Apologies if you are a longtime fan of ARIatHOME and will wonder if I live under a rock, but I somehow just discovered him this week, and I kept going “no way” every time a new person got on the mic and rapped or sang—especially the two “Brooklyn OGs” who appear around the 10-minute mark. As a commenter on a different video said: “According to these videos, every single person in NYC can spit hot fire at a moment’s notice” (video)

I loved this collection of photos of the writing spaces of authors who have made the 2025 Booker Prize longlist because (in my opinion) not a single one of them would be featured on anyone’s Pinterest page or Dwell Magazine or whatever. One of them is a couch, one of them is a bench, no one has more than one monitor, one has a view of the next-door neighbor’s shingled roof—I mean, they’re all so humble. (via Kottke)

I don’t think I’m as much of a slow lane enthusiast as the author of this New York Times Letter of Recommendation, but I love this piece because of the evolution of the author’s approach to driving because I had the same revelation about speeding a few years ago—if you’re trying to make up time, it’s really hard to make the math work in most cases, no matter how fast you drive. [GIFT LINK]

I saw a video of an Instagram influencer giving his bus driver a Rolex yesterday, which is a nice thing to do, but I couldn’t help thinking how much cooler it would have been if the guy had just given the bus driver the watch in private instead of making it into a piece of content. Maybe that’s what I like so much about this story about Ludacris ordering spring rolls at a restaurant—it genuinely happened, and makes you think Ludacris probably just acts like this all the time.

My friend Ben Polley wrote this piece on who lives and who dies after getting lost in the backcountry, and there’s a bunch of fascinating stuff in it, including this bit from the chief of county search and rescue here in Missoula: “there are two main categories of outdoor emergencies: those that involve meeting a schedule and those that involve pleasing another person.”

I read my friend Ed Roberson’s Good News from the American West newsletter every Wednesday, and I have never done this before, but I’m just going to copy and paste what he wrote about this story about a first ascent of a big rock climb along the Salmon River:  “Here’s a cool story about  a “wild and crazy” first ascent in Idaho—one that required hiking 22 miles, swimming 3.5 miles of whitewater, ascending an unclimbed wall, then floating back to civilization in a boat full of friends.”

I am not usually interested in videos with titles like “Shocking police brutality in Ireland,” but this was posted on the ContagiousLaughter subreddt, so I figured I could chance watching all 30 seconds of it, and I’ll tell you, it delivers, and does not need a trigger warning. (I mean, I guess it is technically a “dirty joke,” as far as that goes.)

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TODAY is a big day—we are re-opening registration for How To Tell One Story, my online writing course. We sold out the last round of 25 spots back in July, and I just this week finished up reading the stories the folks who completed the course sent me (pretty much the highlight of my week). If you’re interested in writing, or really, putting together a story in any format, you can register for the course from today (October 10) through next Friday (October 17). We’re going to do the $50 discount again this time, and we’ll shut down the page once we hit 25 registrations. You’re probably about to spend some money on holiday gifts for people in the next couple months—maybe get yourself a little gift now? (If you miss this round, we’ll open registrations again in February). Here’s the link: How To Tell One Story

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I loved this little film, using the words from the poem “An Ongoing List of Things Found in the Library Book Drop, Usually Being Used as Bookmarks” by Sam Treviño, and showing the whole thing from the librarian’s perspective. (video) (Also: here’s the original poem the film was based on)

This was of course written in response to current news, but I honestly think you could do endless variations of topics written in the voice of Animal from the Muppets and I’d read it and laugh. But this was pretty great: “AAAGGGHHH!!!” A Memo from Animal, Your New Editor-in-Chief

I’m not interested in using AI for the stuff I create, but I’m also not that interested in spending my time shit-talking it or people who use it. That said, when artists I respect comment on the whole moment we’re in with all of it, I am interested in what they have to say. So I read this piece/cartoon by Matthew Inman (The Oatmeal) when it landed in my inbox, and I definitely agree with a lot of what he says here—not so much the insults directed at people who evangelize about it, more the “talent vs. skill” stuff.

I’ve been following Hallie Bateman since back in 2017 when I bought one of her “Creative Licenses,” which were literal licenses, wallet-sized plastic cards saying you were licensed to do creative stuff (with a hand-drawn portrait of you), so I loved this illustrated story of how trying a new pen made her an artist. I mean, who among us hasn’t bought something we hoped would change our lives? Often more expensive than a nib pen and ink.

I am a fan of José González because he makes wonderfully music that I find grounding and calming, but also because he once told a story during a live performance I was watching on YouTube, and the point of the story was that someone fell asleep during one of his shows, and he kind of laughed it off and said something like “they were having a different kind of spiritual experience.” Anyway, I found this rework of his song “Broken Arrows” by Portico Quartet and I looped it for about an hour yesterday—maybe you’ll like it too, even if you don’t listen to it 12 times in a row.

I have linked to Anne Kadet’s Substack here before, because I love how she takes her experience as a journalist and follows her curiosity to things in New York, bringing the reader along as she breezily navigates whatever topic she’s decided to research, interviewing people in what feels like very casual conversations. So when I saw she went to the world’s longest footrace, the Sri Chinmoy Self-Transcendence 3100-Mile Race in Queens, I had to read the piece she wrote about it. It’s great. And if you aren’t familiar with the race (I mention it in my book Ultra-Something), it takes place around one city block, around a high school.

This guy was out on a trail run and a barred owl swooped down and stole his hat right off his head! Isn’t that crazy!?!? OK, you know what’s even crazier? It happened a second time the next week, on a different trail! Not sure if it’s the same owl, who just loves messing with this guy? Below the carousel of photos in this Reddit post is a link to the video where you can watch it happen.

If you missed getting one of the “What Does Your Urine Say About You?” water bottles we made this summer, we have a few extras we ended up making to fulfill the minimum order quantity. Grab one now for the person on your holiday gift list who would appreciate a good joke about pee? I don’t know.

September 26th was the 10-year anniversary of the first time I ever tried to run an ultramarathon—the 2015 Bear Chase Race in Lakewood, Colorado, at Bear Creek Lake Park. A brief, bullet-point version of how that happened might be: 

It was kind of a lark, but I got hooked. Jayson and I ran a couple 50-mile races together, then signed up for a 100-mile race, the 2017 Run Rabbit Run, and ran it together. I made a film about the experience (and about Jayson’s life) called How To Run 100 Miles and it screened at several dozen film festivals the next year and racked up almost 6 million views on YouTube. Jayson’s mom liked it, which was really my main goal. 

Over the next 10 years, I ran almost 20,000 miles and ran 15 other races—a couple more 100-milers, some 100Ks, and some 50-mile and 50K races. Outside of races, I put together some big routes in the mountains on my own, and began to enjoy long days out in trail running shoes and a running vest more than anything else. 

Jayson attempted a couple 100-mile races in 2019, and during those attempts started to discover some chronic medical issues. His running went up and down for several years, through the pandemic, job changes, a few moves, buying a house, and in March 2025, becoming a dad. 

All of a sudden—but not really all of a sudden, is it—it was almost fall 2025, ten years after we’d done that first ultra, shuffling around the trails at Bear Creek Lake Park. I texted Jayson:

We signed up for the race, I booked a fast trip to Denver, arrived, and several times in the lead-up and even the morning of, Jayson said: We really don’t have to run together if you don’t want to, like if you want to try to run fast or whatever. With everything he’d had going on, long story short, he hadn’t finished an ultra race since the Run Rabbit Run in 2017. I said: We’re running together. 

I saw it as my job to make sure he got across the finish line, although honestly, I wasn’t worried about him being able to finish. Maybe I just wanted to be there for it.

Time travel, at this point, is not yet possible. And despite all the messaging about making things the way they used to be—America, your skin/testosterone levels/how you felt when you were 22, the band you loved in your 20s getting back together—it’s really not possible, is it? 

You can try to revisit something, but no matter what you do, you can only get partway there, because you’ve changed. Hopefully for the better in a few ways. 

As they say, nostalgia is a hell of a drug. A kind-of-happy, kind-of-sad feeling that can make you smile over the top of a lump in your throat. 

If you run long enough—as with pretty much any athletic activity—you’ll eventually start slowing down. I saw this chart showing typical VO2 max for humans, going from about age 27 to about age 77, and even without the numbers, you probably know how the line trended:

So if you want to continue to do the things you did when you were “young,” maybe you have to get better at self-care:

Which is maybe where Jayson and I are both trying to be, 10 years later. 

We started near the back of the pack, shuffled through the first 6-mile lap, shuffled through the second 12.5-mile lap, taking it easy when we needed to, refueling at aid stations when we needed to, not so much “racing” as enjoying a day out on the trails with volunteers handing us snacks and water. Anyone nearby, even if they didn’t register our casual pace, might have thought we weren’t taking the race very seriously. And I guess we weren’t, in that competition-is-everything-Nike-commercial sense. 

When I think back to all the theater screenings of How To Run 100 Miles, I remember several Q&A sessions when someone in the audience would ask something like, “What was the best part of running that 100-mile race together?” And I’d always say the same thing: The training. I loved getting to run every weekend with my friend Jayson. Even then, in our later 30s, I knew that wasn’t something that many people our age got to do. 

And running the 2025 Bear Chase 50K, we dropped right back into our long-running dialogue, talking about books, kids, jobs, food, same shit, different year, happily. The temperature was fairly pleasant, we had some fortuitous cloud cover all morning, and the wind picked up on our final lap as we chugged the final miles toward the finish. Jayson was definitely going to complete the race, and if everything went well with the baby nap schedule, Jayson’s partner Kate would bring Baby June to the finish. Wind gusts had wreaked havoc at the finish line, and we could see several blown-over tents as we jogged the last 100 yards of trail, scanning for Kate and June near the finish arch. 

Over the course of the eight-plus years since How To Run 100 Miles came out, I’ve had a number of people ask me, “Is Jayson still running?” or “How’s Jayson doing?” Depending on how familiar they are with him and how much time we have, I’ll tell them a few details to catch them up on his life since the Run Rabbit Run. Sometimes I’m not quite sure what to say in those situations. 

