I really thought this book would be a straight romance (in terms of genre, not coupling, though it is also that), but it turns out it has so much heart and depth. It has the perfect blend of on-page spice with story and character development, and raw, authentic emotion that brought me to tears. It would appeal to fans of both romance (who can forgive it for it’s nuance) and women’s fiction (who can forgive it for it’s delightfully dirty scenes), with well developed, complex leads and a delightful cast of supporting characters. Perfect for when you’re looking for something a little lighter, but still genuinely well written.

On a more personal note, as someone who married my high school sweetheart, I thought the portrayals of young, blossoming love and the slow evolution of friendship to crush to love, including, shall we say, their physical relationship, was nostalgically true to life. I can remember being in Macy’s shoes—the questions, the doubts, the nerves—and it struck a really tender chord for me. And there’s a hilarious part where they almost get busted by Macy’s dad, the ensuing angst of which I VISCERALLY remember. It takes a lot for one book to make me laugh out loud, swoon, and cry, but this one truly did.

.

This book is heavy, and I recognize it won’t be for everyone. You’ll know within the first few pages if it speaks to you or not. But the thing that has stayed with me is how this mountain lion—who is unnamed until nearly the end—can so astutely and effectively observe the human condition in a way that’s simultaneously close but with the perspective of distance. They (we’re told the mountain lion is queer) somehow comment on everything from the ubiquity of cell phones to climate change to the loss of animal habitats to how one seemingly small action (by a human) can have such far-reaching implications, but it doesn’t feel preachy at all. Instead, the misunderstood language (“scare city” for scarcity and “Diznee” for Disney, for example) and predominant lack of punctuation make it feel truly authentic. The lion is observing these things without understanding them, which somehow makes the effect on the reader even more poignant. It’s a strange book, for sure, but a moving one, and a character and perspective I’m still thinking about, even days after finishing it. When I came across this book the reviewer said it was funny, and while I can see why people would find humor in it, to me it was primarily heartbreaking. And profoundly so.

This book captivated me, I think partially because the semi-omniscient POV was fascinating and partially because of the way Dorey-Stein weaved so many different thematic threads together. As the reader bears witness to the lives of these women, she walks us through so many different fraught topics—becoming a mother, ambition, sacrifice, family, and love. But I think the reason this story burrowed into my heart is because I loved these two sisters so much, and they remind me of my own daughters.

These sisters and their mom show us what it means to truly go all in on a relationship, to live as if your family is a team. Throughout the story, Mia has to learn to put herself first, and Cricket has to learn not to, and together they have to grapple with what ambition looks like for them separately and together. Both girls pay steep prices on the paths they choose—each of them believing they’re on those paths for each other, and having to learn how much of what they choose they want, too—and learn hard lessons along the way. There’s this constant heartbeat of love for each other—Cricket has some growing up to do along the way, but in the end, they’re both so genuinely happy for each other that as a parent of daughters, it’s truly beautiful to read. These sisters represent my goals as a parent—to raise girls who are independent, self-aware, and go for what they want, but who also rely on each other through all of life’s highs and lows. And this, I think, is one of the beauties of fiction. Not just giving you a window to other people’s lives (building empathy!), but also helping you to make sense of your own.

If you’ve read it, I’d love to know what you think.

Favorite quotes:

“A steady, ordinary life can be extraordinary so long as it’s centered around family and community and filled with love.” — p. 129

“Between sisters, the only thing louder than a screaming match is silence. The only thing more maddening than a fight is the lack thereof.” — p. 183

“She is coming to understand that love and loss live on the same coin. It’s never heads or tails but joy and agony, grief and delight, spinning in the air, waiting on time and luck to determine not when this chapter ends but how the next one begins.” — p. 223

“The minutes and days that add up to her life belong to her, and so it’s on her to make them count.” — p. 265

“Are you making the most of this moment? What did you have to give up to get here? How do you want to leave the field after the game?” — p. 267

This novel does have a plot, but I hesitate to focus on it because the most profound reason to read it isn’t the plot, it’s the relationships the Girls have with each other and themselves. The book is masterful in a way I’m having a hard time describing—deeply moving and unsettling all in the same breath. I am not poor, Black, or a teenager anymore, but I am a mother, and bearing witness to the experiences of these characters put me outside my own perspective in a way that was deeply moving.

For those of you intrigued by the craft of writing, this novel is sort of written in second POV, with the characters frequently (but not so frequently as to be obtrusive) speaking to “you,” and the result is deeply intimate, like you’re sitting with these girls, hearing them tell their stories. A friend of mine described another book as one that “deepens your view and empathy for humanity,” and I feel this book did exactly that for me.

I flagged so many lines from this book, because of their beauty or brilliantly astute take on motherhood or womanhood or something else.

Like this, about loving your children:

“I loved them kids more than I ever could have imagined…loving them kids was like holding my breath. At first it almost hurt but now it was simply how air moved through me, held in place while they was sleepin’ or screamin’ or slippin’ in the bath bucket.

