Issue #09: A chance to begin again

On writers block, internet stalkers & a fear of being seen

Jun 20, 2025

📖 Wild: I know I’m so late to the game on this one, but inspired by all of our West Coast hiking adventures, I finally decided to pick up Wild by Cheryl Strayed and ended up liking it far more than I had expected. She ends up doing a large chunk of her hike through Oregon, and it was really cool to read about some of the places we have been exploring from her perspective. The book was one million times better than the movie (it left out so much!), so even if you’ve seen the film it won’t feel repetitive.

📖 This Here Flesh: I first discovered Cole Arthur Riley’s debut collection of contemplative essays at the end of last year after hearing her speak on We Can Do Hard Things and even before I listened to the audiobook, I knew that this was one that would change me. I listened to this on audiobook a while ago, but have been scouring every independent bookstore I come across with no luck…until an impromptu stop at a small bookstore in Sisters, Oregon this past weekend. A tiny miracle if you ask me.

📖 Hiking Zen: I know they say not to judge a book by its cover, but in this instance it worked in my favor! This book by veteran hikers and Buddhist monks Phap Luu and Phap Xa offer mindfulness practices and walking meditations that serve as a wonderful reminder of how we are all connected to each other and the world around us.

#09: A chance to begin again

Hello friends, It’s been a while.

Which is funny, because it seems like only yesterday I was writing to you all about sticking to a more regimented publishing cadence only to immediately drop off the face of the earth. The irony of this has not been lost on me. Thank you for bearing with me as I find my footing.

Between all of the traveling back and forth from Santa Barbara to Chicago to Maryland to Bend and now to the Oregon Coast, you could say that the past two-ish months have gotten away from me. It would be easy to chalk up the lapse in writing to a chaotic travel schedule, navigating the grief of my grandmother’s passing or the general overwhelm of being a person alive in this world and it would all be true. But if I’m being honest, my silence has really just become a symptom of a run of the mill case of writers block.

Ugh! Boring! I know.

This newsletter began as my own little creative playground - a space for connection, delight and to share writing that I’m proud of. But as the number of eyes on this page have grown I’ve been spending less time writing about what I love, and more time puzzling over what to say that is “worthy” of publishing. Isn’t it funny how the second we start to care about something, the little devil of perfectionism sitting on our shoulder starts makes us question every word that falls out of our mouth and onto the paper?

“Do not think you can be brave with your life and your work and never disappoint anyone. It doesn’t work that way.”
Brené Brown, Braving the Wilderness

Although I’ve written daily for much of my life, it’s become very apparent that writing for an audience is a much different experience than writing for myself. In the words of Joan Didion, “I write entirely to find out what I'm thinking, what I'm looking at, what I see and what it means.” The writing that comes most naturally to me, is a sort of homecoming or an excavation of what I already know in my bones to be true. It matters to me, but doesn’t necessarily translate well to sharing with friends and strangers on the internet. Or maybe it does, and I’ve just let my anxiety cut me off before I even really began.

This may contain: a book with writing on it that says, a boring day of my life in fine detail — Credit: Pinterest

If you’ve ever completed The Artist’s Way (and I know a few of you have!), then you already know that nine times out of ten, blocked creativity is a symptom of our fear taking the wheel to try and protect us from some real or perceived danger. Maybe your fear is telling you not to try because you’re just no good and you’ll embarrass yourself or perhaps it’s hiding under the guise of practicality. You totally would, but right now you just don’t have the time/energy/resources/etc. to make it work.

My fear? She’s a little less subtle. Less, “You can do it later” and more “What if a crazy stalker finds my writing and learns all about me and how I think so that they can kill me, steal my dog, and then, because they are already certifiably unhinged, decide to ruin the lives of all of my friends and family?!” Which is maybe less about a potential stalker and more the fact that it is scary to put yourself out there, creatively or otherwise. My fear just knows knows how to raise the stakes as high as humanly possible so that I take! her! seriously! The problem though, is that although she does have a perfect track record for keeping me safe from stalkers, her commitment to self preservation has been known to keep genuine, real-deal connection at arms length.

“You will always belong anywhere you show up as yourself and talk about yourself and your work in a real way.”
Brené Brown, Braving the Wilderness

What this fear lacks in reality, it makes up for in the very real uncertainty that no matter how hard you try, you can never really control how other people see you. Unless you’re one of the lucky ones born with confidence seeping from your pores, it’s no secret that showing up authentically in the world can be uncomfortable. You might unintentionally disappoint people or end up wildly misunderstood. And that sucks. But so does pretending. It’s so normal (and can be good!) to care what others think, but when anxiety starts to drive the ship? I don’t know, maybe it’s time to re-evaluate.

While I find so much ease and enjoyment writing for myself, the thought of other eyeballs reading my thoughts and knowing me and not just the version of myself that I’d like to present to the world leaves me feeling a touch exposed. I tried sending this newsletter through the filter of carefully curated adventures, and it turned this thing that was supposed to be fun, into a thing that felt like work, which is just so not the point. So while I can’t make any promises that what I will write here will be important or interesting, I can promise that it will be me. And even though that makes me nervous, I think that’s enough.

Just please, if you’re a stalker or an ill intentioned internet weirdo, find another newsletter to subscribe to.