I don’t write about music here very often, which is strange since it plays such a big role in my life.

I have playlists specially prepared for almost every life moment. There’s the Driving At Night and Pretending I am In a French Film playlist. My going to the grocery store playlist. My get up and get going playlist. My OH NO I FEEL GUILTY FOR NOT GETTING UP AND GOING playlist. It goes on and on.

A great life demands a great soundtrack!

I guess I’ve just always felt there’s a massive gap between my love of music and my ability to put this into proper words. I’m also a little suspicous of music reviews or people who solely write about music. Someone once said that writing about music is like dancing about architecture. That feels right to me.

So, look, I won’t try to explain Scottish Indie Pop Music, okay? I will just tell you why I love it.

Then, also, because apparently restraint is not my gift, I made you all an hour-long radio program about it.

I had the realization that if I were following this newsletter and it had an hour-long handmade radio show about music the dude loved, I’d be all about it. So, in case you’re the one other person who would want this, here goes!

If you’ve been following along in recent weeks, you’ll know I just returned from the UK where a play I helped write was part of the Edinburgh Fringe Festival. (You can read a bit about the play here and here.)

My initial intent was to share a playlist for our travel adventure with the cast and crew of the show. Being middle-aged there are few things more terrifying than saying to cool kids in their twenties: HERE’S SOME THINGS I THINK ARE COOL AND YOU’LL LIKE! (Especially when the songs are older than they are).

Well, that led to me abandoning the playlist… until something happened… I got to know these good folks. I realized the next generation probably wasn’t going to throw rocks at me or make fun of me for loving something. So, I started putting it together and realized maybe I should send this to you , too.

By golly, that’s what enthusiasm does to us I guess. You find something you love and, after a while, the love becomes so big and embarrasing that you just have to share it. Can’t keep it to yourself! It’s very inconvenient.

I’ve had a love for Scottish Indie Pop for years and didn’t realize it. So many of the bands and songs I’ve put on playlist after playlist, I started to recognize, were connected by city and scene. I started pulling on the threads of songs and it became an avalance of bands and labels. Suddenly I started to see I was swimming in songs and demos and John Peel recordings on Youtube and realizing I might have a problem.

There is a song called Velocity Girl by Primal Scream. It lasts about as long as it might take to find your car keys. 1 minute + 22 seconds. That’s the whole song. Yet in that short amount of time you get guitar! trouble! dancing! sadness! fun! a little bit of a piano! A glimpse at some guy’s world being torn apart! glimmers of hope! And then… goodbye. Song over. Thank you.

The song I just described first appeared in the mid-80s on what would become a legendary compilation cassette from NME. The C86 comp (as it is often called) gathered a bunch of scrappy UK bands and, quickly… almost accidentally …,gave a name to a whole scene.

I knew none of this when I first heard the song. I just knew that I immediately wanted to hear it again. Then I wanted to share it someone else so they could hear it again.

There’s something I feel I must tell you: I am not a music historian. I just love it a ridiculous amount and don’t always know how to put it into words. I’ve found we can make being fans of things so much more complicated than is necessary. We can turn this love of things or people into something so much more complicated than it needs to be. The thinking that we have to be experts or have proper credentials or know all the history can sometimes stop us from sharing.

I think you can simply say … I really LOVE this…. and then play it for somebody. That’s enough.

Scotland is, of course, gorgeous with massive skies and rolling hills and rocks and cliffs. There’s all the images and sounds we’ve long associated with this beautiful place. Old stone buildings. Kilts and bagpipes. It’s not surprising that some of the music I’ve fallen for from Scotland carries a little of that landscape with it, yet I think the music gives us more. Yes, we get some of the weather. In the songs you can sense the rain and wind and fog and even the gray skies that seem to last for loooooong stretches. Most interestingly to me, though, is you also get some of the interior landscape of the artists.

The music I love has melancholy in it, but also glimmers of brightness. Beauty and hope, longing and grief. Not afraid to be a little weird, because, well life is exactly that. And fun, very fun.

Some of the bands like The Shop Assistants, The Pastels, Orange Juice, Teenage Fanclub, BMX Bandits, Camera Obscura, Belle & Sebastian …. I could go on… have jangly guitars mixed with imperfect vocals. The songs sometimes seem to wobble. They come from a youthful exuberant place, but also a strange and wise, experienced place. They’re messy, but crafted with a kind of handmade urgency from someone who just had to record it and share it.

There’s a whole world of songs and musicians I’ve never heard. Decades old, but new to my ears. My guess is that with a readership the size of this newsletter (which isn’t really all that big compared to many other Substacks, but even so … wow) you all carry a wealth of knowledge of songs and bands and sounds that I don’t know. So, bring it on!

If you’re excited about something, share it. We might not all love it. Sometimes just experiencing someone’s enthusiastic love of something sparks a little something in our own soul. We’re reminded that delight is possible. That there’s still so much to fall in love with.

This is part of my obsession. I’ve fallen in love with falling in love with newly discovered music. The more I hear, the more I realize just how much I haven’t heard … and … the more I want to hear.