And then there was the times when they knocked the wind outta me, when a sizzling laugh or a sticky kiss or a lopsided jump could plow right through me and unleash breath, and that release was enough to sustain through the continuous tight clench. They changed the very way I sustained life, right down to the brilliant gnaw of breath.” — p. 70-71

and this:

“I loved those kids like I was born for it, and I would give up all the purest air in the world ust for a chance at getting to hold their small, dimpled hands every day. When I fell asleep…I thought of this. Their eyes. Their hopes. Us, together again.” — p. 245

Or this, about hope:

“Eyelashes. Get one stuck in the whites of your eye and you’ll feel the phantom of it long after it’s gone. Hope is like that too, I think. Once you feel the spark if it, suddenly it haunts every image and who you was before, what you thought you was okay with, all that breaks you open to leave you hunched in a tub surrounded by remnants of who you could’ve been. You left so exposed you can’t never cover up quite the same again.” — p. 164

Or this, about how we navigate the intersection of selflessness and fear:

“You can’t give up on yourself or you’re just like every other mother who thinks she’s choosing her baby when she’s really choosing her own fear.” — p.300

But I think maybe the most profound part of this book is the wider message the title represents: using a pregnant belly to signify not just the physical growth that motherhood brings, but the growth in identity—in spirit—it brings, too. And the ways it can empower us to take up space if we have the courage to. How we can grow big as women the way our bellies did, and the ways we can care for and nurture ourselves in the same way our bodies did for our children.

“…I saw that smile, and it looked glorious on me. Not pretty. Not sexy. Not likable. It was more wild than that. It was what I saw in the Girls the first time I let myself love them: a fierce dedication to be what no one wanted them to be. Abundant. Knowing. Big.” — p. 309

This is one of those books that stays with you, that shifts your worldview, peeling at your eyes until they’re just a bit more open. I want to leave you with this, from the acknowledgements, because there are no words I can write that will do more beautiful justice to this book than the author’s own:

“…it is a radical thing to raise children in a world that often refuses to respect the amount of work, intention, and resource it takes to parent with kindness and love for the little peple we get to call ours. I am in awe of [the mothers in my life] and endlessly grateful for every lesson in not only parenting but girlhood and womanhood and the miracle that comes when we can find refuge in ourselves and each other.”

If you’ve read it, I’d love for you to comment below so we can chat a bit more.

Yes, this is technically a children’s middle grade novel. Yes, you should read it even if you’re not a middle grade (8 ish - 12 ish) kid. Especially if you’re a parent of a kid in this age group, or soon will be. Even though it’s sold about a gazillion copies (over 16 million, if the internet is correct), I’d never heard of it until I put a query out to the socials looking for a book that would be a great end-of-year elementary school teacher gift. A high school friend who IS an elementary school teacher suggested it, and I’m SO glad she did.

As she told me, the themes of kindness and friendship are universal. So, too, is the point of open-mindedness and inclusion. But I think it goes deeper than that, and the purpose in reading differs for kids and adults.

My eldest is going to read this (or we’ll read together) and discuss, and we’ll for sure be talking about how you shouldn’t judge people by how you look, how many people are dealing with things you can’t see (even though with Auggie, you can), and how easy it is to be kind and inclusive…but how meaningful even a brief moment of kind connection can be for someone else.

But parent to parent, I want to emphasize that so many kids are dealing with things that don’t make them “normal” (I’m using that word for ease, but loathe it for describing kids). Or make them feel different, even if—unlike Auggie—you can’t readily see their difference (like neurodivergence, anxiety, etc.) or it’s not a thing you think they’d be aware of at their age (skin color, body shape, etc.). So many adults forget that being a kid is HARD, and that doesn’t get easier as they get older. No, they don’t have jobs or kids or mortgages, but they’re also navigating so much without the context or wisdom (or brain maturity!!!) that we do. Everything is new, hard things are amplified, and it’s important for us to keep that in mind as we parent. This book was a beautiful reminder for me that the choices we make when they’re kids—the empathy we show them, the ways we encourage them to use their voice and critical thinking skills, the messages we give them through our words and actions—are forming the foundation not just for how they interact with the world now, but how they can influence the kids around them, too.

“There’s a wonderful line in a book by J.M. Barrie…’Shall we make a new rule of life…always try to be a little kinder than is necessary?’…Kinder than is necessary…what a marvelous line, isn’t it? Kinder than is necessary. Because it’s not enough to be kind. One should be kinder than needed. Why I love that line, that concept, is that it reminds me that we carry with us, as human beings, not just the capacity to be kind, but the very choice of kindness.” — Mr. Tushman, p. 299

It’s hard to explain the story of this book in a way that will do it justice. The premise sounds so quiet—so slice of life—but reading it feels like so much more than that. It’s a deeply intimate experiencing of something most of us have been through in real life: young, fervent, all consuming love.

The writing is absolutely superb. If you’ve read it—without spoilers—the last chapter, the scene in the airport on the escalator…just, wow. Every single thing in this novel felt like an intentional choice by King, including the fact that two key characters (ok now some mild spoilers to come), ”Heart the Lover” and Jordan’s son, Jack, were on exact opposite paths in reverse. They were foils for each other, and following Heart the Lover’s path is what allowed her to become fully herself: he became the cosmic sacrifice to save her son.