But at the Bear Chase Race, according to the smile on his face as he crossed his first race finish line as a dad, and his first ultra finish line since 2017: 

He’s doing great. 

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Today is the LAST DAY to sign up for my How To Tell One Story online writing course for 2025. If you haven’t heard people (me) talking about it before, it is:

• a six-week, 12-email course designed to help you get one good written narrative nonfiction story on the page
• comprised of brief emails and assignments (a 3- to 6-minute read plus a 10- to 30-minute writing exercise)
• proven to be very satisfying according to the 27 people who have taken the post-course survey (and the 180+ other people who have taken the course and complained about it)
• usually $249 but $199 this time around
• only offered every three months

If you’re interested in more information and/or signing up for the course, the deadline is 11:59 p.m. MST tonight (February 17th)—here’s the link to the course page.

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Please meet Naoki, a Japanese fly fisherman who has dedicated his life to old reggae records (and fishing for tarpon), who says this partway through this short film: “This is part of my adventure of my life. I’m still working on it.” (video)

I am not good at cooking eggs (I am trying to get better at it), so when I see a video titled “Egg master flow-state” and the thumbnail is 12 freshly-cracked eggs on a restaurant kitchen’s flat-top, I’m going to watch it. Some people enjoy watching professional golfers who are the best in the world at what they do; I enjoy watching professional egg-cookers.

I was an on-and-off listener to Marc Maron’s WTF podcast over the years, and I was kind of shocked to hear that a) he was ending it and b) it had been going on for 16 years. Here’s a quick tribute The Atlantic published [GIFT LINK], which contained this quote: “[T]he platform Maron helped create—the low-key chat show—has exploded into an industry worth billions. Comedians of all stripes now host back-and-forth chats, though few display the compassion Maron is known for.”

Last week, I finished reading Ruth Whippman’s book Boymom: Reimagining Boyhood in the Age of Impossible Masculinity, because Hilary picked it up a few weeks earlier and sold me on how thought-provoking it was. She also hosted a four-week online “book club” with a bunch of moms (and our friend Jonathan). In reading the book, I had the dual perspective of being a dad of a toddler and as a man who grew up in some pretty traditionally “masculine” spaces. So Hilary and I both have our dog-eared copies of the book and a date night coming up so we can chat about it uninterrupted by (MOM!) our (MOM!) little (MOM!) guy. You are not invited to our date night, but you can get a sense of some of her dogeared pages/underlined sections in the last Substack she wrote about it: Why Don’t I Call My Son “Sweetheart?”

On Wednesday, I had my first run of the fall season in which I thought to myself, “Wow, maybe should have worn pants for this one,” and while I vastly prefer running in shorts, I live in western Montana, where we definitely have a “pants weather” season. So I will be wearing the Trail Tights from newsletter sponsor Janji because they’re nice and also because they have SEVEN POCKETS. The Women’s 7/8 Trail Tights have five pockets. (both of them come in reflective prints, which I am quite excited about for the dark mornings and evenings that are coming soon)

We interviewed writer Jared Beasley on The Trailhead podcast a couple weeks ago, which required me to read his book The Endurance Artist, which was fantastic, as was our conversation with Jared, who is a real writer who knows what the hell he’s doing, and who was willing to put in the work to get to know Gary “Lazarus Lake” Cantrell, the quirky (to put it lightly) guy who dreamed up the hardest footrace in the world, the Barkley Marathons.
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I remain a huge fan of Brandon Stanton and his Humans of New York work, and could not be more excited that the project has grown to the point that he can take over Grand Central Station, remove every single ad, and choose from more than 10,000 of his portraits to put on an exhibition starring everyday/extraordinary folks he’s interviewed. (via Kottke)

This Blackbird Spyplane piece Hilary sent me yesterday echoes something I have quoted my friend Forest as saying to me once, a piece of advice that lives rent-free in my head—You don’t look cool looking at your phone. My favorite part: “This is the real cure for “phone addiction” that no one has considered. Forget lightphones, forget apps that lock you out of other apps. Humans are a deeply image-conscious species. Just think about how dumb you look when you’re on your phone, and how you would never willingly look that dumb by any other means.”

Also: If you missed my post yesterday about celebrating 10 years of running ultramarathons, here’s that, and if you’d rather just watch a video about it, here you go:

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“Who’s gonna watch a senior citizen grandmother do jigsaw puzzles on a platform where people are competing playing Warzone?” Apparently a lot of people. (video)

This math about budgeting at the bookstore of course makes no sense but is exactly what most of us do when we want something, and that is why it is an example of a well-written joke.

I finally subscribed to Blackbird Spyplane yesterday after Hilary sent me this piece about creativity and AI and making birthday cards for people, as there were so many good lines in it, but especially this one: “‘You can get rich if all you want to do is get rich,’ my mom, a law-school dropout, told me, but I’d only be happy if I did something that really mattered to me.”

The folks at Injinji are sponsoring this edition of this newsletter, and it’s kind of great timing, because it’s starting to get cold here in Missoula and I’m just going to keep running through the winter again like I did last year and the year before. And: Injinji just introduced a Snow Crew sock for winter running, same five-toe design but with Thermolite EcoMade fibers for insulation. I wore them on my run yesterday, which was 28 degrees (Fahrenheit) at the beginning, which felt way too cold right now but that I bet will feel balmy when I’m wearing these socks in January.

I saw this puffy jacket Aldi made to look like a giant baked potato on Kottke .org and immediately thought Hell Yes That’s Great, and then I clicked through to the website and saw the silver rain poncho it comes with. I hope some people who really, really love baked potatoes end up with these jackets.

In 2025, four of his novels and two of his short stories were adapted into shows or movies, so Stephen King wrote about that for LitHub, and of course he said a whole bunch of really thoughtful stuff and never once said anything about the money he’s made, which, when 100-plus movies and shows have been created based on your work, is probably quite significant.

I assume, maybe not incorrectly, that if you subscribe to this newsletter, you appreciate the diversity of links I dig up every week—short videos, microblogs, long essays, and the occasional piece of internet media that only takes 1.5 seconds to appreciate, such as this post in the oddlysatisfying Subreddit titled “My Neighbor’s Tree Fits Perfectly In My Window.”

Austin Kleon recommended in this piece George Saunders wrote about the dilemma we all (probably) have with art made by people who are or have become problematic, and I found it thought-provoking but also comforting, in some way. It’s worth a read. This was one of my favorite bits: “I find that my life is simplified if, when I’m tempted to have an opinion, I ask myself why I need one, and what I aim to do with it. If there’s nothing to do with it, I try not to get too worked up.”

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I don’t often re-publish stories I’ve written, but I remembered this one this past week when I was tagging along on a rock climbing trip in the desert with my mom and her friends. I think this essay, back when I wrote it in 2013, was a sort of expression of gratitude through a story about my grandma (my mom’s mom), who was in the last 14 months of her life at the time I published it. I hope it still resonates.

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I flew to Iowa to visit my grandmother in the hospital a couple weeks ago. She’s been in and out of hospitals for the past few months, kind of one thing after another, the latest being a dental infection. I got off the plane in Des Moines, rented a car and drove straight to the hospital, where she was in bed, the right side of her face swollen up around the infection, IV drip in her arm.

I sat with her for three days, leaving when she went to sleep at night and took naps in the afternoon, but mostly we just sat and chatted like we always do. I ran across the street a couple times to get her milkshakes and real coffee from the coffee shop a block away. She only drank a few sips of it, but it didn’t matter. If it was between hospital coffee and espresso, I thought she should have espresso.

We went for short walks up and down the hallway, Grandma apologizing for how slow she was going, shuffling with her walker in front of her, and me telling her that she was the fastest 85-year-old lady I’d hung out with, plus I didn’t have anything else to do that day anyway. I have about a dozen deadlines and a million e-mails, but only one grandparent. Sitting there in the chair next to the hospital bed, helping her in and out of the chair, cutting up her food, I wondered how many more times I’d get to spend the whole day with my grandma, just me and her.

My grandma knows I live in a van and that I’m a writer, and I don’t think she cares what I do as long as I’m happy. She doesn’t read my blog, or care too much about rock climbing and mountains, and she knows I travel a lot, but I don’t think she cares where — I think she sees me in one of two locations: in person, and at the other end of the phone line wherever I call her from.

While I was visiting her in the hospital, I was supposed to talk her into moving into an assisted living home five minutes from my parents’ house, where she’d have her own apartment and her seven kids would be able to visit more frequently. I tried a little bit. Her other option was a nursing home in her hometown, and she liked that idea better, despite the wishes of all of her kids. She’s lived in the same town, Emmetsburg, Iowa, pop. 4,000, her entire life, and in the same house since 1956. She’s not going to be able to go back to her house, but she doesn’t want to leave Emmetsburg, where she raised seven children, and outlived almost every single one of her friends.

When we talked about the assisted living home, she said across the hospital table, “Brendan, I don’t want to go somewhere I don’t know anyone.”

I said Grandma, I go everywhere, and I don’t know anybody.

Which is a stupid thing to say to your grandmother when you’re a young guy who loves to travel, and she’s talking about leaving the same house she raised a family in for 30-plus years, and then lived in alone for 26 years. She said, I mean, Can you imagine me leaving the only place I’ve ever lived? and I understood how scared she is.

I’ve had something like 23 different addresses in my life, and every time I moved out of another apartment, I had a little twinge of nostalgia, a little sadness as I closed the door on all the emptied-out rooms I’d made memories in. My grandma had to multiply that feeling times 66 years. Driving away from the hospital, I realized Grandma and I were both talking about freedom, even though it looks wildly different to each of us. She doesn’t want to live anyplace where people tell her what to do, and I suppose I’m kind of doing the same right now.

