Anti-Capitalist Summer

On resisting the urge for perpetual productivity

Photo by Nicholas Bullett

I’ve been quieter online this summer. The first six months of 2025 were draining for many reasons—I published my first book, traveled for promotional events, moved into a new house, and leaned hard into my day job amidst ongoing layoffs. Longer days usually inspire productivity, but I’ve found myself worn thin. The relentless Missouri heat hasn’t helped and another stretch of heat advisories has made it dangerous to spend much time outdoors.

Lately, I’ve been reading, writing, and watching more reruns of The Office than I care to admit. Like many, I struggle in these fallow periods—when it feels like I’m not achieving anything measurable. Meanwhile, TV and social media bombard me with ads for weight loss programs, biometric trackers, and powders and bars that promise to meet all my nutritional needs without the nuisance of cooking.

I want to slow down, and yet, even in rest I find myself calculating how to make that slowness more productive. It’s a code I can’t seem to crack—a quiet, persistent conflict between what I want and what I know.

The poem below was sparked by an ad for a watch with a 14-day battery life and the tagline “your data never stops.” As if I’m not already anxious enough.

Anti-Capitalist Summer

I do not want biometric data tethered 
to my wrist or the efficiency of liquid protein. 
I want to go where the numbers stop— 
where there is no counting of steps or calories
or wrinkles. I want to spend each afternoon 
in the forest’s womb foraging for joy. To sink 
crooked teeth into still-crackling sourdough 
coated in butter. Meet me here in the soil. 
We can bury our toes in loam, let the moss kiss 
the backs of our calves and knees, tend 
our tired tibias with thyme and honey. 
We can sustain ourselves on cherries 
and trees—stain our lips and fingertips 
a fearsome red. Here, away from mirrors 
and men, we will freckle and sprout 
and burst and soften.

For now, I’m finding small ways to push back. I’m writing messy first drafts and letting them marinate. I’m falling behind on my to-do list so I can color and build LEGOs with my son. I’m pan-searing halibut and making the whole house smell like fish for a week instead of drinking another protein smoothie. My dietitian calls it my anti-capitalist rebellion. I call it trying to maintain my sanity.

I can’t escape the system entirely—but I can find subtle ways to resist it.

How are you surviving this summer? I’d love to hear from you in the comments.

---

If my work resonates, I hope you’ll consider becoming a paid subscriber. It’s a small gesture that sustains this space—and gives you access to our monthly generative writing sessions, where we gather to write, reflect, and return to ourselves. We’d love to have you with us.

If you’re reading this in the app, you’ll need to copy/past this link into your browser to upgrade (that’s still not possible via the app): https://daniellecoffyn.substack.com/subscribe

---

Upcoming Community Events for Paid Subscribers:

Writing Series on Want, Longing & Possibility

Wednesdays at 7 PM CST - July 23rd, August 6th, August 20th

Poetry as Medicine Writing Circles:

Thursday, August 21st at 7 PM CST - Pádraig Ó Tuama

Monday, September 22nd at 7 PM CST - Maggie Smith

Sunday, October 26th at 10 AM CST - Danez Smith

Links to all sessions sent via Zoom the day before

Women’s Hiking & Writing Retreat in the Scottish Highlands

Photo by Karen Cann

If you need something to look forward to—a place to breathe, to write, to remember yourself—I hope you’ll join me next May (2026) in the Scottish Highlands.

We’ll stay in a cozy lodge tucked between mountains and lochs, spending our days hiking ancient trails, writing, and exploring the wild, quiet beauty around us. Our time together will be a return—to nature, to creativity, to the parts of ourselves we sometimes leave behind.

Our writing circles will be generative and gently guided, meant to open new paths back to yourself. There is absolutely no prior writing experience necessary.

Full details are below—hope you’ll come walk and write with us.