Lily King always writes with a level of emotional intimacy, awareness, and sensitivity that’s so wise and not found in many books, and the result is a deeply moving story about love (both romantic and platonic) and friendship that also allows the reader to walk a path with Jordan that shows how forgiveness (of others and self) can be truly transformative.

I absolutely adored this book. The writing is superb—Sybil’s voice is consistently her, but also varies depending on to whom she’s writing—and the eclectic collection of people who wind up in her orbit are a testament to her goodness, even as we bear witness to her humanity. She’s absolutely not perfect—Sybil is stubborn, blind (metaphorically, though she’s also fighting blindness literally) in several key areas of her life, sometimes delays saying things until it’s too late, and can be downright cranky. But her imperfections, and how she truly learns and evolves over the decade, are what make her so deeply magnetic.

This book is a masterpiece. A reminder of what’s most important, a testament to the power of vulnerability, and a work of art spun so beautifully it was emotionally hard to finish. It’s heartbreaking—achingly so—but also letter by letter paints a portrait of what it really means to live.

The fascinating thing about this book—and I don’t think I’m giving away anything by saying this, but mild spoiler alert just in case—is that you start off thinking it’s about June’s grief over her uncle’s death, but it ends up being a story about love in all its glorious, nuanced forms. Love in friendship, love in family, and love of self—one piece of which is a sister story. As the mom of daughters, June and her sister Greta’s relationship—their coming together and drifting apart, and the ways it impacted each of them—really burrowed into my heart and has taken up residence there. It was a reminder for me as a parent to keep my heart and ears open even as my daughters start to stretch their wings.

It’s hard to really capture all of the different stories and emotions woven through this book, much like in baking you can’t taste the vanilla, but also the cookies wouldn’t be the same without it.

This isn’t a fast-paced book, by any stretch, but it’s beautifully written and portrays a scary time for many people with empathy and humanity. The way the author writes is masterful—somehow, though just June’s POV, you experience transformations not just in June, but in her mother and sister, as well, and it’s done in a voice that is so authentically a fourteen-year-old-girl. It’s tender and raw, and these characters are approached with beautiful compassion. It’s heartbreaking and hopeful all in the same breath.

This month’s essay has no content that is inadvisable to listen to in front of little ears, if that is a consideration for you. I whisper-bleeped the one use of profanity.

First, welcome new subscribers! I’m so glad you’re here! You can read more about me on my website or Substack, if you’re interested, but in a nutshell:

I believe that reading is a fundamental cornerstone of empathy and happiness. Everyone can learn to love to read when matched with the right book for them in a supportive environment, and reading the work of others (including in formats like this—not limited to books) can be truly transformative.

It’s my core mission to spread a love of reading and to leverage my writing to help people connect to emotion, ideally understanding (and caring for) themselves and others a bit more. I do that through my fiction work, these essays, and promoting the work of others. At my Eliciting Esperance page you’ll find all of my prior essays and book recommendations going back three years.

Now, on to today’s topic…tattoos.

And identity, and the intentionality of choice. And those are 100% related to tattoos.

When my youngest daughter was about six months old, I started wanting a tattoo. At the time I think it was probably stemming from a minor identity crisis, but the hunger for it lasted five years. Five years I spent looking for ideas, comparing fonts, creating a folder in my phone for all the photos of tattoos I liked. The nudge I needed to make the appointment came when I asked my husband’s thoughts on a design and he said “you’re never really getting a tattoo.”

Oh, really? WATCH ME.

Two days later I got not one, but two tattoos. It turns out I needed an external push to trigger the internal permission I’d been looking for. Which is not something I actually realized until I sat down and wrote this essay, and I want to explicitly point out the irony that took two months to land: tattoos led me to really consider what it means to live with intention, but the thing that finally spurred me to do it was someone telling me I wouldn’t.

At the end of the five year, two month consideration process, I got a tattoo on my wrist very similar to the very first image I found, the first one on the first night that came up when I popped in the search terms for what I was thinking:

And while I was there, I got a bonus, spontaneous one for good measure. Which, if you know me, you know is very out of character:

Aside from the ocean wave in the second—which is my reminder to myself that life has peaks and valleys, sometimes it’s smooth, sometimes rough, but there’s always beauty to be found—the two remaining elements are either directly representative of or influenced by motherhood, something that was truly transformative for me. And I purposely put them somewhere visible so they’d be a way I can ground myself in my values and goals every single day, and something my girls can seek out as they grow when they need a reminder, too, but maybe can’t find the words to say so.

I will not lie and tell you I didn’t have a minor panic attack in the car afterward about putting something permanently on my body. I did. I swung wildly between sinking regret and giddy hysteria and back again, and I was very grateful to “forward thinking Sarah” for bringing snacks and hot tea along to have afterward.

But then…the “oh sh*t, what did I do” feeling dissolved into something more comfortable—more settled—than I expected.

I felt so much more myself with them.

I’ve thought a lot about these tattoos since—why I wanted them, why I love them—and I think partially it’s because they’re a visual reminder to live with intention. To really, fully know what my values are and make sure that as many decisions as possible about how I show up as a person, how I spend my time, and how I exist in the world are choices, not reactions. For me, getting tattoos helped me match my outside to my inside, though I didn’t fully understand at the time that that’s what I was doing. It sounds crazy that some ink on my skin helped me more fully settle into my identity, but it did. And I want that for you, too.

