Guten Tag, Reader,

My inbox simply exploded with gratitude newsletters this week. Better than exploding from capitalist pressure to buy another “greatest deal of the year” for stuff I didn’t even know I needed, I guess.

Granted, while some gratitude expressions felt simply performative, others were heartfelt. Here is a soul-felt one from Robin Kimmerer that I can’t stop sharing.

Listen, I love a good list.

The piece I wrote for The Startup in 2019 is still one of my most-read ones on Medium.

But some things simply don’t fit on a list.

• How do you list the exact shade of canyon light at 6 a.m.?
• Or the way silence sounds different when you’re moving with the river?
• Or the milky way’s exultation as she welcomes us back to the lightless places?
• Or that sudden sense of “Oh, this is who I am,” that arrives when you’ve been unplugged for three days and your nervous system finally believes you?

These aren’t bullet points.

They’re experiences.

The ones that change us the most, even if we don’t understand (or even realize) it yet.

How many of the things we’re most grateful for this year fall into the realm of wordlessness?

Moments where we felt connected, or grounded, or brave — often in places where the world finally got quiet enough for us to hear ourselves.

That’s why river trips have become such a touchstone for me.

On the water, everything unnecessary has urgent permission to fall away.

You’re left with beauty, presence, and the kind of gratitude that resides in the body, not the brain.

As I look toward next year’s river retreat through the Gates of Lodore, I keep remembering the un-listable things:

• coffee steam twisting into sunlight,
• sunlight breaching the canyon wall with a rush of warmth,
• the hush that settles over camp before anyone speaks,
• and the sound of radically unapologetic laughter.

Today, and always, I’m grateful for the experiences that don’t fit on paper.

And for the places, like the river, that make them possible.

If you sense an urgent longing for one of those in your body right now, respond RIVER, and I will add you to the wildHER 2026 waitlist.

Tell me:

I will see you back here in two weeks. If you liked this letter, please forward it to a friend.

Always on your side, truly,

​

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.