Archive: Author: sarahk

Creating Karl vs. Living Karl

Posted on by sarahk

A New Year reflection

Every January, the question arrives:

What are you going to do this year?

For me, it historically turns into the same impulse: create more, build more, refine more. In Karl’s world, that means create more Karl, share more Karl, expand Karl. And there is a true and real joy in that.

But lately, I’ve noticed something quieter underneath.

There’s a difference between creating Karl and living Karl.

Creating Karl looks like progress the world recognizes: writing, illustrating, posting, planning, building.
It’s visible. Measurable. Shareable.

Living Karl is different.
It’s internal.
It’s how I move through my days.
How I listen.
How I respond.
How I treat myself when no one is watching.

Creating Karl is task-progress.
Living Karl is growth-progress.

It’s entirely possible to be very productive and still bypass the deeper work. Sometimes staying busy feels safer than staying still. Output feels safer than listening.

But growth doesn’t always look like momentum.
Sometimes it looks like a pause.

Karl and his marsupium have evolved into more than just a single story.

Karl is a lifestyle and a practice. Living Karl asks me to slow down before overriding myself. To listen to my body as much as my plans. To rest without earning it. To trust that quiet times still count.

In Karl’s world, nothing grows because it’s pushed.
Things grow because they’re held.

So this year, I’m asking a different question.

Not just: What do I want to create?
But: How can I live Karl?

Because creating and living do need each other. But this year, I’m letting living lead. Counting progress that maybe doesn’t show up as followers, likes, sales, or dashboard click-throughs.

Because creating Karl matters.
But living Karl is where the real growth happens.

Karl is not just content.
He is an organism — and organisms aren’t meant to be rushed.

“My pouch isn’t for carrying more.
It’s for making space.”
— Karl

Keep on bouncing, 

Sarah

Listening to Your Own Pouch

Posted on by sarahk

There have been sooooooo many times in my life where I’ve been waiting for a sign that I’m doing things “right.”

A nod, a comment, a gold star.

That little breath-holding moment where I wonder if someone out there will “approve”.

I’ve been dreaming about this lately — inspectors showing up, old workplaces reappearing, those moments where I’m tidying corners as if someone else gets to decide if I’m okay. It’s funny how our old patterns follow us into sleep.

But something has been shifting as I dive deeply into building Karl’s world.

Karl – with his glowing pouch – is here to help kids see their feelings… and he’s been teaching me something too.

His pouch — warm, soft, and entirely his — has become a symbol I never expected:

Validation doesn’t live outside of us.

It lives in the pouch — the inner place where we know our own worth.

When I share a post that resonates, or a reader messages me with their heart opened by Karl’s story, I feel gratitude get me right in my heart (or my pouch!) — a deep, shimmering gratitude. But the difference now is that I’m no longer waiting for those moments to tell me who I am.

External praise feels like a kind echo.

But the real knowing comes from me.

This book, this world, Karl — they keep reminding me:

You don’t earn your “enoughness,” and your “enoughness” doesn’t come from others.

You remember it because it comes from you.

And in that remembering, something softens.

Something real settles.

Something inside says, “Oh — this is how it’s supposed to work.”

Karl and I thank you for being here from the bottom of our marsupiums.

Keep on Bouncing,

Sarah

When Karl Arrives at the Door

Posted on by sarahk

When Karl first appeared I thought he might stay tucked away – hidden in the quiet and forgotten corners of my desk. So when the day came when he began to travel out into the world it was much to my surprise and delight!

Every time Karl arrives at the door of a friend, colleague or family member’s home it feels like a celebration. I picture him bouncing in, pouch wide open, bringing with him not just a story, but a kind of a spark.

There is something deeply humbling about watching people you love welcome a character you’ve created. It’s as though Karl himself pulls up a chair at their kitchen table, or curls up in a child’s lap, and suddenly he belongs there.

I never expected Karl to travel this way — from my imagination, to the page, to the hearts of others. His arrival in each home (and each tear he brings) reminds me that stories don’t just live with their authors. They stretch out, find new places to root, and bring joy that multiplies with every reader. 

Keep on Bouncing, 

Sarah

The Story Behind Karl’s Marsupium

Posted on by sarahk

I never expected Karl. But he arrived nonetheless — just as children sometimes do, appearing unexpectedly with joy and surprise.

 

Karl came with more than just his little story. He arrived in the middle of a eureka moment one day, while I was taking a break from an inbox full of hundreds of overwhelming “urgent” emails.

 

Ah! A kangaroo boy born with a pouch!

 

And the rest just spilled out.

 

I don’t have children myself — by choice — but Karl arrived in my life almost like one. Unexpected, insistent, full of joy, and carrying lessons I didn’t even know I needed. In that way, he’s become a kind of companion and teacher, reminding me daily about tenderness, difference, and the magic of seeing the world through fresh eyes.

 

His world is filled with heart, wisdom, kindness, lessons, love, secrets, and big feelings about life when you are different. After writing his overview story, I realized the depth behind it was even more than I could properly hold. So now I stand as the transmitter of his world and the characters in it, hoping to convey their messages in a tender, lighthearted way. Because life is much too serious already.

 

I have fallen deeply in love with Karl and his world because he is more than a character. He’s a reminder: that we all have something we carry — sometimes proudly, sometimes quietly — and that it’s worth telling stories about those things, even if you don’t feel ready. Because they matter.

 

This is the beginning of Karl’s story. And, in many ways, mine too.

 

Keep on bouncing,

Sarah