There are so many ways you can be sure that your inner self and outer life reflect who you are, even if tattoos aren’t your thing. What it really comes down to, I think, is having an awareness of who you are and what you find important and then aligning your life to that, but everyone’s interpretation of how to do that will be different.

But if you are interested in a tattoo but have absolutely no idea what you find meaningful enough to see on your body for the rest of your life, just think about what brings you joy. What things in this life do you find beautiful? Because sometimes the beauty of it is enough.

Sometimes the beauty is the point, instead of making one.

My online content is 100% free, and I have no plans to change that. I never want someone’s desire or ability to pay to prevent their eyeballs from seeing my words. At the same time, I want to give people the ability to support my work monetarily if they want to.

Contributing gets you absolutely nothing extra—no bonus content, extra essays, or anything else. It’s solely a way for you—if you feel moved to—to support me with your wallet.

If you’d like to support my work financially, please click here.

Your support helps me: contract with professionals (e.g. editors, book coaches), submit my work for awards, continue my professional development, sign up for opportunities to pitch agents, support other writers, and offset administrative costs like my website and domain fees.

Featured Philanthropy

Community service is incredibly important to me, and that can look different for different people. For me, it means volunteering at my kids’ school, volunteering for the writing association I’m a member of, and trying to help families in need in our community. For others it might be making charitable contributions. Both are fantastic!

Starting with this edition, I’ll be highlighting the work of a different philanthropic organization with each essay. Give your time or not, donate money or not, it makes no difference to me–I just hope to inspire a servant leadership mindset in my readers, and also feature the wonderful work different organizations are doing.

If you’d like to nominate an organization for me to spotlight, please send me a DM, a message on my website, or drop a link in the comments.

The American Library Association empowers and advocates for libraries and library workers to ensure equitable access to information for all. Their core values are:

Equity and Access

Equity and access ensure that all community members can freely use library resources and services by dismantling systemic barriers and creating inclusive environments that support learning, growth, and empowerment for everyone.

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Intellectual freedom is a basic right in a democratic society and a core value of the library profession. Intellectual freedom empowers individuals to form their own ideas and opinions through free and open inquiry.

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Sustainability means making choices that are environmentally responsible, economically sound, and socially equitable to ensure library resources and services remain effective now and into the future.

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The public good is rooted in improving society and safeguarding access to education, literacy, and intellectual freedom. Libraries play a fundamental role in democracy by supporting an informed, connected, and empowered citizenry.

Recommendations Roundup

Read more about Nora Goes Off Script

Read more about The Mad Wife

Read more about Big Kids, Bigger Feelings

Parting Shot

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A guide to supporting the social and emotional learning of elementary-aged kids, Big Kids, Bigger Feelings tackles issues common in those pivotal years. Often overlooked and more complex than many parents realize, that stretch that bridges the little kid era to the teenage era is full of change and evolution. Big Kids, Bigger Feelings is a primer on this season, but also tackles hot-button issues—from defiance to lying to peer pressure to anxiety and everything in between—in an accessible and empowering way. It starts by teaching you the basics, then gets into the specifics, and ends with a realistic conclusion that brings it all full circle and underscores for parents who are already juggling so much that they should be kind to themselves, too.

This book does a wonderful job of outlining how we can support our kids’ emotional intelligence, balancing the (sometimes competing, it feels like) needs to teach them to be good humans but also embrace their individuality and need to develop self-advocacy skills, with a healthy dose of Big Feelings overlaying it all. It’s easy to read and comes across as expert guidance without being patronizing, giving solid, actionable advice but feeling like it’s being delivered by a friend over coffee. I found the author’s blend of personal anecdotes with genuine attempts to connect with the reader throughout the pages to feel supportive, which feels odd to say about a book, but there it is!

I’ll leave you with a quote I love, which I think sums up the spirit and intent of the book really well:

“The work of raising and teaching kids is layered and demanding, but it’s also some of the most meaningful and impactful work we can undertake. It requires us to navigate complex emotions, respond to ever-changing needs, and reflect deeply on our own habits and patterns—all while showing up, day after day, for the children who depend on us. This work isn’t about getting everything right or striving for perfection; it’s about progress, presence, and the relationships we build along the way…The effort you put into understanding and supporting children shapes who they are now and who they’ll become in the future. It’s in the countless small moments…that children learn what it means to trust, feel safe, and grow.

The future isn’t built in grand gestures or sweeping changes but in these small, consistent acts of connection, trust, and care…Together, we’re shaping not only [our kids’] future, but also a kinder, more empathetic world.”

Lulu Mayfield appears to be the perfect 1950s housewife, though she pushes back against the weekly checklist to become the perfect wife that all her neighbors adhere to, if only within the privacy of her mind. She is the Queen of Molded Food and tries to hide her suffering as best she can. But she IS suffering—from postpartum depression, from the weight of guilt, from the exhausting expectations of being the Perfect Wife, and from insomnia. But then new neighbors insinuate themselves into her mind and into her life, and everything begins to unravel.

