple: work harder. Except this time, that wasn’t working either.

Somewhere in that exhaustion, “there are no more moves for me to make here right now” became “there are no moves for me at all.”

So naturally, I started questioning my entire life. Somehow “maybe I need to do something completely different” became chiropractic school.

Y’all. I researched schools, mapped out the science prerequisites I’d need and wrote my resignation letter three times.

Apparently there was no possibility that I was simply tired. No. Clearly the answer was organic chemistry. 😂

Eventually, I told someone my entire plan and he said, “I just think you’re tired. What if you took a nap?”

Sir. I am contemplating an entirely new career, and you’re telling me to go to sleep?

My initial reaction was to dismiss him. But the absurdity made me pause because... what if he was right? What if I was so tired I couldn’t tell whether I wanted a different life or was just desperate for something to move?

I didn’t become a chiropractor or quit the bank. I redesigned my job, advocated for myself with a new CEO, got a significant raise and spent another three years there doing some of the most meaningful work of that chapter of my career.

I wonder how many decisions we make when we’re too depleted to discern. How quickly does “I can’t see another choice” become “there isn’t another choice”?

Sometimes leaving is absolutely the choice. Quit the job. Change direction. Blow some s**t up. I just know that in this moment, I needed enough capacity to see what else was there.

And apparently, that started with a nap.

That’s one of the questions I’m bringing to our final Rested Rebel Summer Camp campfire on September 1, “The Saga of a Rested Rebel.”

🔥 Come sit around the campfire with me. Link in comments.

08/27/2026

Stop telling people how good you are at what you do. Let them experience it.

This is one of the biggest shifts people with 20 or 30 years of experience need to make right now.

The digital economy has made it ridiculously easy to give people evidence of what you can do. You don't have to wait for an interview, a meeting or somebody to invite you into the room.

I was talking recently with a dear friend who's spent more than 30 years working in film and television and is currently on the job hunt. She started telling me about a trip she'd taken back to her hometown during what has been a pretty emotionally difficult season.

She'd decided to put some of her energy toward simple things she loves that give her joy, so she went home and did some of the things she'd done as a child.

As she told me about it, I could hear the light come back into her voice. The way she described the places, what they brought back for her and how the experience reignited something in her was beautiful.

And I remember thinking: This is what you should be talking about publicly.

She's a storyteller. So tell the story. Find the emotional arc and turn it into something that makes another human being feel something.

If you want someone to hire you to tell stories, let them experience what happens when you tell one.

The post becomes the portfolio.

She hadn't thought about it that way, and I think that's what a lot of experienced people are missing about the digital economy. You're already doing the thing. You're just waiting until someone hires you to demonstrate it.

If you've spent 20 years inside an industry, write about a pattern you're noticing. If you're strategic, take something happening in the market and help me see it differently. If you're an exceptional communicator, communicate something exceptionally well.

A post can do that. So can a newsletter, a video, a podcast or a thoughtful comment on somebody else's idea.

This isn't about becoming a "content creator." It's about creating evidence.

Every time somebody encounters your thinking, you have an opportunity to let them experience a little bit of what it might be like to have you in the room.

So look at the thing you keep telling people you're good at and ask yourself: Where can I let them experience it?

And if you're struggling to answer that question, that's exactly the kind of problem we can work through in a Leadership Edit. Sometimes you're sitting so close to decades of your own experience that it's hard to see what everybody else needs to see.

I can help you find it.

Leadership Edit. Link in bio.

08/26/2026

We are out here fighting for more capacity. More space. Better boundaries. Less work. And then some of us finally get it and don't know what the hell to do with it. 🙄

Last week, I was vintage shopping when a dear friend called me.

She had finally taken a break, and I mean finally. She's deeply accomplished and has spent a long season carrying a lot—for her work, for the people she loves, for everyone who has needed something from her.

Now she had space, but she was anxious and struggling to settle into this break she had fought so hard to create. As she talked, I could hear this underlying question: What is wrong with me?

She talked about getting therapy support, which I absolutely affirmed. But I found myself wondering how much experience she's actually had with this kind of space.

So I asked her: What if stillness is simply unfamiliar?

That question has stayed with me because okay, you finally have some room. Can you actually let yourself have it? What happens when our instinct is to fill the space right back up?

And listen, I am the poster child for this. 😂 Give me some space and I can find a project for it. I can turn capacity into another goal before I've even experienced having it.