I guess we like to point out the traits we get from the people who raised us, how we’re like our people — I was raised on spicy food; my family’s always been Cardinals fans; we never back down, et cetera. I’ve spent most of my life rebelling against everything I grew up with, but I get it. When you’re 85, like my grandma, people say you’re stubborn. I think I’m just like her, but I call it driven. I fancy myself to be pretty tough, able to get myself out of any jam in the mountains with sheer perseverance. My grandma doesn’t care if anybody thinks she’s tough, but she fell and broke her hip five years ago, and walked around her house for three days thinking it was just bruised before she went to get an x-ray. My family, both sides, has never been shy about busting people’s balls, no matter the situation. It’s a true art, and I have a hard time relating to people who don’t know how to do it. My Uncle Dan, on Grandma’s second day in the hospital, told her, “Mom, we’re so optimistic, we’re gonna buy you some green bananas.”

We walked down the hallway one evening, just me and Grandma, past a few open doors of hospital rooms, and she apologized again for being slow, and I just walked next to her with my hands in my pockets and assured her I wasn’t in a hurry to go anywhere. She said Brendan, I bet you can walk anywhere you want, and I said Yeah Grandma, I guess I can. I thought about all the places I had walked, like the top of the Grand Teton and the bottom of the Grand Canyon, and I don’t know why my grandma had to say something like that hunched over her walker and shuffling along in a hospital gown and why it made me so sad.

Last Christmas, after I hugged her goodbye, she grabbed my hand with both hands, taking one more second. That was the first time she’d ever done that, and I walked out the door of my parents’ house wondering if she did because she wasn’t sure if it was the last time she’d see me. It wasn’t, of course, but I guess you never know when you get to be 85.

Someday she’ll be gone, and then I’ll be a wreck for a while, but I suppose after that, I’ll find a few good places to think of her when I’m out there being stubborn and walking anywhere I want.

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My grandma died in June 2014. Here’s the essay/obituary I wrote about her back then.

May your inner physics nerd (and chemistry nerd, too) keep you sucked into watching this entire video from 1987, which just keeps going and going, even though at times it looks like the chain reaction is millimeters away from being upset, and maybe that’s why it’s so compelling. (video) (thanks, Eric)

A hundred years from now, when historians are looking back at the communication styles we developed in the first couple decades of social media, I really hope they are able to access the many, many jokes that have been written in 280 characters or fewer, including this one, which I am sure will pop up in your head every time you put on a shirt for the rest of your life.

Speaking of social media: I forget where I found a link to this essay titled “How to end your extremely online era,” before I read the whole thing, not so much for the tips on how to spend less time scrolling, but for the observations and banger lines like these two:

• “I couldn’t help but come to the conviction, right there on the bus, that one of the most important questions modern man must ask himself is how much time he is willing to spend being passively entertained.”
• “Most of a good life is simply refusing to do what is bad.”

I had to count, but it’s been six months since we wrapped up our Freeflow Institute course in the Grand Canyon, and I continue to be glad that Eliot Treichel joined us for his second Freeflow course, even though he’s a published author and professor of English, because he put together this wonderful write-up about his experience on the trip for NRS’s Duct Tape Diaries.

We interviewed Nick Thompson, CEO of The Atlantic, for The Trailhead a few weeks back, and just published the episode this week to coincide with the publication of his book, The Running Ground. I didn’t say this in the interview, but I am not usually drawn to books about people getting faster at running road marathons, but the book held my interest in that exact thing, as well as the stories Thompson pulls into the narrative, about his father’s tumultuous life, his battle with cancer, and his efforts to balance his ambitions of being a good partner and a good dad, having a successful career, and running his fastest marathon in his mid-40s.
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If you are at all moved by a very specific nostalgia for the computers/technology/aesthetics of the 1960s, 1970s, and 1980s, you may (as I sometimes do) scratch that itch with the r/cassettefuturism subreddit, which is full of photos of that sort of stuff, like this 1965 photo of the reception desk at the General Motors Technical Center, or this set of photos of the Brutalist design of the Hyatt Regency in San Francisco from 1973.

Maybe you’re paying attention to the World Series this year, or maybe not. Maybe you did or didn’t know that Game 3 went to 18 innings. Either way, here is a wonderful essay about staying up too late to watch the conclusion of that game, and I don’t think it’s spoiling it to say that the essay includes a mention of (and the trailer for) Invasion U.S.A., a Chuck Norris movie with a 22 percent rating on Rotten Tomatoes.

I have a number of new designs for coffee mugs and t-shirts that I’m trying to get out before the holiday shopping season starts ramping up (I can’t believe I’m saying that already, I apologize), and I whipped this one up a while back when I was flogging myself trying to write something about something and of course struggling mightily with it. Which reminded me that no matter what people on LinkedIn say, the creative process is never straightforward, and I don’t think it should be. Anyway, maybe someone in your life would like this mug that says “Please Do Not Question My Creative Process” (and by “someone,” maybe I mean “you”):

I think I was vaguely aware of Track Star before my friend Pitt sent me this video, in which Jack Coyne plays songs for MC Serch to quiz Serch on his hip-hop knowledge—but I hadn’t ever watched one. Now I’ve watched a few of them, but I think this one is still my favorite because of the enthusiasm Serch still has for the music and the culture. (video)

This is a great story about making time to write, and sometimes making desks to write on, and also about stealing—well, maybe not stealing if it’s during down time at the job—time to work on creative stuff, even if it’s not paying your bills, or paying at all. (thanks, Mario)

I don’t know why but during a couple conversations I’ve had with friends in the past few weeks, the question “Is running cool now?” has come up. I am not saying I have a strong opinion one way or another, but it had definitely not occurred to me that it was cool now. (Maybe because I run, and I am not cool?) And then Hilary sent me this essay titled “Running Isn’t Cool,” and I thought it was really interesting, especially this part: “To run is to be seen trying. To be seen sweating and snotting and grunting and wanting. To be vulnerable. A moving testament to humankind’s endless search for meaning through suffering. Running a marathon is thus, by definition, uncool.”

A few weeks ago, I was looking for new José González songs on Apple Music and found a rework of his song Broken Arrows by a group called Portico Quartet, and I immediately put this song on repeat for about 35 minutes. Then I started digging around YouTube to look for more of their stuff, and I found this wonderful video of them performing their Terrain album at Studio One at Abbey Road, and now this is all I want to listen to when I’m working, and I imagine it will be like this for several weeks.

I am excited to be working with the wonderful and hilarious folks at Precision Fuel & Hydration in 2026 and will be cooking up some fun stuff with them in the coming months, not the least of which is their continued sponsorship of this newsletter, and my continued consumption of their products on a weekly basis, my current favorite of which is this big bag of Carb & Electrolyte Drink Mix. Now that the temperatures are dropping a bit here in Missoula, I am running shorter distances and needing a few less carbs and electrolytes, so I’ve been doing one scoop of this mix in each water bottle before I head out on my runs up Mt. Sentinel, and I’ll tell you, it’s just about perfect. If you’d like to check it out, this link will give you 25 percent off your first order (or about $8 off a single bag of this mix).

We went to see Ross Gay speak at the University of Montana last week, and I don’t know the last time I have been so happy to be in the same room as someone whose art I love. (Actually, that’s a lie, I do know—it was Rakim, on his book tour in 2020, with my friend Syd) I decided a few weeks before Ross came to Missoula to go ahead and read the remaining books he’d written that I hadn’t read yet, all poetry collections and one epic poem about Dr. J. That night on campus, he was exactly who I thought he would be, a true joy, and I would have stuck around to high-five him after and maybe ask him to sign a few books, but we had a babysitter and had a feeling Jay wouldn’t let her put him to bed, so we took off, and I decided I would go ahead and continue being the enthusiastic evangelist for his work that I have been since 2021. So I searched around for an excerpt of one of his books that I thought was perfect, and here’s one about loitering, from the Book of Delights.

I thought the best part of this video clip was the clearly offended chef saying, “if my grandmother had wheels, she would have been a bike,” but then I think the show hosts’ reaction of basically choking on the food in their mouths because they’re laughing so hard was the best part, but then the hosts are trying to obscure the mess they’ve just made and trying to hide while also still laughing, and then I started reading the comments and realized this saying has many versions, including “If my grandmother had wheels she would have been a truck,” and I kind of want to adopt this saying for myself now.

This Korean guy became a Detroit Pistons fan basically completely randomly, but then fell in love with the team and gradually became a die-hard fan, and then he saved up a bunch of money to make a trip to Detroit, and then a second trip to Detroit, and I’ll tell you what, Detroit loved this guy right back, and it’s a great story.

—

(click here to watch the video on YouTube)

We were scarcely eight miles into the 105-mile Tour du Mont Blanc when I narrowly avoided disaster. I had trained all summer for the steep ultramarathon days we planned to put in on the TMB. I came to Chamonix with 20-plus years of experience in the mountains, which I’d like to think amounted to at least something like wisdom. I have calibrated and recalibrated my risk tolerance as I’ve gotten older, but you can’t think of everything. 

In the mid-afternoon light of the small dining room of La Chalette, a mountain restaurant at the top of the Bellevue Cable Car, halfway through our first day on the TMB, I pushed down way too hard on the ketchup dispenser. A laserlike stream of tomato condiment completely missed the ramekin I held in my left hand, and the deep red bolt of ketchup sailed directly at a German hiker’s backpack sitting on top of the table. My heart leapt into my throat as I watched it unfold in slow motion. 

It missed. A wave of relief washed over me as I apologized to the two hikers at the table and mopped up the ketchup with a stack of napkins. I returned to our table, freshly reminded that when you’re adventuring in the Alps, you expose yourself to many risks, and a faux pas while dispensing condiments is just one of them. We had almost 100 miles left to travel on foot, which I reminded myself is a big number, and an even bigger number if you measure it in kilometers, the standard unit used by every country in the world except the U.S., Liberia, and Myanmar—including France, the country we were in today, Italy, the country we’d be in tomorrow and the next day, and Switzerland, the country we’d enter on Day 4. 