The novel is unsettling and chilling—there’s a sense that something is lurking, and everyone feels like a potential threat. Which, it turns out, they are. And it’s so, profoundly sad. Lulu’s loneliness is palpable and reminiscent of what so many people feel, especially after becoming mothers.

And I also felt so much rage—women have been historically treated so badly, even when we say we’re doing things “in their best interests” (like lobotomizing women who were depressed! Which was happening into the 1950s!). But more than that, the ways we fail women are myriad and far reaching. Systems that are supposed to serve them don’t and instead protect other people’s comfort. Lulu’s story is a haunting, but hopeful, thought provoking story of the redemptive power of truth.

It’s well worth the read, and I also want to share here a quote from the Authors Note that I found incredibly moving: “Sometimes it takes darkness to show us what we believe and who we really are…and my hope moving forward is that we may all have the eyes to see the silent suffering in front of us, the ears to hear their cries, and the empathy to take their hand and let them know that they are not alone, because we are all ghosts of this mysterious realm called life.”

Nora is a romance channel screenwriter who is recently divorced from a man who drained her soul and their bank accounts. She channels the feelings stemming from the collapse of her marriage onto the page…and it gets picked up for the Big Screen. They shoot part of it at her house, and the (single, mildly drunk, fairly morose) male lead parks himself on her porch and begs to stay.

This is a love story for us middle-aged moms. It has the passion of a new relationship paired with the daily realities of parenting elementary schoolers and the drag

of emotional baggage, wrapped up in a bow of warmth and wit. I loved Nora and rooted for her, but I also loved her love interest, Leo, who had more depth, complexity, and warmth than you often see from male leads in a romance. Her kids are perfectly rendered, with their own worlds and heartbreaks. I devoured this book, which fully wormed its way into my heart.

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This month I’ve included an audio-recording to allow you to listen to the essay if that is your preferred format. Be aware that this one includes some weighty topics, so please be mindful if you have little ears present:

The news coming out of Minneapolis has weighed heavily on me, particularly the deaths of Renee Good and Alex Pretti, both of them thirty-seven years old. I wanted to go to a protest after Renee Good’s death, because that was absolutely the straw that broke the camel’s back for me, but I was scared. I’m ashamed of it, but I was.

Yet, it’s a privilege to be scared, isn’t it? To choose to be scared because I’m going out on a limb for others, or choose not to be scared and stay silent? It’s a privilege, right now, to not be scared just existing as a human being in the world.

Actually, that’s my privilege showing. There have always been members of our community who have been scared to exist just because of what they look like, what they believe, or who they are.

Right now we’re hunting people because of their immigration status, or for supporting those being persecuted, but it isn’t just that. We hurt people because of their religion or their gender or sexuality or their political beliefs or you name it. When I think about the loud hatred by people who perceive someone else as less than because they’re different, it’s overwhelming. There’s so much I’ve had to block out because it’s just so hard to FEEL and also function as a parent, but there’s guilt in that, too. It’s a luxury to be able to go into my bubble and focus on my little world. What do people do when the danger lives in their bubble?

Meanwhile, I’m trying to teach my kids lessons from this mess, but I don’t even know where to start because I don’t want to shatter their innocent view of the world, even though I know it’s impossible to hang onto. I know.

And then. And then and then and then. We had some bad weather recently. Not the kind that knocks your power out and has you dangerously frigid, but the cozy kind that has you inside eating homemade stew and reading books with your loved ones while you listen to the sleet on the window. The kind that has your kids gently fighting over whether to watch Frozen because, duh, ice storm, or Leo and ultimately you end up with neither, you read while your kids watch Grizzly and the Lemmings for the ten thousandth time. And I saw a post on Facebook by a woman gently reminding people that snow days aren’t safe for everyone, and offering a code word to those stuck at home with abusers who might need help. And then the camel that was trying so hard to stand up fell back down.

Meanwhile, why do I care if my kids only want chicken nuggets and ice cream and don’t know how to be happy at a quiet volume and leave their toys out because they’re set up exactly how they want and fight going to bed because they want to be with me? I don’t know. I did, once. I probably still do. But right now…I don’t know.

And I just…friends, there’s so much violence in the world. So much hate. I know it’s not new—people have been hurting each other since the beginning of time—but I’ve been thinking a lot about why. Does it come down to power? Greed? Insecurity? Or security in the belief that you’re better, worthy of inflicting your worldview on others? Why do we create tragedy when so much unintentional and accidental pain is an inevitable part of life, no matter the choices we make?

What brings a man to be so angry that he shoots Jewish people peacefully practicing their faith?
What brings a man to be so angry that he smashes his wife against a wall?
What brings a man to be so angry that he batters a member of the LGBTQIA+ community, whose identity and love don’t impact him at all?
What brings a man to be so angry that he hits an innocent child?
What brings a man to be so angry that he shoots a mother—or an ICU nurse—who is clearly not a threat?

And what brings a man to be so entitled that he sexually assaults young girls. Girls barely older than my own.

