State of the Newsletter đ°
my priorities, your priorities, & why they matter here
Itâs quite easy to write about whatâs wrong in the world. The topic du jour (annĂŠe?) is A.I. and its cousins, such as rage against The Machine, the dangers of the modern world, and how everything is going to hell. Even calmer versions of this, such as why itâs so hard to not be on a screen, or how to not focus so much on global news to the detriment of your mental health, still sit on a perspective that notices first and foremost whatâs wrong. âThe reason you feel bad is because things are badâ gets a lot of clicks and likes, a lot of comments, a lot of engagement. Itâs easy to publish and itâs easy to respond to.
The pendulum swing is also rather easy to write about. Look at this cat video, here are ten ways babies are cute, this is why itâs beautiful to wear all linen, and wouldnât it be lovely to live on ten acres and gather apples from your orchard every fall but in a way doesnât involve the mud and muck of farming? âthese are also click-magnet topics. Itâs often a reaction to the above: everything is awful, so hereâs a C.S. Lewis quote about how weâre made for another world paired with a photo of a young woman hanging her all-white sheets out on a clothesline surrounded by grassland and a toddler at her skirt. That toddler isnât crying.
Itâs much harder to focus on the in-between of all that, where most of us actually live and whatâs based in actual reality. Because sure, A.I. is everywhere and messing up a lot of stuff, and yes, farmland is idyllic and Iâm still keeping my eye out for free nearby land with a babbling brook that no one else miraculously wants, but the honest truth is that I live most of my life wiping down counters and listening to my kidsâ âfun factsâ about how much PSI it takes to crush a human skull and commentary on their shift bussing tables at the nearby diner. I bet you do too, in some iteration of your own. Reality, in reality, rests on a foundation of three-dimensional skin the game and not pixels; grocery lists and not bullet points about why [insert latest global catastrophe] must be protested; letâs ignore our actual lonely neighbors so we can focus on our global outrage.
Every couple years, since Iâve been actively writing online in 2007, Iâll write up a State of the Union about the space Iâve been given to publish. It helps me remember why I bother doing what I do, and it provides clarity to readers and listeners, new and old, what they can (and canât) expect from me. Itâs been a very long time since Iâve done one of those. So, this is that.
Welcome! Here we go.
My Personal Priority
Cutting to the chase: Right now and for a few more months, I have two kids left in my home. As of this fall, Iâll have one, when our middle guy starts his freshman year of college (which means heâll be coming and going for the next few years, like his older sister recently did). My youngest will be starting his junior year of high school, which means I have two years left of him under my tutelage, both as his mother and his humanities teacher. Sure, Iâll always be his mom and Iâll always be given the solemn duty of imparting wisdom on all of my children. ...But I know from experience that itâs different once theyâre adults, and my full-time influence will shift. This is good and by design, but that doesnât mean itâs not a recurrent smack in the face at how these days of kids at home are insanely fleeting.
I have two years left with any of my children in my home full-time. Two. Years. 𤯠I remember continually reading that online trope of âwe only have 18 summers with our kids; make the most of them!â and each time mild panic would set in, as though if I were checking email for thirty minutes instead of swimming with them in the nearby river I was doing something wrong. When I started my blog (from which many of you first read me), my oldest was two and my middle, who just graduated high school, was a four-week-old. I was literally nursing him when I held him with one hand and clicked âbuyâ on a domain name with the other. It was a Sunday afternoon in our Turkish apartment, and the sun was angled from the living room window onto my laptop screen; my toddler was down for her nap.
I know from personal experience that there is nothing online that matters more than being fully present with my family. Nothing. For two more years, while my youngest lives at home, this remains my first priority. I know I wonât regret it, because I donât regret one whit all the minutes and hours and days that added up to years from the past two decades that I prioritized focusing on my brood of kids in the midst of writing and publishing. I missed a fair amount of opportunities to âgrow my platform,â I know, and Iâm well aware of all the things I didnât do to become more of an Influencer⢠because I just didnât have the bandwidth. No regrets in the slightest.1
But admittedly, I do have more time now than I did a decade ago, a few years ago, or even earlier this spring, when I was chock-full busy planning a wedding, navigating the college admission experience for a second time, and rewriting entire chapters of a book. These kinds of seasons ebb and flow, I know, and I know Iâll have them again soon (more book edits might land in my inbox any day now, and in a few months Iâll start teaching again). But on the whole, in comparison to my early days of growing a blog and podcast with a trio of kids under age five, I now have more time. Who knew that would ever happen?