If you were to use a hotel breakfast croissant for a map of Mont Blanc (the croissant being Mont Blanc), this is what the TMB would roughly look like: 

I was invited to run the Tour du Mont Blanc by my friend Doug Mayer, who founded a company called Run The Alps back in 2012 during the twilight of his career as a producer for, I shit you not, Car Talk. Doug grew up in New York and New Hampshire, fell in love with trail running in the Alps, and decided to reinvent himself as a guy who helps people do running tours in the Alps. He asked if I’d like to try one of their self-guided trips this year, and I said: 

a) of course I would, Doug, but 

b) I have a three-year-old and a lovely wife, so

c) what do you have that’s not a super-long commitment? What about

d) this “Express Tour du Mont Blanc” I see on your website? 

Doug said, Well, our regular Tour du Mont Blanc is actually way more popular for many reasons including the daily mileage, but sure, excellent choice, sir. 

I asked Majell Backhausen, a North Face Australia athlete, freelance media pro, and environmental advocate if he would like to run it with me—which was a bit of a gamble on his part, since we had had several conversations but really hardly knew each other, and I was asking him if he’d like to spend 24 hours a day with me for five straight days, and he didn’t know if I snored at a high decibel level, or if I had a thing for conspiracy theories, or if I would demand he close down the hotel bar with me every night of the tour. He said yes. 

DAY 1: CHAMONIX TO LES CONTAMINES

Day 1 was our short day, at 15.7 miles/25.3 km, from the Église Saint-Michel in Chamonix to Les Contamines. If you’ve ever seen footage of the start and/or finish of the UTMB, you’ve probably seen the Église Saint-Michel, aka “the church behind the start/finish arch.” A cliché place to begin (and hopefully end) our loop around Mont Blanc? We started in a light rain on Tuesday, September 5, to the sounds of work crews disassembling said arch, about 36 hours after the last UTMB runners had crossed the finish line. 

We stopped after 1.2 miles/1.9 km for a croissant and a cappuccino, maybe to set the tone for the trip? I mean, we’re not trying to do this thing on a low-carb diet.

Many Tour du Mont Blanc trips actually start in Les Houches, about 4.5 miles/7.3 km down the road from Chamonix, or a quick 30-minute train ride. That option shaves a few less-epic miles off the first day—mostly roads and multi-use paths that we ran, and I get why people skip that part. By starting and ending at the church in Chamonix, we would have a nice clean-looking loop on the map of our route, which would exist mostly in our minds but also a set of GPX files, I guess. 

After Les Houches, we began climbing in earnest up singletrack in a forest, while getting drenched by real rain, the kind of rain you hope you don’t get every single day of your trip. After our climb—about 2,500 feet/750 meters, we took a break at La Chalette to eat frites, aka French fries, aka chips, before finishing the second half of Day 1. 

We climbed up through patchy clouds, passing a few dozen hikers, up to Col de Tricot, the high point of our first day at 6955 ft/2120 m, and then ran as the clouds gave way to full sun and we descended into Les Contamines. We popped into a grocery and grabbed a few post-run snacks, and Majell bought a baguette, ripped it in two, and handed me half. I wouldn’t say I was exactly hankering for a big hunk of dry bread at that exact moment, but when in France. Also, our next day was our biggest day of mileage and vertical gain, so I guess we’d be needing the carbs/glycogen.

DAY 2: LES CONTAMINES TO COURMAYEUR

Going into our TMB trip, I knew I would have to eat hotel breakfasts like it was my job. Fortunately, this is a job I love, especially in the hotels around Mont Blanc, where every morning is a buffet of pastries, breads, jams and nut butters/pastes, good coffee, eggs, and other delights. 

Since Run the Alps had put together our self-guided trip, we hardly had to worry about details, and every morning we got up, packed our bags, ate as much breakfast as possible, loaded up our vests, and took off on our run. Not “took off” like we were bounding out the door running 7:30 miles—more like we walked out the door of the hotel, broke into a light jog while still digesting our breakfast, and ran to the start of the first climb of the day, which usually began fairly immediately. 

Usually, in the first few miles of our day, we’d pass a few hundred hikers, all making their way on the same route we were, in the same direction. Each year, Mont Blanc draws 20,000 climbers hoping to summit, and each year, the same number of people—20,000—do the Tour du Mont Blanc, walking or running around the mountain. You can generally discern the itinerary of a TMB traveler by the size of their backpack: 

Maybe an hour and a half into our second day, I heard someone behind us say “no way,” the voice of Adam Peterman, a guy from my neighborhood in Missoula who won the Western States Endurance Run in 2022. He was out for a training run with Caleb Olson, who won Western States in 2025, and we chatted with them for a few minutes before they detected that our priorities for the day were different than theirs, bid us goodbye, and took off running uphill. 

A little past the eight-mile (12.9 km) mark, we had chugged up 4,200-plus feet (1280 m) to Col de la Croix du Bonhomme, our first big climb of the day. We jogged downhill a few hundred feet to the Refuge de la Croix du Bonhomme and popped in for a slice of cake and a lemon tart. 

We ran singletrack down the 3,000-foot descent to the hamlet of Les Chapieux, where we took a proper lunch break and Majell made a sandwich out of a baguette and a small pizza: 

Our next big climb was seven-ish miles (11.25 km) up to Col de la Seigne, on the border of France and Italy. This of course put us in a new country—Italy—but it also was the point in my mind where the view of Mont Blanc really started to dominate our field of vision. Like every time you took a photo, a solid chunk of your visual reason when you pulled your phone out of your pocket was, oh yeah, that’s a dramatic piece of Mont Blanc you’re looking at. A hiker from Singapore asked Majell to take his photo, and while pointing in the direction of Mont Blanc, asked if it was Mont Blanc, and I don’t know if it was the language barrier, but the correct answer was either, “The actual summit is in that direction but partially obscured” or, while gesturing broadly with one hand, “Yeah, that whole thing over there is Mont Blanc.” A big deal. Massive, or even a massif, if you will. 

We ran the downhill, dropping about 1,800 feet (550 m) in three miles (5 km) to a brief flat section passing Lac du Combal, and then began our last climb of the day while Mont Blanc bathed in the best light we’d see all day (maybe the best light of the entire trip?). I mean, look at this shit: 

The TMB traverses up through bits of forest to Arete du Monte Favre, then rounds a corner into the top of the Courmayeur Mont Blanc ski resort. We stopped to fill bottles at the Maison Vielle Refuge at Col Checrouit, then dropped via steep tight switchbacks into the town of Courmayeur, where we ended our 50km day at the Hotel Bouton D’Or. As soon as we showered, we walked to dinner at La Padella, where we split:  

• 1 salade montagnarde
• 2 orders of gnocchi with cheese
• 1 order Pommes frites/French fries/chips
• 1 aI funghi pizza
• 2 orders of bread

I had a cold, which I’d felt the inklings of the day before our trip, thinking to myself, “Perfect timing, as always.” Thankfully, the next day was our “rest day,” which had been built into our itinerary by the folks at Run the Alps. At first I kind of pooh-poohed the idea of taking a rest day, but now I was more than happy to take one. 

DAY 3: COURMAYEUR TO COURMAYEUR

We smashed a big breakfast even though we were not running on Day 3. Thanks to the hotel, I discovered the invention of pistachio paste. We bought tickets to the Skyway Monte Bianco, a tram system that took us to Punta Hellbronner, (3466 m/11,371 ft), via a rotating cable car. Then we ate more food and watched it downpour outside, which fortuitously passed through during the night. 

DAY 4: COURMAYEUR TO CHAMPEX-LAC

The morning of Day 4, for whatever reason, the breakfast room at the hotel seemed way more crowded. Several groups looked like they were also headed out on the TMB. I gathered that one person in a big group near our table informed her friends that she was going to have to skip the next couple days and meet them in Champex-Lac, which must have been a huge bummer. 

People reserve rooms in the hotels and mountain huts along the TMB about a year in advance, and the route is, of course, a circle with only a handful of towns along the way, so if you have to miss a day because you’re injured or sick or whatever, you might have to miss two or three days and shuttle around the mountain via taxi or bus before you can re-join your group at the next town. 

Majell and I sat with our food and coffee, enjoying an immoderate breakfast and looking forward to another immoderate day on the trail measuring somewhere around 29 miles/48 km and 8000ish feet (2400 m) of climbing, according to the profile on our Run the Alps app: 

The route started climbing literally a few feet from the front door of our hotel, up the winding streets of Courmayeur, picking up a trail at the edge of town after about a mile of pavement. We passed groups of hikers, Majell jokingly saying to me “surge!” before we sprint-hiked past the groups of 10 and 12 trekkers and my heart rate jumped into Zone 4 territory. 

We passed by Rifugio Bertone after climbing 2,500 feet (760 m) in just over 2.5 miles (4 km), then ran as the trail mercifully flattened and contoured around the mountain. We cruised into Rifugio Bonatti, which Majell had said was more hotel than rustic mountain hut, and I ordered a couple cappuccinos and cookies. Majell had also, for some reason, purchased a one-inch-thick chocolate bar and would not let me not help him eat it, so, faced with another challenge in the mountains, I sat there in the sun and enjoyed all of it. There are many differences between the mountains in my beloved American West and the Alps, and every time I get to visit the Alps, I take advantage of places like the Bonatti refuge, which combines a couple of my favorite things: a mountain view and a solid espresso cafe. And also baked goods. 

Only one-fourth of the way through our day’s map, we chugged on, dropping down a few hundred feet and then starting our next climb, 2,500ish feet up to Grand Col Ferret, the high point of the TMB at 8,323 feet/2,537 meters. We shared the trail and the col with dozens of hikers, and I stopped to take photos for folks posing in front of the view back down the valley, which, to be fair, is absolutely incredible on a clear day and if you’re alive and there in person you damn well better stop and look at it, because otherwise why did you even bother coming?

At the col, we said goodbye to Italy and hello to Switzerland, a country we’d be in for, *checks notes* almost 24 hours, eight hours of which we’d hopefully be asleep. We descended, running down, down, down, for 13 straight miles (21 km), stopping briefly for a coffee at Buvette de la Peule, and to stroll through the town of La Fouly. As we were jogging through the hamlet of Praz de Fort, Majell remarked that he’d been through this spot several times before and didn’t remember it being so scenic. I assume all those other times, it was either dark or he was blindfolded. 