I don’t intend this to be a commentary on gender because there are plenty of hateful women in the world, too, but statistically the vast majority of violent crimes are committed by men, so I’m leaving the gendered statements as is. And I wish there was an answer, friends. I wish I understood why people thought their own pain and anger and self-regard gave them license to hurt others. I wish I understood why people believe that it’s justified to take a life just because the person lacks the legal documentation to be here. Or are lily white but standing beside someone brown. Or to put their hands on people who have not given their consent, perhaps not taking their life, but shattering it. We’ve lost sight of the fact that beneath the meaningless shit on the outside—brown/white, gay/straight, Jewish/Christian, man/woman, Democrat/Republican, rich/poor (and all of the other categories that don’t exist in this example which I have made binary solely for the purpose of illustration)—we all have the same heart. The same lungs. The same basic needs for air and water and food and love. The same capacity for good. The same right to exist.

Even the ICE agents whose actions I find so deplorable are, underneath the masks, human beings. What has happened in their lives that has led them to this point, where they believe their actions are justified?

Or don’t, but still need to put food in their kids’ bellies.

I have no answer for you friends, none. I haven’t been walking you down a path of discovery, ready to give you an easy answer and marching orders here at the end. I’ve been ruminating, spinning my wheels on something for which there is no answer. And that terrifies me.

But what I can tell you is this: the answer isn’t hate. It isn’t violence. It isn’t “othering” people. It isn’t a closed mind and a closed heart.

It’s kindness. It’s empathy. It’s a willingness to calmly discuss the areas in which we differ, and find peaceful ways to coexist. How to do that? I have no idea, other than being thoughtful and intentional with how I raise my kids. Because if there’s any shot at solving this, the answer’s in teaching our children—even the grown ones, even the collective ones who aren’t our own legal beings to shepherd—that we have to lead with compassion. We have a collective obligation as human beings to remember that we’re all just that: human beings. And change has to start somewhere. It has to start with us.

Resources

• Anything Mentionable is Manageable — Melinda Wenner Moyer

• How to Raise Open Minded Kids in a Polarized World — Melinda Wenner Moyer and Emily Edlynn

• Mattering And Why It Matters — Dr. Aliza Pressman and Jennifer Wallace

• How to Talk to Kids About All the Terrible Things — Melinda Wenner Moyer and Elise Hu

• For Love and Loss — Kathryn Barbash, PsyD

• 10 Practical Tips for Parenting During Political Turmoil and Hard Times — Dr. Aliza Pressman

• How to Talk to Kids About ICE and Keep Them Safe — Melinda Wenner Moyer

Places You Can Donate
(And Don’t Forget to Call Your Reps)

Nationwide:

• Your local community food bank.

• Your local Mutual Aid.

• Immigrant Defense Project
  IDP fights to end the current era of unprecedented mass criminalization, detention, and deportation through a multipronged strategy including advocacy, litigation, legal advice and training, community defense, grassroots alliances, and strategic communications.

In Minnesota:

• Minnesota Freedom Fund
  Minnesota Freedom Fund works to end wealth-based detention and power build with community to dismantle the systems that turn poverty into punishment while expanding access to freedom, safety, and dignity for all Minnesotans.

• Minneapolis/St. Paul Magazine

  Food drives, fundraisers, trainings, restaurant specials, and other resources to support immigrant communities during ICE’s massive Operation Metro Surge.

• Immigrant Law Center of Minnesota
  ILCM is a nonprofit organization that provides free immigration legal representation to low-income immigrants and refugees in Minnesota and North Dakota.

• Women’s Foundation of Minnesota
  IRRF is a coalition of philanthropic leaders rooted in communities most impacted by immigration-related harm. IRRF ensures that resources move quickly, responsibly, and with community accountability to trusted organizations responding to immigration-related emergencies across Minnesota.

• Midwest Immigrant Bond Fund
  The Midwest Immigration Bond Fund pays out bonds for residents of, and people detained in Kentucky, Illinois, Indiana, Minnesota, and Wisconsin, and fights for the abolition of immigration detention.

• Community Aid Network MN
  Community Aid Network (CANMN) is a grassroots volunteer-led organization located in the Bancroft neighborhood of Minneapolis, MN. We work to build solidarity with our neighbors, organize volunteers and redistribute resources to ensure everyone has the means for dignified survival.

• Central Area Neighborhood Development
  The Central Neighborhood Care Team (Central Care Team), is one of six strategically organized groups within a larger group of Central Neighborhood residents organizing with a twofold mission: relationship building and resistance. This GoFundMe raises funds for critical rent assistance as families stay home.

• Hennepin Healthcare Foundation - Pediatric Mobile Healthcare
  Hennepin Healthcare, the non-profit safety net health care organization, is expanding and retrofitting its Pediatric Mobile Healthcare units to make more home visits and to add maternal health care, specifically for high-risk pregnancies, as many people are not making it to appointments at this time.

Given that this is the first time I’ve included an audio version of the essay, I would love your feedback on whether you enjoyed it:

Recommendations Roundup

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Parting Shot

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The blurb describes Franny as fierce and fragile, and that perfectly encapsulates this damaged, but endearing woman. She reminded me so much of the birds she was following—driven but fragile, and at real risk of being hurt. Deceptively strong, but also searching for a foothold that will keep them in the world.

