On being the least productive person in your group chat.
A short case for being the friend who replies three days later, in complete sentences.
The journal
Ninety-four Sunday letters and counting.
A running archive of the weekly note, plus longer essays written from the studio. Everything below started in a notebook first.
A five-line journaling routine for the days you hate journaling.
The exact five prompts I use when I'd rather do literally anything else.
The Midland sky and other things that quietly fix my week.
Small, free, mostly outdoor things I keep forgetting are always available.
What I actually mean when I say "slow morning."
Spoiler: it has nothing to do with waking up at 5 a.m. or drinking celery juice.
The two-notebook system I've used for six years.
One for thinking, one for doing. That's it. That's the system.
Boundaries that don't require an announcement.
You don't owe anyone a press release about how you spend your Tuesday.
On writing sentences you'd say out loud.
If it feels weird to say to a friend, it probably isn't true yet.
Grief on a Wednesday afternoon.
A long, quiet essay about my grandmother's spiral notebooks — and what I learned from re-reading them.
The "one honest sentence" habit.
The smallest journaling practice I've ever recommended, and the one people actually keep.
Never miss a Sunday.
The letter goes out at 8 a.m. Central. It's free, short, and easy to leave.