Guten Tag, Reader,

We were stuck in traffic along the La Paz promenade, and it became increasingly obvious that we weren’t going to make it home in time for the sunset. In fact, I could see the blues, oranges, yellows, reds, and purples shapeshifting in my rearview mirror.

People in every restaurant were interrupting their New Year’s Eve dinners to take photos because 2025 was not content with leaving on an ordinary sunset. This was a particular spectacle.

Missing it made me feel sad, stressed, and oddly pressured. Suddenly, a car pulled out in front of me, I slipped into the parking spot, and we found a spot on the seawall to watch the year’s grand finale.

Our culture wants us to move through our days without stopping for awe. Or even pausing for questions like “What is most important for me right now?” If we did, I know “watching the sunset,” or “smelling my coffee,” or “feeling the snowflakes touching my tongue” would probably beat scrolling social media or whatever else the culture has trained us to pick up our phones for.

After taking what probably was the 47th photo of the spectacle, my husband looked at my big smile and asked, “You are very happy that you stopped, aren’t you?”

“Yes. Yes, I am,” I said. And I realized that making time for the sunset every evening was more than just a “thing we did in Mexico.” It was a nudge to pause/stop/make time for awe wherever I am and whatever I “should be doing” instead.

Tell me:

If you liked this letter, do me a favor and forward it to a friend.

Always on your side, truly,

p.s. If you want space to practice this kind of pausing and noticing, slowly and in community, that’s exactly what the wildHER river retreat is about. August 29-Sept 4, Gates of Lodore, four spots left. Follow your curiosity here.

p.p.s. If you found something valuable in today's letter, why not buy me a coffee? I am keeping my writing AI-free, which means a lot of creativity goes into it. You can leave a tip for me here.