The last 3.5 miles/5.6 km, climbing one last gentle kick-in-the-shins 1400-foot (425 m) climb to Champex-Lac, took us a little over an hour, and by the time the Hotel Splendide came into view, I was ready for a chair. Fortunately, we had a room with an incredible view of the Grand Combin, and it had two chairs. There were more chairs in the dining room, where we ordered two dinners apiece and watched the moon rise over the Grand Combin, and I took the world’s worst moonrise photo with my iphone:

DAY 5: CHAMPEX- LAC TO CHAMONIX

This past spring, my friend Nick Triolo came out with a book called The Way Around: A Field Guide to Going Nowhere, and in it, he explores the idea of circumambulation, which is, according to the dictionary definition, “to circle on foot especially ritualistically.” It’s full of all sorts of beautiful prose and thought-provoking shit, ruminating on why (some) humans want to summit/conquer things and (some) humans find meaning in circumambulating things. Like this, from the introduction: 

Having historically been a bit of a mountain summiter/“peak bagger” myself, but also loving a good loop now and then, I am a fan of both approaches. But I’ll say this: If your goal is to summit, there comes a point when it gets easier, usually halfway through the trip (or earlier). Of course I’m aware that the majority of mountaineering accidents happen on the way down the mountain, but aside from that unfortunate bit of data, once you summit, gravity is helping you get down. Maybe your pack is lighter, maybe you get a night or two of relaxing at base camp, maybe you walk off the top of El Capitan and hike back down to the valley. 

On the other hand: If you’re doing a loop, such as, say, the Tour du Mont Blanc, you can’t really take your foot off the gas, so to speak, till you finish the loop, which ends where you started the whole thing—in our case, Chamonix. Yes, we could have taken a train back into town if we wanted to skip the final seven-ish miles/11 km if we were really in a bad way, but that would have to be an emergency, in my opinion (and before 8:21 p.m., when the last train leaves Le Tour). 

We weren’t exactly bounding out the door of the Hotel Splendide after breakfast on Day 5—we walked most of the way through town, the past few days’ mileage weighing down our legs a bit. But we finally got going, jogging downhill until about Mile 3, and I reminded myself: Three more big climbs. 

I also reminded myself: Many, many people do this whole loop in a single push. It’s called the Ultra-Trail du Mont Blanc, aka UTMB, and 1,665 people finished it this year, out of 2492 entrants. Three people in our shuttle van from the Geneva airport to Chamonix did it, out of seven. Anyway, plenty of those people must have been at least a little bit like “fuck this” by the time they got to Champex-Lac. But they kept going. Maybe even without stopping for espressos! The humanity.

About five miles/8 km in, on the first climb, a kid in his late 20s stepped aside to let me pass on the steep trail. I said Bonjour, he said Bonjour back, and then, “You are strong.” I laughed and nodded, looked at his big pack, pointed at my tiny 12-liter running vest and said “small pack. ” At the top of our climb, we stopped for water at the Bovine alpage, which must be one of the best places in the world to be a cow, I guess if you’re a cow who enjoys expansive views of stuff like the Rhône Valley almost a vertical mile below. 

We dropped down into the town of Trient, stopping only for water, and settled into our 900-meter climb. Majell actually got out of my sight for what I think was the first time the entire trip, and I was not in a hurry to catch him. I kept plugging away in the intermittent shade on the trail, drenched in sweat and wishing for even the slightest breeze. Right around 14 miles/22.5 km, pretty much halfway through our day, we crossed the border back into France, which is not marked but paralleled the Tête de Balme chairlift right above our heads.

Just around the next corner, the dramatic north-facing expanse of Mont Blanc came back into view: 

We would barely lose sight of it the rest of the trip, as we wound another 13 miles/21 km up and down into the Chamonix valley, stopping once at Chalets de Balme for a sunny 9-Euro apple crumble and one last trail cappuccino. As we traversed the trails on the south face of the Aiguilles Rouges, we looked across the valley at the spires and glaciers of the entire Mont Blanc massif, unobscured by a single cloud. 

As we passed through the outdoor seating for the cafe at La Floria with about two miles/3 km to go, I started to let myself believe I was going to actually make it—none of my minor aches or pains would turn into something catastrophic, the cold I’d been fighting wouldn’t knock me out, and maybe I’d finish the final bit to the Église Saint-Michel in Chamonix without stumbling and falling. 

And I did. Majell and I crossed the bridge over the river back into town, weaved in and out of the hordes of people shopping the sales of all the shops in town, and jogged back up the church steps to complete the loop. 

It was kind of a whirlwind, and taking a couple more days to do it is definitely the more sane option. But we finished our circumambulation of the big mountain, and we took in all of it in the daylight. So now I understand why 20,000 people do it every year. 

—

For more information on Run The Alps guided and self-guided tours all over the Alps,
visit RunTheAlps.com.
The founder of Run The Alps, Doug Mayer, pronounced the apple fritter at Veera Donuts in Missoula, Montana, one of the best apple fritters he’d ever eaten, in March 2024. Or maybe he said “the best apple fritter I’ve ever eaten”? I can’t remember exactly. 

The students of Shanti, a driving instructor in New York, have a 99-percent success rate, and Shanti has been doing this for 30 years. I love everything about this short film (and it is also a shining example of how to use profanity in storytelling, in my opinion). (video)

This clip on the r/oddlysatisfying subreddit begins with this guy talking about how his car is 58 inches wide and his garage is 60 inches wide, and my first thought was, “how does he get out of the car after he drives it into the garage?” Now, the person who wrote the headline for this post was mainly excited about how smoothly the car slid into the garage, but I gotta say, watching this guy get out of the car was just a goddamn delight.

Having now dropped my phone onto actual rocks while trying to put it back in my vest after taking a photo twice in the past week, and realizing this unfortunate event might have been prevented by wearing gloves with some actual grip on the palms and fingers instead of some minimalist liners I’ve been wearing since 2020, I just ordered myself a pair of these Revo Merino Liner Gloves from newsletter sponsor Janji, which I am going to assume will solve all my phone-dropping problems for the next few months, and perhaps help with other tasks requiring at least a modicum of dexterity.

I wasn’t interested in this article titled “Is the Look Good, Play Good Theory Real? A Ringer Investigation” because I am into NFL football, but I have heard GOAT ultrarunner Courtney Dauwalter say “Look good, feel good” many times before, and that’s why I clicked. I was pleasantly surprised by the data, the methodology, the writing, and really some of the shit-talking that occurs in this piece. I am happy that in a world where everyone says journalism is going to hell, someone is paying for stuff like this.

I have never seen a gravestone with a recipe on it, but Rosie Grant has seen a bunch of them, and has compiled 40 of them into a book called To Die For: A Cookbook of Gravestone Recipes. Which is in itself interesting and inspiring in the art sense, but reading this article and learning a bit about the research Grant did for the cookbook, and tracking down the deceased recipe writers’ surviving family members, was fantastic.

I’m sure there were many words spilled about the 50-year anniversary of the wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald—the actual ship sinking, not the Gordon Lightfoot song—but when this newsletter from Niko Stratis, “The Gales of November remembered,’ landed in my inbox, I trusted it would be fantastic. Her essay alternates between the history of the shipwreck and the song, and a car accident she survived, which is the style of much of her book The Dad Rock That Made Me a Woman (which I read in May 2025 and won’t shut up about)—great music writing about a song + great memoir writing about chunks of her life. (Also: I have done many laps of this live Punch Brothers cover of “Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald” and I bet you will too)

There are two video clips in this post, and the documentary trailer is great and all, but what’s even more interesting is the second video, a clip from the movie in which you can (like I just did) how the word “podcast” came to be.

My friend Nick goes to a coffee shop every year on Kurt Vonnegut’s birthday (November 11) and reads Vonnegut books, which is a tradition I wish I had thought of first and will perhaps join in next year, or whenever Jay reaches a grade of school in which he doesn’t have Veterans Day off and stays home with us. Nick did include one of my favorite Vonnegut quotes about writing voice, “I myself find that I trust my own writing most, and others seem to trust it most, too, when I sound most like a person from Indianapolis, which is what I am.” If I may, though, I would like to tack on the next couple sentences Vonnegut wrote: “What alternatives do I have? The one most vehemently recommended by teachers has no doubt been pressed on you, as well: to write like cultivated Englishmen of a century or more ago.”

Also: If you missed yesterday’s newsletter, here’s my new video about the Tour du Mont Blanc:

—

About three years ago, I decided to start writing bad poetry on a fitness app I use regularly. When I checked last week, I had written more than 500 poems. Mildly curious about whether any of them were halfway decent, I gave them a quick read. And then …

… did someone offer me a significant sum of money to publish some of my running poetry in a chapbook? No. 

OK, but was I pleasantly surprised to discover that I had, through persistence and hard work over three years, become a great poet? Also no. 

What did happen is I waded through a 500-plus page document and found that I had written a lot of bad poetry. But, some of it—well, hold on just a second: 

How I originally started doing this was: Back in 2022, I read this book of poetry and essays by Chris La Tray called One-Sentence Journal: Short Poems and Essays from the World at Large, and loved it. Then I listened to a 2020 episode of my friend Ed Roberson’s podcast, Mountain and Prairie, in which he interviewed the author, and Chris shared the process of how all that poetry became a book. That process, to put it in bullet points, was: 

• While working as a manufacturing consultant, Chris wanted to keep practicing the craft of writing, so he committed to writing one sentence every day (yes, a One-Sentence Journal, if you will)
• he happened to read the book Braided Creek, a collection of short poems that Jim Harrison and Ted Kooser wrote as correspondence to each other
• Chris realized that if he made some edits to the spacing and punctuation to the sentences in his one-sentence journal, they could be poems too
• He made the edits to the spacing and punctuation to the sentences in his one-sentence journal, and they became poems
• The poems became a book called One-Sentence Journal: Short Poems and Essays from the World at Large in 2018
• The book won a bunch of awards and Chris became Montana’s Poet Laureate

I did not have any illusions of writing an award-winning book of poetry (or even a non-award-winning book of poetry) or becoming a poet laureate, but I did think to myself: 

“Shit, one sentence? I could probably do that.” 