My Work Priority
I had an âahaâ moment in 2018 on the first pilgrimage I led, and it continues to ring true: when it comes to my work-work, all I really want to do is write books and lead trips. Itâs when I feel most alive, like Iâm doing the work Godâs given me to do, where I affect the most good, and what I reasonably see myself able to do for decades still. I also love teaching, and I do earn an income doing so, but I categorize that task, for the most part, more as community involvement than career growth. Iâm open to teaching for a while after my kids are fully graduated, but itâs not something I definitively see myself doing indefinitely. Like homeschooling, itâs something I prayerfully consider each year before committing to more.
But writing books and leading trips? I see myself doing that until my mind and body will no longer let me. Who knows how long that will be, but for now, I have no plans to stop.2
This means that all my other work-ish things point to those two end goals, which includes this newsletter, The Commonplace, and its podcast, A Drink With a Friend. To put it bluntly: to those of you who read and listen to my words here, I hope you are convinced to eventually read my books and travel with me.
(If you just read that last sentence, this means Iâm talking about you.)
This is my desire and ultimate goal with this newsletter. What, then, does it look like to âconvinceâ you to eventually do those things? It looks like writing and talking about topics here that people who would also read my books and travel with me would resonate with. Those people are also largely Carries, but not alwaysâyet as Iâve said for years, if you write for everybody you write for nobody, so I keep her in mind.
My Priority for You
...Which brings me to how I initially started my thoughts here in the opening paragraphs. Carrie can find plenty of other podcasts and newsletters on how the world is burning and whatâs the unattainable ideal. With me, I want Carrie to find encouragement in the in-between. She needs readable and listenable reminders that, despite all the hard around her, sheâs able to roll up her sleeves and do the hard work of living her ordinary life. Sheâs able to question the theology sheâs always assumed was true and do the scary thing of changing streams, if needed, and co-leading her family to do the same. Sheâs able to make choices about how to best educate her kids. Sheâs able to host her neighbors for dinner and make time to really know them, because sheâs also able to live her life offline and recognize that community is found in the real world, not in some Influencerâs⢠social media account or newsletter comments. Sheâs able to save up her pennies so that she and her husband can join Kyle and me on a game-changing pilgrimage, should God allow. Sheâs able to participate in her local book club and teach her child cursive and make time for nightly drinks on the deck with her husband after all the kids are asleep. Sheâs able to read fiction for fun. And as Iâve long told my own kids and students, sheâs able to embrace the truth, even when itâs hard, that sheâs a beloved child of God whoâs able to do hard things and trust in the goodness of Christ.
The words and conversations I publish here, and plan to publish in the future with even more narrowed concentration, hopefully help Carrie do just that. Theyâre essays and episodes that remind her to stay buoyed in hope and not despair, to love her ordinary life, and to dig deeply into the real world in which God has placed her. The words and conversations here do not, Lord-willing, trigger anger or malaise, distraction, or addiction to too much screen time. They give her hope that her ordinary life is good, that there is Truth that is knowable and findable, and that it is worth it to do the hard work of living in the flesh-and-bones world.
At the risk of cashing in on clichĂŠs and relying on quotes from other people (Iâll leave off any sharable graphics or stock photos of the back of someone on a hike), here are the three quotes I keep coming back to when I think about what I want The Commonplace to prioritize:
âEarthâs crammed with heaven, and every common bush afire with God, but only he who sees takes off his shoes; the rest sit round and pluck blackberries.â -Elizabeth Barrett Browning
âThe most extraordinary thing in the world is an ordinary man and an ordinary woman and their ordinary children.â -G.K. Chesterton
âBe joyful, though you have considered all the facts.â -Wendell Berry
In spite of all the facts, I want us to be joyful, to recognize just how extraordinary our ordinary lives are, and to take off our shoes when we truly see all of it.