In all the years I've spent studying and living this work, one thing I've come to know is true: creating capacity is only half the work. There is also something about learning how to let ourselves have it before we decide what to do with it.

Clearly, I am still learning how to do that. 😂 I wrote "The Saga of a Rested Rebel" for me because this has been my saga for years. I needed these lessons. I still need these lessons. And now you can hear that story in my audiobook.

So if you're in a season of asking what you actually need now, I'd love for you to listen. Don't turn it into another assignment. Take me on a walk. Put me in the car. Listen by the pool.

And maybe give yourself some space to wonder: Can I actually let myself have the capacity I've been asking for?

🎧 Download the audiobook here: https://life-editor.kit.com/saga_of_a_rested_rebel

08/20/2026

Turns out, wonder doesn't require a vacation. Sometimes it just requires a bunch of grocery-store flowers on a Tuesday night.

We laughed. We talked. We cut stems. We learned why eucalyptus is apparently determined to humble you. And under Joel Steingold's very patient direction, we made some pretty damn beautiful bouquets.

But the flowers were really just the vehicle.

The experiment underneath Rested Rebel Summer Camp has always been about capacity. We usually talk about capacity as how much we can carry, how much work we can get done, how much more we can fit into an already full life. But I'm becoming increasingly interested in a different question: What parts of ourselves do we still have access to when life gets full? Can we still play? Notice something beautiful? Be curious? Make something for absolutely no productive reason?

Tuesday night, we did. And I think that's why the room felt the way it did.

One person told me it was a “wonderful respite.” Another joined with both of her kids and told me it became a reminder for their whole family to slow down, enjoy the moment and, quite literally, smell the roses. People stayed after the official hour ended, arranging flowers, talking, laughing and asking Joel questions. Nobody seemed particularly interested in leaving.

The fire stayed lit.

Then these pictures started arriving in my inbox, and I haven't stopped smiling at them.

Joel, thank you for bringing your talent, generosity and sense of wonder to our campfire. And thank you to everyone who pulled up a chair, whether you made a bouquet, brought your kids along or simply came for the conversation.

We've got one campfire left before Rested Rebel Summer Camp closes for the season. And this time, I'm taking the counselor's chair.

More on that very soon. For now, I'm going to enjoy the flowers.

08/19/2026

My dad came home on Saturday.

Well, his cremated remains came home on Saturday, and y’all, this is some weird-ass s**t.

The box arrived, and I was basically like, Harpo, who dis man?

Because really, what am I supposed to do now?

So I put him on the floor in the hallway, and that’s where Dad has been for the last few days. I have a really nice urn for him. It’s sitting there too, empty, because apparently at some point I have to transfer my father’s ashes from the box they sent him home in into the urn.

And I already know I’m not doing that by myself, so I’m not forcing it.

Maybe that’s one of the things I’m learning about grief this time around. Everything doesn’t have to happen just because I’m capable of doing it. I can go at the pace of how I’m actually feeling, even if that means my dad stays in a box on the floor for a few days while we side-eye each other every time I walk down the hallway.

That’s where Dad is right now.

I was talking to my other mother, Valerie, about all of this because I was like, I don’t know what to do with this man. She said, “Why don’t you find a picture of your dad that you like? Put it next to him. Maybe put him in your office, and you can say hi to him every morning.”

And I was like, oh. Yeah. I like that.

Right now, I think I’m just honoring the resistance. I haven’t picked out his picture yet. I don’t know where I’m putting him, and he’s definitely still in the box.

We just gonna figure it out.

The wild thing is, my dad never came to any of my homes when he was alive. Not one.

And now he’s here.

So, okay. Welcome to my home, Dad.

Now I gotta figure out: Am I gonna let this man unpack? 🫣

08/18/2026

TONIGHT, WE MAKE SOMETHING BEAUTIFUL.

My flowers are ready. I have absolutely no idea what they're going to become, but I'm still delighted.

Tonight Joel Steingold is joining me around the Rested Rebel Summer Campfire for CHOOSE WONDER.

Bring your flowers if you're making an arrangement with us. Bring yourself if you're not.

We're gathering tonight. Come hang out with us.

Tues, Aug 18th | 4pm PST/7pm EST

Registration link in the comments or bio. 🔥

08/18/2026

If you're going to tell me LinkedIn is cringe, please make sure you've actually tried to make your LinkedIn less cringe.

I hear this all the time.

"LinkedIn is terrible."
"Everybody sounds fake."
"My feed is awful."