So in November 2022, I ran 3.1 miles, one of those just-going-through-the-motions, something-is-better-than-nothing runs, I stopped my watch, pulled up my Strava activity details, and tapped out a poem on my phone keyboard with my thumb. It was, like the run itself, a real going-through-the-motions, something-is-better-than-nothing effort: 

And then I just kept doing it. After every run, I’d stand in my kitchen, dripping sweat (late spring, summer, fall) or slowly freezing in my sweat (every other season), trying to type out a few lines that might, in the most generous of definitions, pass as poetry. In the worst case, I was still showing up—like a server at a brunch restaurant showing up for work on New Year’s Day after a very late night out partying. It may not have looked or felt that great, but I got the food to the tables and didn’t get fired. Like this one: 

In the best cases, I’d be present during the run, taking things in, trying to connect some sights or sounds into a scene that would work as a poem. Or something would happen during my run, and all I had to do was convert it into some sentences in my head by the time I finished running. Like this one: 

As I said, nothing magical happened—as in, nothing unexpected or miraculous happened. What usually happens happened: Some of the poetry wasn’t total shit. Lots of it was shit. Which is kind of what happens when you run, or go to the gym, or do any form of exercise—some days you have a really great time out there, and some days you just gotta get out there and get it done. 

Some days I’d have a great run, barely even thinking about my poem until I stopped my watch and remembered, Oh yeah, I always write a poem when I finish. Some days I’d have an average or below-average run, but a poem I thought was pretty decent would basically write itself. Rarely would I have both a fantastic run and an easy time writing the poem afterward.

But I never expect every run to feel amazing. I don’t really run with a goal of performance; I mostly run because of what it does for me: anti-anxiety, time in nature, fitness, lengthening telomeres, time to get away from devices and think, et cetera, et cetera. If I had a motto for my running on a sticky note above the closet where I keep my shoes, it might be: 

So then maybe the poetry motto would be: 

I was just messing around, really. Right? Publicly sharing poetry is not something most of us would probably do at an open mic night, or even on Substack. But Strava, an app where nobody reads much of your description of your activity (unless you’re a famous athlete), that’s kind of a safe space. If I was serious about it, I’d probably try to get published. But telling myself I was just messing around gave me permission. From myself, which is funny to say.

Chris La Tray said another thing in that Mountain and Prairie interview that stuck with me. He was talking about when he started going through his years of daily sentences to see if any of them would make good poems, and said, “for every good one, there’s five terrible ones.” That’s probably him being at least a little bit self-deprecating, but hey, if one out of six is good enough for our award-winning Poet Laureate’s first drafts, that seems like permission for the rest of us to try. 

I share Chris La Tray’s story—guy, busy working regular job, determined to keep creating every day, gradually builds something great—with all my writing workshop classes, because I think it’s inspiring and admirable for the rest of us (in the spirit of Austin Kleon’s “Forget the Noun, Do the Verb” or Oliver Burkeman’s “Kayaks and Superyachts”). But I also blame One-Sentence Journal for being a gateway drug to me inexplicably buying and reading poetry books, which is becoming a significant expense, but not quite a problem. Yet.

When the three-year mark passed a couple weeks back, I had thought I’d written a poem for every single run I’d done in that time period. But the spreadsheet said otherwise. I must have given myself a break from writing bad running poems  in January 2024 (a month in which I usually try to run a 5K every day, just to make myself get out of the house during our cold, dark days here), and was pretty spotty through that spring, when I was getting sick a lot thanks to viruses Jay was bringing home from day care. But overall, I wrote 524 poems in three years, 20,000-some words, kind of by accident. 

And if one out of six of those poems is good, that’s more than enough for a fairly standard poetry collection book, so maybe I’ll put one together sometime. Or maybe I’ll keep writing more bad poems, in order to eventually produce a few more good ones.  

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Here’s a look at a new coffee mug design about the creative process (mug available here): 

NOTE: Like I said last week, I’m not doing a Black Friday email—this is a regular Friday Inspiration email! But if you scroll down to the bottom, you’ll see a bunch of images and links to stuff in my DFTBA shop, some of which may be appropriate for someone on your holiday shopping list. There was something funky about the links I put in last week’s email, and that has been fixed this week (sorry about that!). 

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If you haven’t seen One Battle After Another yet, this has a spoiler near the end (with a very clear warning beforehand), but what is not a spoiler is the explanation that no one involved in this film knew what the ending was going to be before they started shooting the ending (!!!)(video)

This article about the people who are still studying to be black cab drivers in London in the age of Uber is inspiring in the fact that passing the exam called “the Knowledge” is ridiculously hard, but it also gave me this strange sort of hopeful feeling, that maybe not everything we do as human beings is going to be replaced by tech that we think is great but ends up becoming, as Cory Doctorow termed it, enshittified. Like yeah, you could just use an app, but instead you’re taking on this nearly superhuman feat to memorize 25,000 streets in London and imprint the city map on your brain. Incredible. I’m rooting for this guy Besart to pass the test when he takes it. [GIFT LINK] 

Toe Socks! Newsletter sponsor Injinji is having a Black Friday sale through December 1 and a bunch of their socks are up to 50% off. I poked around a little bit yesterday afternoon and a couple of my favorites were still available (and marked down). The discounts vary per size and color, so it’s worth doing a little bit of clicking. Here’s the link to shop the sale.

I have only had one person ever tell me that they “didn’t do small talk,” and I don’t remember where our conversation went after that, but I definitely remember wondering about it afterward. Like where’s the line between small talk and big talk? Do you just launch right into the deep stuff with everyone? Baristas, cab drivers, the person next to you on a flight? I mean, I’m not like trying to push talking about the weather on anyone, but I definitely found myself nodding at a lot of the lines in this short piece, ‘It’s incredibly useful’: why small talk is actually great

I should have shared this last week (although I’m pretty sure I shared it last year or the year before?) but this recipe is one of my favorite fall/winter/cold weather/oh who am I kidding, anytime recipes, created by James Beard award-winning chef and ultrarunner Gregory Gourdet. Also, it’s super-easy: Brussels Sprouts Roasted with Kimchi and Scallions

Delete This Later is one of my favorite Substack newsletters, because of humor, not because it has anything to do with outdoor adventure or exercise. BUT! This week’s post is about getting into a kayak for the first time ever, and it reminded me that yes, kayaking is in fact difficult if you’ve never done it before. And can also be funny.

We interviewed writer, professor, and runner Lindsey Freeman for The Trailhead podcast that published this week, and one of my favorite observations of hers that we talked about was how running is one of the few really socially acceptable things you can try hard at in public (because it’s inherently hard compared to, say, drinking coffee).
Apple Podcasts | Spotify

For no real reason, back in 2021 and 2022, I talked Hilary into watching every film in the Fast and the Furious franchise with me. I think I just thought it would be worth studying a movie series that was at that time going on 11 movies. Plus, I told her, Roxane Gay is a huge fan of the franchise (yes, that Roxane Gay). I found out yesterday through reading this excerpt that a new book about the series, Welcome to the Family: The Explosive Story Behind Fast & Furious, the Blockbusters that Supercharged the World, came out this week, and I immediately thought a) I’m going to buy that book and b) I wonder if Roxane Gay is going to read and review that book on Goodreads? [Here’s a link to Roxane Gay talking about how much she loves the series, back in 2015]

And now, Stuff In My DFTBA Shop That May Be Appropriate For Someone On Your Holiday Shopping List:

The 2026 Semi-Rad Running Calendar (only 34 left as of Thursday morning!)

What Does Your Urine Say About You Nalgene Bottle (only 21 left as of Thursday morning!)

This Fucking Sucks… Mug

Please Do Not Question My Creative Process Coffee Mug

Hope, According to My Dog Mug

Practice Maximum Enthusiasm Hoodie

Ask Me About Free High Fives Shirt

The Zen of Training Shirt (Put In The Miles So You Can Put In The Miles)

Of course there are more mug designs, t-shirts, posters, and signed books—?to see the whole collection, click here?.

Listen on Apple Podcasts | Listen on Spotify | Listen/Watch on YouTube

For My Favorite Things, I’m interviewing people about the books, movies, music, art, and other creative works that have helped shape their lives. My guest for Episode 4 is Kris Hampton, a podcaster, writer, artist, climbing coach and founder of Power Company Climbing.

Kris’s favorite things are:

1. “The Show” by Doug E. Fresh
Apple Music | Spotify | YouTube

2. “Check the Rhime” by A Tribe Called Quest
Apple Music | Spotify | YouTube

3. To Kill A Mockingbird by Harper Lee
Publisher’s page | Bookshop | Amazon | To Kill A Mockingbird movie trailer

4. Nighthawks by Edward Hopper

5. No Kings by Doomtree
Apple Music | Spotify | YouTube

Other things we mentioned:
The Day Todd Skinner Fell To Earth, Men’s Journal

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An update from me as we enter the final weeks of 2025: As you may already know, this newsletter is supported financially by my friend Don. And Brian. And Julie, Scott, Kim, Travis, Adam, Charlotte, Zachary, and a bunch of other people who kick in a few dollars a month on my Patreon or through paid Substack subscriptions. I am grateful and privileged to be able to create the things I create for a living, and it’s because of the support of those people that I’m able to continue. I always joke about “having to get a real job,” but that’s something that’s always in the back of my mind—hanging up the weekly writing for a steady paycheck. THANKFULLY, for now, I have Don, and Brian, and other folks, and, maybe this year: you? You can help keep this newsletter going via Patreon for $3 a month (or more if you’d like), and you’ll get my monthly members-only Patreon update, in which I share lots of behind-the-scenes stuff about upcoming projects, things I’ve learned over the years, and my annual book recommendations (coming in a few weeks!).

