Mark Evans Studio

It’s surprisingly easy to forget that I’m carrying more than one version of myself. Most days, I move through the world as a hustling 41-year-old: managing responsibilities, making decisions, solving problems, and trying to keep things moving forward. I’m proud of that and fully embrace that. But every now and then, I’m reminded that the 41-year-old version of me is still inseparable from the 10-year-old version of me. He didn’t go anywhere. He’s just not always in focus - cuz duh, “I’ve got shit to do!” As humans, we tend to give our attention to the version of ourselves that feels most useful in the moment. The adult gets the spotlight because he’s efficient, capable, and knows how to navigate the world. The child fades into the background - not because he’s gone, but because we stop checking in with him. And when that happens, something subtle shifts. Life can become more controlled, more deliberate, and a little too serious. For actors, that shift matters. Acting doesn’t benefit fr...

Lately, I’ve been noticing how easy it is to treat joy like a reward instead of a necessity. How often rest, play, and pleasure get postponed until the work is done - or until it feels “earned.” The problem, of course, is that the work is never really done. There’s always another email, another decision, another thing that could be improved or handled better. I’m good at showing up. I’m good at taking responsibility. I’m good at staying in motion. What I’m less practiced at is stopping long enough to ask what I need that has nothing to do with productivity. Being mindful of that was a goal of mine for 2026 and it’s already something I’m bumping up against. Somewhere along the way, enjoyment became conditional. I’d relax after the deadline. I’d take a break once things calmed down. I’d prioritize myself when everything else was taken care of. Except those moments rarely arrive. And even when they do, I’m often too depleted to fully enjoy them. When I strip it back, what I miss most i...

Over the holidays, I was caught off guard by several waves of sadness that seemed to arrive out of nowhere. The kind that hits like a ton of bricks and leaves you wondering what just happened. One morning, at the end of a high-heat yoga class , lying in a sweaty puddle in shavasana , a simple thought floated up: I miss my mum. My mother has been living with dementia for almost a decade now. At Christmas especially, I’m reminded of all the years when she ran the show - the planning, the warmth, the magic she created. She made Christmas feel safe and joyful. I miss that version of her deeply. As I lay there, letting the sadness move through me, something else became clear. Sitting right alongside the grief was an overwhelming amount of love. The reason I feel this ache is because I love her so much. And in that moment, connecting to the fact that I’ve had so many years of being loved in that way softened everything. Gratitude crept in. I smiled. My nervous system relaxed. The sadness di...