So, here’s to music. Here’s to the beautiful foolishness of trying things. Here’s to sadness that dances and seriousness that doesn’t take itself so seriously. Here’s to fun and friends and music worth sharing. Here’s to people who say: HEY! I LOVE THIS AND I WANT TO SHARE IT WITH YOU!

Here’s a few songs with some talking in between. I love jangly guitars and little songs made by people who had more enthusiasm than money. This playlist is a small sample of that. No expertise. Just love. All you gotta do is press play.

Oh, and if you find a song in this you love, send it someone you love.

That’s how this stuff keeps going.

1. STORY CONFERENCE! Sharing a brand new talk at my favorite event of the year. October 1-2 in Nashville. So many great people will be there. I’d love to see you!

2. SPEAKING! I help companies, schools, and communities become a little more curious, creative, connected, and hopeful. Currently booking keynotes and workshops for 2027 and 2028. Invite me!

3. RESOURCES! Find free resources connected to all of my work (and created with the help of professional educators) right here. More on the way!

Dolly knew something.

I don’t know exactly how or where or when she learned it, but I think Dolly knew something very important about what it means to be a person.

She made kindness look glamorous.
She made being yourself look easy.
She even once said, “Find out who you are and do it on purpose.” E.E. Cummings wrote, “It takes courage to grow up and become who you really are.”

Courageous Dolly.

She knew that a person could have a big life and still leave plenty of room for everyone else. Her courage sparks more courage. Her joy sparks more joy. Her songs make more songs. Her stories more stories. Her life inspiring our lives.

I grew up in a small town in west Tennessee, where Dolly was an inescapable presence. A mythological figure. A secular saint with rhinestones and a theme park.

As I grew older, I began to understand this was not just a Tennessee thing. Though she is and will forever be one of our state’s best, her neighborhood went well beyond our borders. Dolly is part of the hearts and imaginations of people all over the world.

She built libraries for children she would never meet. Wrote songs for people she would never know. Made room for people who did not look like her, sound like her, live like her, or believe exactly what she believed.

Her neighborhood just kept getting bigger and bigger.

A few years ago, we got to give Dolly an award. It was a handmade award delivered via Skype (remember Skype?) in the early hours of the morning. AND I MEAN EARLY. Her team told me she was thrilled to do it, but it would be part of her morning routine. They shared that she did her best work first thing in the day. So this happened at 5 a.m.

As part of her morning routine… somewhere between morning prayer and makeup and reading printed out emails from her staff… we did this together.

Here she is holding her Neighbordhoodie. One of many handmade awards we presented to people (known and unknown), these were about celebrating human beings who were making the world better for the people in their neighborhood.

How do you even begin to define the borders of Dolly’s neighborhood, though? Beyond her home state. Beyond country music. Beyond all categories or boxes one might begin to try and put her in.

Here is Jonathan Richman’s wonderful song ‘Everbody Loves Dolly’:

(You can support Jonathan and purchase the track here)

Dolly represents what it can look like to make a neighborhood so big it includes all of us …. even you …. even me.

There’s so much you can do with a life.

So much you can do with a life. So so so much.

I know much has been written about her and much will continue to be written about her. There’s little else I can add that hasn’t already been said. YET HERE WE ARE. Sorry, I just needed to hold this reminder close today: there’s so much you can do with a life.

As news of her passing spread, we saw mourning and celebrations of her life from every side of the political spectrum. People of all ages. People in all parts of the world.

Just a woman singing her songs and inviting everyone to sing along. So completely herself that other people felt a little more free to be themselves, too. I didn’t know you could do all that with a life, but she knew.

Dolly knew.

Thanks for reading and being here. I know my posts usually go out on Tuesday mornings. You’re not confused. It’s me. I’m still getting back to my normal life rhythm after our UK adventure.

Here’s a few very important things for you! ….

1. DOLLY’S IMAGINATION LIBRARY: This incredible program has provided more than 300 million books to children through the years. One of the key reasons my wife and I chose the publisher we are with because they’re a provider to Dolly’s Imagination Library. Support here.

2. STORY CONFERENCE: My favorite event of the year! October 1-2 in Nashville. Sharing a brand new talk. I’d love to see you there.

3. NEW BOOK ANNOUNCEMENT COMING SOON!!!

I was in sixth grade when I wrote my first play . . .

Against her better judgment, this teacher allowed the entire classroom to gather in the gymnasium … where they watched … a play … written by me … starring around 15 classmates I’d convinced to be part of it … a story that made very little sense, a producation that was only lightly rehearsed, and had truly in no way been fully thought through.

I remember only a few things about the play. The main characters were two cops who knew karate. Make of that what you will.

I don’t remember much about the rest of the content. I don’t even recall the show’s title. I doubt this production contained any threads that would eventually show up in the rest of my creative work. I’m not even sure what compelled me to write it. Though, if I had to guess, it was likely an extremely misguided attempt to impress friends.

Though there’s much about that play and that entire season of life I cannot remember … I have never once forgotten this: I had a teacher who took a chance on me.