If you get some joy out of this newsletter and you’d like to get yourself a gift for 2026 called “Making Sure the Semi-Rad Newsletter Keeps Coming,” please click this link to check out my Patreon. Thanks again to everyone who’s been supporting my work for the past few years.

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I honestly was not expecting this video to go as deep/thoughtful as it did in four-ish minutes: Why Is Everyone Running In Rom-Coms? (via Kottke) (video)

Maybe you are familiar with ultrarunner John Kelly, who has, among other achievements, finished the Barkley Marathons not once, but three times. Maybe you aren’t familiar with him. EITHER way, his grandmother, Stella, is turning 100 years old, and John put a post on Instagram saying she would love to receive some cards, including a brief bio of her and her address (Stella Kelly, The Glen at Oak Ridge, 200 Bus Terminal Road, Oak Ridge, TN 37830). I have a stamped and addressed card sitting on my desk right now, waiting a few days closer to the holidays to send it.

I broke out the microspikes for a lap up Mount Sentinel yesterday, and it was quite lovely, snow falling, the quiet trail, a very stiff breeze blasting my sweat-soaked wind jacket as my route went from the leeward side of the mountain to the windward side. It felt like my first real winter weather run this season, and I realized that I have no idea how my hydration needs change when the temperature drops, so I looked up a few articles on newsletter sponsor Precision Fuel & Hydration’s website. This one, Why hydration still matters in cold climates and how to nail your strategy, by Katie Elliott, ski mountaineer and founder of Elliott Performance and Nutrition, was pretty eye-opening, even just for the fact that, ahem, did you know you actually pee MORE in cold weather? (FYI, clicking the above link will give you 25% off your first PFH purchase)

Any interview with Ethan Hawke is pretty much clickbait for me, but even if you’re not a huge fan of his work, I highly recommend listening to the two minutes starting at 10:39, where the conversation turns to why movies about regular people are important (this link will start the video at exactly 10:39).

I love this idea for this book: Sure, we know who paid for the Empire State Building to be built, and we know who the architects are—basically the rich people who were involved—but how about the actual workers who built it? The ones in the old photos we’ve all seen, roughneck daredevils (?) standing on exposed steel beams hundreds of feet above Manhattan, 40 years before OSHA was created. This article about the new book, Men at Work: The Untold Story of the Empire State Building and the Craftsmen Who Built It by Glenn Kurtz, is really intriguing. Also, did any of those guys ever drop a wrench from up there? Because that would be bad.

This is a super-long poem, but I was guessing from the title, “we acknowledge ourselves,” that it was a take on land acknowledgements, and once I started reading, I wanted to see where Iñupiaq poet Aisa Akootchook Warden was going to take it, and I was not disappointed.

I can’t believe I hadn’t heard of this until my friend Glen sent it to me last weekend (thanks, Glen), but National Geographic Explorer and journalist Paul Salopek is walking across Africa, Asia, North America, and South America, retracing human migration from Africa. If I am reading the incredibly detailed and extremely well-produced website correctly, I believe he has just left Japan and  is now on a ship crossing the Pacific Ocean.

I have not read that much Charles Bukowski, but damn, this is a really interesting piece about the most inspiring thing he ever said—which was in response to a journalist asking him what he thought about a library in Finland banning one of his books because someone complained that it was vulgar.

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Lastly: If you’re still looking for gift ideas, we still have some of these available in my DFTBA shop:

Bears Don’t Care About Your Problems (signed copy)

Grand Canyon Subway Map poster

I Hate Running and You Can Too (signed copy)

The Periodic Table of the Elements of Adventure poster

What Does Your Urine Say About You? Nalgene bottle

Listen on Apple Podcasts | Listen on Spotify | Listen/Watch on YouTube

For My Favorite Things, I’m interviewing people about the books, movies, music, art, and other creative works that have helped shape their lives. My guest for Episode 2 is Hilary Oliver, a writer and editor (who I happen to be married to). Hilary’s favorite things are:

1. Paul Simon, Graceland (album)

YouTube | Apple Music | Spotify

2. Jane Eyre by Charlotte Brontë

Publisher’s Page | Bookshop | Amazon

3. Daft Punk, Alive (album)

YouTube | Apple Music | Spotify

4. Mark Rothko, Untitled (1968)

5. 20th Century Women

Listen on Apple Podcasts | Listen on Spotify | Listen/Watch on YouTube

For My Favorite Things, I’m interviewing people about the books, movies, music, art, and other creative works that have helped shape their lives. My guest for Episode 3 is Ed Roberson—dad, husband, adventurer, and creator of the Mountain & Prairie podcast. Ed’s favorite things are:

1. Liner notes from Jimmy Buffett’s 1990s albums

2. The Rise of Theodore Roosevelt by Edmund Morris
Publisher’s page | Bookshop | Amazon

3. The Gulf Stream by Winslow Homer

4. Tribe by Sebastian Junger

Publisher’s page | Bookshop | Amazon

5. Road House (the original)

Other things we mentioned:

• Jack Johnson’s cover of Jimmy Buffet’s A Pirate Looks at Forty
• The Rewatchables Road House episode

Every year, whenever the process of trying to find the perfect holiday gift for *everyone* at the exact same time hits its crescendo, I tell myself: One of these years, I’m just gonna do what Jeff Harris does. 

Every December for about a decade now, a Priority Mail Flat Rate box has arrived at my house, weighing approximately four and a half pounds. I open it, and if I don’t already have some softened butter, I grab a stick out of the refrigerator and command it to soften as fast as it can. 

Inside the box are two loaves of Harris Family Cranberry Bread, which stretch the definition of “bread” to the furthest extent of the laws of nature, and might even qualify as “cake,” depending on context or audience. Anyway: You are not making a BLT out of two slices of Harris Family Cranberry Bread. 

You just follow the directions on the label, which say: SLICE THICK > TOAST > BUTTER > REVEL

One loaf is approximately 10 slices of cranberry bread. In my house, since Hilary is much more of a disciplined/sensible eater than I am, I consume approximately 80 to 90 percent of our cranberry bread each holiday season. I am not at all mad or sad about this, and I would like to think everyone who is bestowed a loaf or two of Harris Family Cranberry Bread during the holidays appreciates it as much as I do. 

Jeff has been making cranberry bread since 2009—or, rather, 2009 is when he got serious about it, shipping loaves of it to family and friends. In peak years, he shipped about 80 loaves of cranberry bread, and baked another 70 or 80 loaves for friends and family in his hometown of Cincinnati, which added up to about 160 loaves total, baked four at a time for 50 to 60 minutes at 350 degrees. 

He’s dialed back production after back surgery a few years ago, so I am even more grateful when our box shows up. Especially because it’s always during the time when I start feeling the pressure to buy something for everyone in my family (even in a family that keeps the holiday gift-giving pretty minimal). 

I’m over here with 50 tabs open and a Note on my phone with a list of possible gift ideas for each person, trying to once again nail it, or at least not buy someone something that will leave them thinking, “Huh, that’s who you think I am?” Will they think this sweater is ugly, will they put this record on the turntable more than once ever, will they read past page 50 of this book, or should I just admit defeat and buy them a gift card? Argh. 

Gluten allergies and intolerances aside, the cranberry bread (or any mailable baked good, really) seems so … smart. No returns or exchanges, no gift receipts, no one having to hang a shirt in a closet for three years telling themselves they need to wear it more often/ever because someone who loves them bought it for them and their heart was in the right place. You just bake a shitton of delicious bread/cake, pack it up, and after it reaches its destination, it creates joy in all who are graced by its presence. 

And if it doesn’t create joy for its recipients, it’s at least biodegradable or compostable. Although if a retired man from Cincinnati is sending you loaves of cranberry bread every December and you’re not eating them, please contact me. I know someone who can get rid of them. 

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If you are interested in the exact recipe for Harris Family Cranberry Bread, Jeff generously shared a PDF of it, and you can download it here. 

I was not prepared to learn so much about the human body when I started watching this new-to-me video about why kids don’t get cold as easily as adults do. But if you have five minutes to watch this, prepare to be armed with several pieces of information that will make you sound really smart. (video)

I linked to this series in December 2024, and totally forgot about it until the emails for this year’s series started popping up in my inbox again this December. There are still 12 days of it left, each one an essay on the topic “I thought about that a lot,” written anonymously and published once a day. Here’s a bit from the December 9 essay, “In 2025, I thought a lot about my body in numbers”: “What I’ve learnt is that I didn’t need extraordinary willpower. Just the steady motivation of wanting to feel better, and the awareness of what was at stake if I didn’t.”

I’ve loved having Janji as a newsletter sponsor in 2025, and really enjoyed trying out different pieces of gear as the seasons change, and my routine changes. Recently, I added in some strength training a couple times a week at the gym near our house, and I am happy to report that I have not injured myself yet (probably due to my very cautious approach to increasing weight/resistance). And of course I run to the gym, and run home. I’ve been wearing the Janji Circa Daily Tee, which is a blend of cotton, polyester, modal, and spandex, that I’ve worn for running, casual wear, and now to do barbell squats. The short-sleeve versions are pretty much sold out (so I’m not wrong!) but several colors are still available in the women’s long-sleeve version and the men’s long-sleeve version.

I am a huge fan of Anne Lamott’s “Bird by Bird,” one of my favorite books about how to write, and I saw this note by her pop up on Substack, read the first line and thought, “Fuckin Anne Lamott. Why is she always so right?”

This is probably more for people who have read a book to an infant or toddler in the recent past, but I was laughing out loud at Jae Towle Vieira’s writing in this Defector piece, “Here Is What Reading To My Child Has Done To My Brain,” commenting on the slight and not-so-slight absurdities in children’s books. Such as: “Before I had a kid, I questioned the need for the abundance of Wheels on the Bus variations. Now I understand that there is no upper limit to the ideal amount of things that could happen in threes on buses. All day long, all through the town—a la Speed, it doesn’t matter what we’re doing as long as the bus keeps going.” [GIFT LINK]

Like every other social media platform, Reddit often feeds me stuff I would have been better off not seeing, but I feel the most in-control of my feed there, so I keep going back, and often the local Missoula subreddit provides me with actual useful information (new restaurant/power outage/warning about something), or just a laugh—like when someone posted a photo of this tree that’s in one of our local nature areas and asked if it had a name. And now of course every time I go for a walk there, I’ll say, “There’s ol’ Don Quattro.”

