Instructions for Living

Because your future is now

Want to join a vibrant, thoughtful community of writers? As a thank you to all of you for being here, I’m offering 30% off an annual subscription through February 22nd. You have access to 18 live (and recorded) generative writing sessions over the course of the year. This is the last discount I’ll be offering in 2026, so if you’d like to join us, you can for less than the cost of a latte per month.

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Photo by Zbynek Burival

Last week I spent four days battling the stomach flu and contemplating my mortality. I turned 40 in January. I’m not particularly sentimental about aging. I love shedding layers and ripening, becoming more myself. But with every year that passes, I am more aware of how I spend my time. As Annie Dillard once wrote, “How we spend our days is, of course, how we spend our lives.”

And of course, our days are filled with the mundane—laundry, dishes, parking lots, to-do lists—alongside tender moments of connection. No one lives a highlight reel. Even the very privileged get the stomach flu and argue with their children about vegetables and homework. Still, more and more I’ve found myself examining my life. What is it I’m doing because of constraints I cannot escape, and what am I doing out of imagined obligation? Where do I have freedom to stretch?

For many years I stayed in a teaching job because I could not imagine an alternative. I have a high intolerance of uncertainty. Turns out, I’m not alone. We humans are wired to prefer safety and predictability, even if it’s making us miserable. We are less likely to fear what we already know. And so I didn’t push myself to do anything outside my comfort zone until I found myself living a small life where I kept myself quiet and hungry.

It wasn’t until my thirties that something began to shift and I started to push myself. I signed up for hiking trips with people I’d never met. I applied to a job in an industry where I never imagined myself so I could support my 17-month-old as a single parent. I started to share my writing publicly. I took three months of medical leave for an intensive eating disorder recovery program. Slowly, I felt myself becoming. The girl I locked away in adolescence was allowed to see the light of day.

Even now, that becoming is ongoing. Every day, I balance a day job completely unaligned with every aspect of who I am as a writer. The more I write, the more I feel it pulling at me, this yearning. Part of that tension comes from where I started. I grew up with creditors calling my house to collect on the debts of my father. I’ve been financially responsible since high school, working multiple part-time jobs, and as an adult balancing a full-time job alongside part-time work. There are few safety nets in the United States. I envy my writer friends in countries with socialized healthcare. The reality is, here it is difficult to jump off a cliff with your dream as a parachute. I need healthcare, a steady income for my share of the bills.

Because of that reality, I am slowly working to build an off-ramp so I can live predominantly as a full-time working writer. But even contemplating this is a privilege and only possible because in the future I will have access to my partner’s health insurance. When I see people sharing stories about how they quit their jobs to pursue a dream full time, I always want to know: what privileges did they have to make it possible? It isn’t an accessible reality for many. So you’ll never hear me tell you to quit everything to pursue a dream.

What I will ask is something different. I will ask you to take stock of your life. To hold it in your palm and examine it from every angle. Where are you playing it safe? What are you putting off that you could start now? What joy are you suppressing? Who are you keeping yourself from becoming?

This past week, after being so ill, I wrote this poem. I thought of the people I’ve known who spent years talking about what they wanted to do one day, only to be struck with the terrible luck of mortality. My father was one of them. After he died I found manuscripts and half-written thoughts scribbled in journals. His dreams relegated to the dark.

So this week, I leave you with this poem and this question:

What small thing can you do that brings you one tiny step closer to a dream or desire you’ve been suppressing?

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Opportunities for Community & Connection

Poetry Apothecary Writing Circles

These writing circles are open to all tiers of paid subscribers. You can find the first six months of writing events below. Each month, we’ll explore the work of a single poet, discuss themes and craft, and spend time writing from prompts I provide. Anyone who wishes can share at the end. Meetings alternate between Wednesday evenings (7 PM CST) and Sunday mornings (11 AM CST). If you are unable to attend live, recordings are available for every session.

Upcoming sessions:

• Mar 18 — Philip Larkin

• Apr 12 — Andrea Gibson

• May 27 — Beth Ann Fennelly

• Jun 14 — Franny Choi

• Jul 22 — Jericho Brown

• Aug 23 — Victoria Chang

• Sep 16 — Carrie Fountain

• Oct 25 — Kevin Young

Additional pop-up sessions:

• Apr 30, 7 PM CST - The Art of Haiku

• Jun 24, 7 PM CST - Friendship Poetry

• Sep 10, 7 PM CST - Golden Shovel Poems

• Oct 15, 7 PM CST - Elegies & Poems of Grief

  “These gatherings are enlightening and deeply connecting at a time when we need community most.” — Lyndsey B.