This book is masterful. Franny is a character that will stay with me for a long time, but each and every character is beautifully rendered, full of complexity, and often surprising. I appreciated the blend of “light dystopia,” as a friend of mine put it, with elements of mystery and suspense encapsulated by gorgeous, literary writing. It’s an ode to the natural world (and a warning of the threats it faces) while also being propulsively readable, even though I wanted to slow down to savor it. It’s immersive and full of heart, and breathtakingly empathetic. Migrations is devastating and beautiful and deeply affecting in the best way. This is one I won’t soon forget, and I can’t recommend it enough.

“You should never be ashamed of what you are…I’ll love you no matter where on this earth you are. I want you to be free to be what you are, to go where you want…There’s a difference between wandering and leaving. In truth, you’ve never once left me.” — p. 232

I’ve written before about how my mental health tanked after I gave birth to my babies. The constant fear and worry about them—the bone-deep terror of something happening to them—combined with extreme sleep deprivation was not a glowing cocktail for me. But what it’s taken me years (eight and a half, to be precise) to realize is that anxiety can also be reframed as a gift.

For ME—and I know this may not be true for YOU, especially if your anxiety is debilitating (mine vastly improves with therapy and medication)—I’ve reached a place where my anxiety actually makes it easier to connect with gratitude. Maybe because I work hard to combat the anxiety, I’ve cultivated a mindset in myself to look for silver linings and be very grateful for what I have. For example:

I’m grateful that we have an army of people around us who love and support us, from family to friends to my kids’ teachers and school staff to professionals like therapists.

I’m grateful that I’ve found something that lights me up, that lets me do something I truly love and feel passionate about (writing), that also feels meaningful and lets me influence others’ lives in a positive way.

I’m grateful for the look of uncomplicated joy and wonder on my children’s faces when they see things like fireworks, the ocean, or even something as simple as surprise cookies. I’m also grateful that my family can afford food and all the other things we need when so many can’t.

I’m grateful for the chocolate I always end my day with, and that there are so many flavors of ice cream.

My children, however, don’t always feel or show gratitude. Over Thanksgiving break, my girls had a bit of a spat. Actually several, but one in particular gave me pause because both kids separately said they feel like their sister doesn’t love them. They do love each other—the special sister-handshake they made up on the bus ride home from school this week is just one example of that—but, as siblings do, they fight. Things get heated. They say things they don’t mean. Partially because they’re mad and partially because they’re kids and don’t yet have the practice at emotional regulation, they forget what they love and appreciate about each other, and that their lives are so much better with each other in it.

Since then I’ve been thinking even more about gratitude–how to show it, how to teach it, and how to cultivate it as part of our family culture–and I realized that for a lot of people gratitude is hard. Connecting with joy and wonder in everyday life is hard. And the benefits that come with those things—like keeping us focused on things that are truly important to us—can be elusive to connect to.

So I put a request out to my network of supporters to share something deep and specific that they’re grateful for, and I’m going to share them here with you. I hope that if you’re struggling to connect to these feelings in yourself that you’ll find inspiration from these varied voices:

• I am so grateful to be able to enjoy my grandchildren, see their smiles, hear their giggles, hold them, walk with them, play with them, read to them and see the joy on their faces as they discover something new!

• I’m so grateful for the opportunity to work in synchronicity with soil, water, air, plants, animals and people—raising healthy food for customers, friends, and family… and for your essays 😍

• I’m grateful for the people that put good out in the world! With so much negativity in the world right now, the people that do good, spread kindness, and do good things I’m so grateful for! It’s those little things that make such a huge difference!

• I am grateful for the patience my partner has shown me in our relationship while I figure out how to recognize and manage the challenges I face with ADHD.

• I am truly grateful for my brother and his kids! I haven’t had an easy life and am not good at all with keeping in touch or birthday cards and such due to let’s say parental issues. Later in life my brother and I reconnected and realized that we both had been treated poorly and have been able to finally have a relationship. He has been my rock, always there for me to tell me what I may not want to hear but what I needed to hear. Anytime I’m feeling down I just call him and hearing his voice is enough to perk me up. I don’t think I could survive without him. Then there’s his kids. I never was a good aunt to them and don’t deserve it but they have always treated me with such love. They allow me to be included in group chats and I get to see their amazing kids grow into the best little humans out there. I don’t tell them very often just how thankful I am for their tolerance, forgiveness and love. If it weren’t for my brother and his wife and kids and all of their kids I truly don’t know where I would be at mentally today!!

• I am grateful to be so far along on my cancer journey that I can say it has been over a year (just barely) since my last chemo treatment. Grateful too for insightful friends like you to ask questions like these!

• I am grateful I am surrounded by strong, supportive family and friends who allow me to be me, and I never have to hide my good or bad news from them.

• I’m grateful for that rare and glorious snowstorm… when the world feels muffled, quiet and serene. It’s as if, for a brief moment, Nature is giving us a clean slate, and a sense of Hope in this screwed up world.

• I’m grateful for friends who I may not see for months (or a year!) but can pick up like no time has passed when we reunite. I’m grateful for my dog’s unconditional love. I’m grateful for the Great British Bake Off and for all the dessert I’m going to devour this holiday season 😂

• I am grateful for those unexpected belly laughs that bring tears flowing from my eyes and instantaneously fills my heart with unadulterated joy.