We are very close to announcing the dates and location for my 2026 Freeflow Institute writing + trail running workshop, so my friend/Freeflow Institute founder Chandra Brown having been talking a lot of logistics lately, and somehow she did not mention this story she wrote for The Guardian about what happened to the body of a 40-ton whale that washed up on a beach in Anchorage in November 2024, and the guy who was determined to get it off the beach and into a museum. (and yes, the exploding whale of Florence, Oregon is mentioned in the story)

This essay is a few months old, but I found it after reading another piece the author published recently, and the headline “The slow death of firsthand experience” pulled me in. It gave me a lot to think about, and I realized I have wondered something similar, but as it relates to online writing, i.e. how much online writing is just reacting to or interpreting things or thinking about things, vs. telling about an actual experience (or even just making an actual real-world, non-screen-time experience part of an essay about something).

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Listen on Apple Podcasts | Listen on Spotify | Listen/Watch on YouTube

For My Favorite Things, I’m interviewing people about the books, movies, music, art, and other creative works that have helped shape their lives. My guest for Episode 5 is Anya Miller Berg, brand creative director at Mountain Hardwear, climber, mountain biker, former architect, and cat mom. Anya’s favorite things are:

1. Teenagers in Their Bedrooms by Adrienne Salinger

Publisher’s Page | Bookshop | Amazon

2. Bobo Choses

3. Les Others Magazine

4. Barking at the Knot – Seamus Foster

5. (large scale art):

• Echoes of the Infinite by Alex Proba
• Souvenir by Kathleen Ryan
• The Red Popsicle by Catherine Mayer

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As 2025 winds down, I’ve been revisiting all my Friday Inspiration newsletters from the year and picking out my favorite links from each of them. I was going to do one “best of 2025” post at the end of the year, but there was a lot of good stuff, so this week’s Friday Inspiration is a collection of my favorites from the first half of the year, January through June 2025.

First things first, though: I convinced newsletter sponsor Precision Fuel & Hydration to put together a sample pack of my favorites from them, tried and true for me over the past year and a half. This link will give you 15% off the sample pack, which includes a box of 10 packets of PH 1000 electrolyte drink mix, 3 PF 90 gels, 3 PF 30 caffeine gels, and 4 PF 30 chews.

Onto the best of the first half of 2025 then:

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This is not exactly new, but WOW, building a scale model of the timeline of the history of the universe in the Mojave Desert—in a day. (video)

From a short but brilliant essay titled, “You might just have to be bored,” subtitled, “Or: How to fix an attention span”: “Not being bored is why you always feel busy, why you keep “not having time” to take a package to the post office or work on your novel. You do have time—you just spend it on your phone. By refusing to ever let your brain rest, you are choosing to watch other people’s lives through a screen at the expense of your own.” (January)

I have been thinking a lot about nostalgia lately, after reading about a study that showed we all basically think the best everything happened when we were approximately 10 years old. So of course I clicked on this piece, “Your brain is lying to you about ‘the good old days,’” and the science behind why we think things were better in the past. And it applies to how we think about progress, and improving society, but I think also, specifically this passage, how we remember things like mountaineering, endurance events, and all things “Type 2 Fun”: “Thanks to ‘selective memory,’ humans have a tendency to forget negative events from the past and reinforce positive memories. It’s one reason why our feelings and memories about the past can be so inaccurate — we literally forget the bad things and give the good things a nice, pleasant glow. The further back the memory goes, the stronger that tendency can be.” (January)

I found Robin Wilding’s Substack this week through her post about putting her senior dog down (which was wonderful but maybe not what everyone needs to read this week), and I clicked around a bit and found this gem she wrote last September, The 11 Traits of Utterly Unfuckwithable People. My favorite might be #5, They Treat Servers Nice. (February)

I assume that you, like me, have had no less than one thousand instances in your life in which you had a weird or awkward conversation/confrontation with someone, walked away, and spent the next few minutes/several hours thinking, “you know what I should have said to that asshole?” If my assumption is correct, I think you will find Michael Estrin’s latest quick story very satisfying (and also hilarious). (February)

I have been trying to put my finger on why algorithms just don’t work that well to introduce me to new music/books/videos/shows/whatever, and I think lots of people are having the same feeling. This Atlantic piece about the new book Mood Machine: The Rise of Spotify and the Costs of the Perfect Playlist, dives into a bit of it, but also captures what I think many of us have been feeling: “Like so many other products influenced by machine learning, Spotify’s playlists can’t generate something new—say, a wholly fresh and unheard sound—for its users. They instead offer the flash of recognition, rather than the mind-scrambling revelation that comes only when you hear something you’d never expected.” [GIFT LINK] (February)

I don’t know how I stumbled on Mike Monteiro’s (non-Substack) newsletter, in which he answers one question every issue. But this one, answering the question, “How do you decide which donut to get?” begins thusly: “First off, congratulations on your donut. Donuts are fucking amazing and everyone should have a donut. Some of you might be thinking about donuts and attaching the word “deserve” to it. Fuck that. Deserve has nothing to do with donuts. You want a donut. You should have a donut.” (March)

David Epstein’s book Range: Why Generalists Triumph in a Specialized World is one of my favorite reads of the past five years, maybe because it validates my tendency to try lots of things instead of just one, or maybe because it encourages us to go ahead and be real human beings with multiple interests—like he does in this recent piece, “Why Hobbies Are An Advantage, Not a Distraction.” (March)

I think there’s a pretty easy response you could have to people who say things like “empathy is a weakness,” and certainly there were probably many, but the phrasing of this one was my favorite. (April)

This is a Substack post about paper (and really, using paper and writing utensils to think), from a writer I’ve never read before encountering this piece, and it just made my week. Because, I don’t know, I love paper too? And wish I used it more than I use my laptop and iPad. The author writes in the intro, “Also, the world needs way more mundane blogging,” but I don’t think this is mundane, and it also reminds me of the best advice I give myself when I’m stuck trying to come up with something to write about: Go smaller. Stop trying to solve the world’s problems and just write about something small. (April)

Love this display at a college library: Is it Kendrick Lamar or Shakespeare? (Subtext here: Is Kendrick the Shakespeare of our time? Was Shakespeare the Kendrick of his time? If they met, would they get along?)(April)

If you have a) ever tried to move a photo within a Microsoft Word document and b) somehow not seen this yet, I believe you will feel quite validated, and probably also laugh at this seven-second masterpiece. (May)

I love finding good writing, and I think I kind of suck at describing why it’s good—like this essay by Niko Stratis, whose work I’ve mentioned before in this newsletter. Her essays are always fascinating, weaving together music, culture, and scenes from growing up in the Yukon and becoming a journeyman glazier, and discovering her gender identity. Anyway, her new book, The Dad Rock That Made Me A Woman, came out on Tuesday, and this week’s essay is one of my favorites I’ve read of hers, maybe partly because I also put songs on repeat for an hour sometimes. (May)

Trust me: Take 60 seconds, or 90 seconds (OK, maybe more like three to four minutes) and scroll through the photos created by the winners of the Milky Way Photographer of the Year Awards (via Kottke.org). (May)

I have mentioned before in this newsletter that I have been enjoying the live DJ mixes I often find on YouTube, but I think the production of this one might be my favorite yet: camcorder footage, a few different angles, a little bit of video editing, and a bunch of R&B tracks (and some live drumming). Plus the title is “the homies mixing R&B and chilling with a pineapple.” (May)

Years ago, I was climbing a multi-pitch route with a French friend who was pretty fluent in English, and we paused at a belay to eat a snack and drink some water. Simon pulled a small stuff sack from his pack and from the stuff sack a few food items, including the most battered energy bar I had ever seen. He held it up and said to me, “Theese ees my friend. He goes weeth me everywhere.” I of course understood exactly what he meant, as I, like every one, had the one bar that I kept bringing on hikes and climbs, but never eating, because I had better options. It was like an emergency ration that I kind of knew I would never eat unless I was on the verge of starvation. If you know what I mean, you will love artist Cy Whitling’s latest comic, “The Eternal Granola Bar.” (May)

I was clicking through Substack yesterday, wanting to find someone who wrote an actual story, a narrative of something that happened in real life. It wouldn’t have to be anything spectacular, just a story. And I found it. It was titled “I Agreed to Help Pick Up a Couch and Ended Up Participating in a Street Performance” and it made my day. If you read it, I am betting you will say to yourself, “Yes, I know or have met someone like Moonbeam.” (May)

Look, I am not saying everyone should drink five or more cups of coffee per day, but I’m also not saying people shouldn’t. Anne Kadet, whose Substack is a treasure, interviewed a handful people who drink prodigious amounts of coffee, and it made me feel both happy, less weird, and less alone. And also validated in my choice to make a 9-cup moka pot yesterday afternoon. (June)

I don’t know how I found the Why Cheap Art Manifesto this week, but something about the typeface and the style and the very simple message of it really hit home for me, and perhaps it will hit home for you too. If you are really into it, there’s a link at the bottom where you can purchase a print of it, which, at $20, I guess is technically cheap art, which is very meta, to support artists by buying a print of a manifesto about cheap art. But of course you can just read and enjoy it for free, too. (June)

If you have ever seen Christoph Niemann’s art and design work, you will probably not be surprised at how interesting and accessible this interactive piece he put together about artists and AI for the New York Times is—the first time I read it, I scrolled through it on my phone, which honestly worked just as well as viewing it on my laptop. It really covers some ground. Here’s a gift link to see it. (thanks, Fitz)(June)

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If my Friday Inspiration newsletters made your 2025 a tiny bit better, please consider keeping it going in 2026 by supporting my work through Patreon here.