I hate publicly committing to something because as soon as I do, I either change my mind or something out of my control comes up that makes the commitment less feasible, but itâs also good for me to do so. And itâs good for you, reading this, to read where all this is going. So consider the following as the overall plan for this newsletter that Iâve been trying to get at since my first sentence here.
Hereâs what youâll find at The Commonplace, now in its seventh year:
Weekly 5 Quick Things (always free for everyone)âIâve been doing these since before I migrated my newsletter to Substack, and have no plans to change them.
Weekly or bi-monthly podcast episodes during the school year3 (still free for everyone)âIâve been doing some form of podcasting since 2008 and in spite of all the changes, I still overall enjoy the medium. This fall, Iâll be returning to favorite book conversations, which are also reportedly your favorite, too. Theyâll also include conversations on favorite places around the world, ranging from some famous monument on the other side of the globe to a beloved corner armchair.
Monthly essays reminding us to be joyful though weâve considered all the facts (free for everyone)âThe foci will be on the Transcendentals of beauty, goodness, and truth, which easily covers a huge range of topics. This includes thoughts on the natural world, art like books and films, travel, the goodness or raising a family, where truth is really found and why we canât just make it up based on our whims or preferences, and occasional stream-of-consciousness observations about the joy of neighborhood third places or grilling meat on the back deck. Oh, and super occasional short stories.
One more monthly essay that digs a little deeper into the above, perhaps with a bit more practicality or some personal experience (for paying subscribers).
Bi-monthly conversations with you all about books we read and books we plan to read, as well as invitations to name our monthly gratitude lists (for paying subscribers)âthese simple chats are some of the highlights of my month here.
The ability to leave comments (for paying subscribers).
First dibs on pilgrimage news and registration openings (for paying subscribers).
I plan to keep the annual newsletter fee for paying subs as low as Substack will allow me, which is currently $35. This is because I want to make it as accessible as possible, and because I know how many things are vying for your wallet these days.
For those of you who can, Iâll still encourage you to pay to keep the lights on around here, because it really does help and because we all vote with our dollars. If you want to see more focus on beauty, goodness, and truth on the internet and less despair and anger, then one way to help is paying the small subscription fee for The Commonplace. Iâll be honest: while free subscriptions have gone up around here this past year, paying subscriptions have gone down, for whatever reason (I have my theories). I have no doubt that some of this is due to inflation and the economy in general. But to be up front, this newsletterâs revenue has dropped substantially in the past year, and yet instead of despairing over this, Iâm choosing hope that those of you who can help keep the lights on the newsletter and podcast, will. As of now, I plan to keep my current offerings ad-free, so long as Iâm able.
As always, thank you for reading these words. Iâve long said that I have the best readers on the internet, and I still believe that to my bones. You all pick up what Iâm laying down, and every reader and listener Iâve met in real life turn out to be the best, most hope-filled, ordinary (in all the right ways) people.
This summer I plan to make progress on my novel, make edits on my next non-fiction book (out next spring!), record conversations for this fallâs podcast season, and publish this newsletter when itâs good to do so (unlike most summers, when I typically take my annual much-needed break). Iâm also leading a small group of us to Scotland on pilgrimage during the second half of July, which you still have time to register for! Iâd love you to join us.
And as always, during the second half of the summer Iâll also start prepping for teaching next yearâs classes, help organize our co-op, volunteer at my parish, have friends and family over for dinner, and weed the garden. Iâve got another kiddo to launch into university life, another one to launch into upperclassmen status as a high schooler, and yet another one to encourage in her early days as a wife. Life is good.
If the spirit moves, Iâd love you to do two things next:
Tell me in the comments here how you first found this newsletter (if you can remember!)âIâm opening up the comments for everyone.
âŚIâm so grateful to publish here. And thatâs because of you, so thank you.
No one is more glad than me that Iâm not an Influencer (except maybe my husband and kids).
I imagine my kids may have to one day fly my wrinkled body back from some stone cathedral across the pond, where I was found having expired after having fallen asleep in a pew, and then have to decide what to do with my latest book halfway written and probably in its terrible first-draft stage.
âŚThis yearâs publishing frequency still TBD.