Okay, fine.

But I also work with a lot of people who are frustrated because the next opportunity isn't finding them. They're trying to land a new role, close a deal or make sure the right people know what they can do. And when I ask what they're doing on LinkedIn, that's when I get the "LinkedIn is cringe" speech.

Now we have a problem.

Because when I start asking follow-up questions — when was the last time you posted something? Commented? Looked at who you're following? Unfollowed people whose content you don't care about? Deliberately interacted with conversations you actually want to see? — most of y'all be like: Psyche. (Yes, I'm dating myself.)

That's when you get the Kibi crazy look like...um, well, what exactly did you think you were going to get? 🤔

Of course your LinkedIn is cringe. You haven't curated it.

The algorithm has very little information about what you want because you've given it very little information about who you are, what you care about or what kinds of ideas you want more of.

And no, every corner of LinkedIn is not wonderful. Some of it absolutely deserves the side-eye.

But I've also found smart people sharing useful information, people being generous with introductions, real conversations about industries changing in real time, and opportunities I would never have known existed if I weren't paying attention.

Your feed is partly a reflection of what you've taught the platform to show you.

And more importantly, you can't expect opportunity from a marketplace you're refusing to participate in.

So here's my challenge: spend the next two weeks actually curating your LinkedIn experience. Follow better people. Comment on things that make you think. Share something when you have an opinion.

Give the algorithm something to work with.

Then come back and tell me it's still cringe.

It may still be.

But I guarantee you'll be a hell of a lot closer to getting what you actually came here for: your next opportunity.

08/17/2026

Look at these babies. 😂
This is Joel and me about 25 years ago.

It's funny looking at this picture now because I can admit I fumbled the bag with him a little bit back then.

When we first met, there was a period where we were trying to figure out if something was going on between us. Joel was working as a waiter and taking me on these wonderfully creative dates, while I was busy chasing the rich guy, the successful guy, who was inevitably emotionally unavailable. 😂

I didn't get it yet. I was caught up in a version of what I thought mattered that had very little to do with what I actually value now.

Eventually I moved to New York, life happened and we grew apart. At one point I tried to swing the block again, and Joel was basically like, "Nope." 😂

Okay. Got it.

We didn't talk for a while.

Years later, his mother died. I loved his mother, and reflecting on who she was reminded me of what had always connected Joel and me. We slowly found our way back to each other as friends, with fewer expectations and a deeper appreciation for what the dynamic actually was.

And that's why this picture makes me smile.

Because 25 years later, the things I value most about Joel were there all along.

The beauty. The joy. The wonder.

There is this tender wonder in Joel that is just special. He notices things. He's spontaneous. He laughs. And there is a little girl in me who loves all of that.

I don't get a lot of opportunities to bring her out in the world I operate in. I spend so much of my time in advisory work, coaching and navigating complexity.

With Joel, she gets to come out and play.

That's really why I wanted him at Rested Rebel Summer Camp.

Tomorrow night, I get to share a little bit of my friend with you. We're going to arrange grocery store flowers and talk about wonderful spontaneity, but mostly I want you to experience some of what I've had the gift of experiencing for 25 years.

He's rare.

Come hang out with us around the fire. 🔥

CHOOSE WONDER | Tuesday Aug 18th | 4pm PST/7pm EST

Registration link in the comments.

08/14/2026

YOUR WEEKEND ASSIGNMENT: BUY YOURSELF SOME FLOWERS. 💐

That's it. Sometime this weekend, stop by your grocery store, Trader Joe's, farmers market or neighborhood flower shop and pick up your flowers for Tuesday.

And please don't overthink this. Buy what makes you smile.

Pick up:

💐 Three bunches of flowers that make you smile
☘️ One bunch of greenery

Pick whatever you're naturally drawn to. If it makes you smile, put it in the cart. We'll figure out what to do with it on Tuesday.

Bring your flowers, scissors, clear tape and a paper grocery bag to the virtual campfire, and Joel Steingold of Blooms Brothers will take it from there.

We're spending an evening making something beautiful together. And if you'd rather just watch, listen and hang out with us, that's perfectly fine too.

CHOOSE WONDER
Tuesday, August 18 4pm PST/7pm EST

Registration link in the comments. 🔥

Team Kibi Anderson

09/01/2026

08/28/2026

08/27/2026

08/26/2026

08/20/2026

08/19/2026

08/18/2026

08/18/2026

08/17/2026

08/14/2026

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