Guten Tag, Reader,

This morning, I brought my cup half full of now-cold coffee to my desk. I had one intention: push through. Do the damn thing.

My brain was foggy from a sleepless night. Allergies and the shadows of a recently full moon had stolen rest and replaced it with a variety of thoughts that flourish on such nightly circumstances.

The damn thing was the editing and scheduling of the joy letter celebrating my one-year social media sobriety birthday. The one I had solicited questions for. The one I had promised you and, perhaps more importantly, myself.

I opened the document, put my fingers on the keyboard, when the birch tree outside my window waved at me. Or maybe the wind waved at me — sometimes I find it hard to differentiate. Especially when over-caffeinated and under-rested.

The wave drew my attention* away from my screen and to the note on the wall:

Joy for Joy.

It had been an intuitive download from my morning routine. The 10 of Cups had asked me a few days ago: “What do you want? What is it all for?”

And after a few paragraphs of journaly rambling, this phrase landed on the page.

Joy for Joy.

Today, tired beyond tired, runny nose, itchy eyes, scratchy throat, pushing through and doing the damn thing did not align with Joy for Joy.

So I closed the document, made myself some oatmeal with cocoa, banana, mandarins, and hazelnuts (joyful combination!), and allowed my thoughts to wander.

“What feels most alive for you right now?” is always a good question when I wonder what to write to you about.

Right now, a few hours later, laying in the bathtub, sipping ACV water and listening to Chill Radio (a joyful and reliably creative combination!), here are some alive fragments:

I haven’t visited my favorite forest trail since I’ve been back. What? Why? It’s been three weeks! Many reasons, most valid, some lazy.

This absence, I am sure, contributes to the fragmentedness, tetherlessness, lostness. I will attempt to remedy it by skipping the longer hike that I have many reasons to join tomorrow. But no. I shall go to the Rattlesnake instead, turn on Strava, and attempt the slowest pace on record.

There should be an app for that. Measuring the slowness and what that does for your heart rate.

No, there is definitely no need for an artificial app like that. There's one that's pre-installed in our bodies. We just forget to open it.

At least I do.

Emma M. Lion is my new favorite friend. I love listening to her recount her adventures around the London neighborhood of St. Crispian’s with her friends, the vicar, the duke, and the photographer.

She is only an imaginary friend, of course. I wish we could share real tea in her drawing room, though, enjoying her cook Agnes’ bakes while we read or talk about feminism and the patriarchy.

“The Unselected Journals of Emma M. Lion” are my favorite serendipitous encounters of the year so far.

It was 18 years ago this week that Mr. Laine and I arrived in Missoula, MT. Happy Missoulaversary to the people we were then and the ones we have become!

The now-version of me has a much easier time noticing joy’s quiet nudges. And, even if we wouldn’t have used those words then, joy is what we came here for.

I wonder what might happen if we trusted that joy is what we all came for, wherever we currently are.

I will see you back here soon.

Always on your side, truly,

p.s. What feels most alive for you right now?

• A trail you want to revisit?
• A protagonist that’s become an imaginary friend?
• A small joy you’re protecting?

Hit reply — I’d love to hear.

* Of course, I was just reviewing the paragraph about the havoc wreaked on my attention by social media addiction. Fret not. That letter will get to you eventually.

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.