A carefully curated bit of wisdom, gathered from the poets, chosen with you in mind, delivered quietly via text a few times a week. Let's begin.
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From the practice
What this really is
This isn't only about art. It's a space to discover new parts of yourself.
Three times a week, a quiet text arrives in your phone. Not a notification, not a newsletter, not content to consume. A small, carefully curated piece of wisdom, chosen with you in mind. A prompt to sit with. A question to let settle. A moment to make something with your hands, or your heart, or both.
The medium I reach for is a sketchbook, but it doesn't have to be yours. What Proof of Life has grown into is a wider reflective practice: a gentle way of weeding through the noise of your own inner life, making space for the thoughts and feelings that have been waiting quietly underneath everything else, and finding your way back to the parts of yourself you've been meaning to return to.
It isn't a course, a challenge, or content to keep up with. It's a small, steady practice, and entirely yours.
What it opens up
A way of hearing yourself more clearly.
Each prompt is a small invitation to stop performing and start noticing: what you actually feel, what you actually see, what you actually want. A sketchbook is one way in, and so is a journal, a walk, or five minutes of quiet attention.
Room to meet the self that's been waiting.
Underneath the roles we carry and the noise we move through, there is a quieter, more curious version of us. These prompts help create the conditions for that self to surface — not through analysis, but through the simple act of making something and paying attention to what comes up.
A small, steady path toward the person you're still becoming.
Whether you think of yourself as an artist, a writer, or simply someone who has been meaning to slow down and feel like yourself again — this practice meets you where you are and asks very little, in exchange for something that turns out to matter quite a lot.
A note from Meg
How it works
What it looks like
Each text arrives with a prompt. You reach for whatever is nearby. This is what happens next.
"You don't always need to move forward. Sometimes the bravest thing is to drop anchor and stay exactly where you are." — Draw: An anchor
"Not everything has to be tied up neatly with a bow. Some things stay loose, unfinished, open-ended. Permission to spend a lifetime becoming." — Draw: A bow
"Some alarms were installed so long ago you forgot they were there. They still go off. That part of you is not broken — it is loyal. Thank it. And then tell it you are safe. Draw: a bell."
"Aristotle called it eudaimonia — not happiness exactly, but flourishing. The difference between a life that feels good and a life that is good. Which one are you stitching together?" — Draw: A spool of thread
Your sketchbook. Your table. Ten minutes.
"The practice started as a sketchbook. It grew into something I can only describe as learning to be myself again."
— Meg Perotti, photographer & founder
30 days free. No pressure. No performance.
Just a small, curated piece of wisdom, and a few quiet minutes that belong to you.
Something in you was already listening.
Welcome. I'm so glad you're here.
Then $1.25 / month · cancel anytime