• I am grateful for those sacred, sometimes mundane, moments in life with my children where I pause and find myself in complete awe of the incredible being in front of me who I am helping nurture and grow and who is helping shape me into the best version of myself.

I hope this gives you what you need to connect with something in your life that you’re grateful for, and if so, please consider sharing in the comments.

As always, I’m grateful for your support. And I’m happy to support you, too. Whatever that might look like.

Recommendations Roundup

Parting Shot

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But this story is about so much more than that. Borrowed from the book jacket, it’s about the “fragile nature of potential and the transcendence of love.” Ivona is revealed to the reader slowly though the book, even though the first person POV feels incredibly intimate, as if she’s learning about herself right along with us. The writing is absolutely gorgeous—it just unfurls before you as you read. Not fast paced, but enveloping. It tackles a lot of big things—grief and loss among them—but also how we grieve not just people, but futures we imagined for ourselves. And how we grapple with the impact those losses have on our identities. One of the cover blurbs says it “considers how we make a life from what we are given, even when it is not what we asked for” and I think that’s probably the best summary of what this book does, and, by extension, what it can do for the reader, if we approach it that way. It made me think about the various ways I’ve envisioned my life over the years, and how the biggest lesson I’ve learned is not to attach myself to any one of them. Because beauty and joy can be found in so many different paths, and we’re constantly learning about ourselves and what our dreams might be.

A favorite quote, and example of just how hypnotic the writing is: “I want to tell him that I’m not that person anymore. I was green. Insecure. Broken in seven hundred different ways. The world had put too much on me and I didn’t know how to carry it. I didn’t know how to occupy space, to ask for what I needed any more than he did. But that was a long time ago. I’ve changed. I’ve grown. I’m asking now, I want to tell him. I’m asking now.”

Content warnings: infertility, death of a parent

Wreck brings us back to Rocky and her family, the delightful cast of characters we met in Sandwich. This time Rocky is juggling a health crisis, coping with grief, and also navigating the parenting of adult children.

Catherine Newman’s books—in her own words, on a podcast I heard her on (and unrelated: I can’t decide if I want to BE her when I grow up or be her FRIEND, but I will read absolutely every single thing she ever writes)—says her books aren’t heavy plot books, and they’re not. But they’re sort of like being under a cozy blanket with a friend, chatting by the fire, drinking a cup of tea. Her writing is gorgeous but not difficult to get through, poignant but also funny. There are so many lines in her books that feel like profound observations of life, and her take on parenting is both inspiring and hopeful.

“Life is a near-death experience. And death is a real-life one. There is…only this, now…loving each other like there’s plenty of room on the life raft. Like there’s no tomorrow—or like there is one, and you don’t want to wake up hungover with regret. You just want to wake up while you still can. While the world is turning and the owls are calling and gratitude is the very air you are still breathing, because, whatever happens next, that’s how lucky you are. You are still breathing.”

“The enormity of my love for these tender, fleshy beings was twinned with a potential for loss so unimaginably deep and powerful that it was like a black hole lurking just outside our window.”

Her characters are vivid and lovable, and I always feel connected to my humanness when I read her work. Her books make me think in the best way, and they always remind me what’s most important in life: the people we give our love to, and give us their love in return.

Content warning on the post: suicidal ideation, death of a spouse

Ove is grieving, and Ove wants to die. His wife recently did, and, in his own words, “he was a man of black and white. And she was color. All the color he had.” His initial suicide plan is foiled, though, when his new neighbor backs into his mailbox.

This is a quiet story—aside from a flash forward at the end, it takes place over just a few weeks, primarily on Ove’s little street—but not a slow one. He’s begrudgingly drawn into the lives of his neighbors, and what unfolds is a beautiful story of grief, friendship, found family, and learning how to live when you’ve lost everything.

A favorite passage, and a thought provoking one: “Death is a strange thing. People live their whole lives as if it does not exist, and yet it’s often one of the great motivations for living. Some of us, in time, become so conscious of it that we live harder, more obstinately, with more fury. Some need its constant presence to even be aware of its antithesis. Others become so preoccupied with it that they go into the waiting room long before it has announced its arrival. We fear it, yet most of us fear more than anything that it may take someone other than ourselves. For the greatest fear of death is always that it will pass us by. And leave us there alone.”

Additional content warning for the book: pregnancy loss

Eddie Winston is 90 and still waiting for his first kiss. Bella is only 24 but has just lost the love of her life. When Bella meets Eddie, she makes it her mission to help him find love, and what follows is a delightful celebration of the power of friendship. This is Cronin’s second book (HIGHLY recommend her first, The One Hundred Years of Lenni and Margo—a favorite of mine), and with both she’s explored the beauty of an intergenerational friendship. What I adored about this one (aside from the writing, which is like drinking a cup of tea under a cozy blanket) is the parallel between Bella’s fresh grief and Eddie’s own decades of missing someone who didn’t die, but was lost to him. Both characters have big hearts and big personalities, and they’re a gorgeous reminder that life is colorful and rich because of the people in it.