“‘It is never hopeless but sometimes I just cannot hope.’ That line wraps around the soul of this moment like barbed wire pulled tight by trembling hands. I don’t think Hemingway meant to write a prophecy but he did, because there are mornings now when I wake up and feel the weight of every headline like a wet concrete in my lungs…”

Hello friends,

I took the quote above from a video (more below) I stumbled across this morning. It perfectly sums up how I’m feeling right now. If you’ve been here for a while you know how much I adore summer. And yet here ours is coming to a close and I have little to show for it. No new photos. No great adventures. Not really even any rest. I was productive, in the sense that I cleaned out every drawer, closet, nook, and cranny, reorganized every space, finished every project, got every Thing in order. And while I’m grateful to have ticked off so many boxes on my to-do list they do not feel (capital I) Important, or (capital M) Meaningful. They feel like the busy work of trying to keep my mind occupied lest I give in to the feeling of heaviness that now overshadows nearly every part of my life, every waking hour, and cease to get out of bed.

Sometimes after I send a newsletter like the last one, one that I think might be considered… let’s say, contentious? - I feel the need peek at my subscriber count and see if I lost any. A few days after the last letter I decided that maybe I should check in and survey the damage. And, much to my surprise, not only did no one unsubscribe, I had quite a number of new subscribers. (Hi and welcome, new folks!) In the week or so that followed several of you reached out to say that what I had shared and written had echoed so much your own feelings that you forwarded it on, shared it within your own circles. That it was worthy of a share, and worthy of a subscription, of course makes me incredibly happy, and grateful. But more than that, it was to me a rock-solid endorsement to continue the honesty and vulnerability I try my best to imbue these letters with.

It kills me that what I shared last month resonated, because what I shared was pain and rage and disgust and grief, simultaneous and in equal measure. And you all are the last I would ever wish these on. But as I’ve said before, it is such a comfort to know we aren’t alone, no? Unfortunately these feelings are where I still am, and I know some of you are too. (Really at this point if you aren’t, you should maybe check your pulse?)

I hope this letter finds you all as well as anyone can be right now. And you know how much I love to hear from you, so write me back.

much love -

kg

HOPE IS STILL A WEAPON

Back at the beginning of this year I wrote about joy as an act of resistance. I still believe that it is, but I’ve also come to recognize hope as one too. Robert Arnold (my new favorite writer?) made a wonderful video about it a couple of days ago. I first found him through his poem, Daffodils in Ashes, that absolutely stunned me. I considered sharing a transcription of it, but it’s quite long, and really it needs to be heard in his voice anyway. (I recently preordered his book and can not wait to get it. You can also support him on Substack if you enjoy his work as well and feel so inclined.)

As far as holding on to hope; from someone else I’ve been enjoying recently, I found this video comforting.

AWAY / TOWARD

Right now I am moving away from:

• self doubt (why do I have to constantly keep reminding myself of this?)

• using a physical calendar; as much as I hate to say it, it’s just something else to keep up with

• playing by the rules

and moving toward:

• mindful media consumption; spending my time only on what’s worthy of it

• giving in to silliness, even and especially when I don’t feel like it

• using sunglasses as a camera filter for my phone; the funkier the lens color, the better

REVERSE PET PEEVES, A LIST

I love how much y’all loved the article I shared last month on finding the joy in small things, and especially loved your own TLJs (Tiny Little Joys) and RPPs you shared back with me! So what’s say we keep that trend going?

• I love the hummingbirds that visit the feeder, but when they perch in the crepe myrtle just above, it makes me almost giddy. Perhaps seeing an(other) animal that seemingly never stops moving stop to take a rest feels permissive.

• When my boys wake up in yesterday’s clothes. Like I said, I’m done with following rules. And honestly does anything say summer like yesterday’s rumpled t-shirt?

• The final lick of tomato-juice-infused mayo that gets squished from the last delicious bite of a mayo + tomato sandwich. Ahhhh, summer. I will miss you.

RECENTLY

LISTENING TO

I don’t even remember how I found Jessica Pratt’s Quiet Signs but I’m so glad I did. It’s been on repeat in my studio and I swear it’s been perfect.

I’ve also been getting a kick out of listening to Kate Bowler’s Required Listening: July 2025 playlist, for her self proclaimed medium-sad girl summer.

READING IN

One of the few things I consistently read is Heather Cox Richardson’s daily newsletter, Letters From an American. If you aren’t familiar with Heather she’s an American historian and professor of history at Boston College. She manages to write about the dumpster fire that is our current moment in a way that is both informative and not terrifying, which let’s be honest, is a feat. And best of all she cites every single thing she writes, so you can see where she’s getting every bit of info.

Yesterday’s letter, July 30, is one of her best in a while (though if I’m honest I can’t actually say that it’s not slightly terrifying.) She is well worth the $5 Substack subscription to have them personally delivered to your inbox, however you can also listen to every letter for free - and read by her - starting the day after it’s published (which is the day after it’s dated).

CRUSHING ON

James Talerico is doing some amazing work. If you aren’t familiar with him definitely go check him out.

OBSESSED WITH

The Merlin Bird ID app. I know, I’m late to the party. For anyone else who might also be late, this free app put out through Cornell University’s ornithology lab can use your phone’s microphone to “listen,” and then show you what birds you’re hearing. I love sitting on the porch in the morning and scouring the trees for all the little feathered friends the app is hearing near me.

THINKING ABOUT

The beach. We’ll be headed there in a couple of months for the first time in a year, and it’s giving me something to look forward to (a big ask at the moment.)

That’s all for this month. Thanks so much for being here!