It’s a theme in my life. So much of what I’ve ever been able to accomplish has happened all because a teacher saw something in me that I didn’t necessarily see in myself.

The books I make find their way around the world because educators put them into the hands of kids.

Kid President and all the videos I’ve created over the years each went from being small things I wrote and directed into stuff watched by millions of people …. mostly because teachers began sharing it with their classrooms.

It makes sense that my journey to the Edinburgh Fringe Festival would begin with a teacher, too.

This is Dr. Cliff Thompson.

He’s taken groups of students to the Fringe before. He’s directed hundreds of plays. He’s written plays. Somehow, he thought it’d make sense for us to collaborate on an original production. The original thought was to combine my writing and ideas and the visual world Kristi and I have created through our books into something fresh they could stage at Fringe.

More than a year later, it exists.

There were many abandoned concepts along the way. There were countless rewrites (big and small) and long days of strange tasks like figuring out what a “wounded story”might look like (a real prop needed for this show).

There’s no end to all the things that go into building a handmade show from the ground up. Kristi designed, sewed, resewed, and built beautiful costumes and props. Cliff meticulously handled complex blocking and staging, as well as sounds and images and …students.

Our play The Fabulist was just performed at one of the largest theater festivals in the world! Four times!

With each performance, the audience grew. By the final two shows, they had completely packed the room. For the final Fabulist Fringe performance, people had to be turned away. (I would have gladly found a way for them to pile in or watch through windows, but apparently there are rules about that sort of thing).

It was all a grand experiment. I had the chance to experience the thrill of seeing a new story come to life … hearing laughter from people who had traveled from all over the world … seeing smiles… having conversations… creating and collaborating with a seasoned theater professional.

Then there was the strangest ingredient for the show of all: the student cast.

I loved getting to know these students. I loved watching these young artists take this material and make it their own. I loved that my own children got to interact with them and be part of it, too. The cast found things in the story Cliff and I had not seen. They added depth and humor. They made choices in each performance that took the story in fresh directions. They brought pieces of themselves into it. The students became my teachers. It’s fun swapping seats like that.

Maybe … just maybe … this is a glimpse into what keeps educators taking chances on students. They spend so much of their lives seeing possibilities before they are obvious. Maybe educators and artists have this in common. They look at something unfinished and marvel at what it could become. Seeing the unseen. Adding beauty and meaning to every space they inhabit.

I wonder if that’s what my sixth grade teacher saw in a goofy, freckle faced kid with a scrappy play written on notebook paper. Could by why this theater professor would invite me into his Fringe project. Most likely it’s what all great teachers and artists are doing all over the world today right now as I write this and you read this.

I remain ever hopeful.

All because of a teacher.

Thank you for following my journeys so far this year! Your kind notes on the last few posts as well as around my birthday have truly meant so much. I’m reminded yet again how many great folks there are in the world. May the best be yet to come. Cheers to you all!

It’s my first time here and I do see what all the fuss is about. Already scheming ways to return and we’re not even halfway through our adventure here. The reason for our trip is to be part of the Edinburgh Fringe Festival.

I co-wrote a play!

As we’ve explored the city, it’s impossible to ignore the many advertisments for shows happening all over. Posters. Flyers. People juggling fire that’s unrelated to the show, but got your attention so they can hand you a postcard.

A good name for your show is a great thing. Our play has a very short title. It’s 3 syllables (unless you’re from west Tennessee. We can always find more syllables). I like a good short title, but one thing I’ve noticed is there’s a trend with having a loooooOOOOong show name.

Lucky for you, I’ve been collecting a few so I could share them:

There’s a story that director Peter Bogdonavich often told about when he was trying to get Paper Moon made (one of my all-time favorite films- you didn’t ask, but I thought I’d share anyway). When he told Orson Welles the title of the film he apparently said, "THAT TITLE IS SO GOOD, YOU SHOULDN’T EVEN MAKE THE PICTURE! JUST RELEASE THE TITLE!” I think I feel that way about the Cadet Kelly show.

According to the official Fringe website there are “… 4,160 shows… artists will undertake over 57,000 performances across the month in 299 venues…”

There is alot of competition and our show has a very short title. Thankfully, we also have a very enthusiastic cast and crew!

Late one night my co-writer was struck with an idea that we could promote our show with rain ponchos and sharpies. So we did exactly that . . .

There on Edinburgh’s famed Royal Mile, TEAM FABULIST could be found with ponchos that said: TELL ME A STORY!

We promoted the show, but most of all we made a whole lot of new friends! (And heard alot of different stories from folks all over the world).

DID PEOPLE COME TO THE SHOW?!?

SHOULD I HAVE WRITTEN SOMETHING WITH A LONGER TITLE?!?!

Stay tuned for the next issue of the Enthusiast!

I promise to answer all your burning questions. Feel free to add more in the comments. Off to get some rest and be ready for our final shows of the Fringe run!

In about one week, it’ll be my birthday. We’ll be traveling during that time. The cast and crew of our play THE FABULIST will be on our way for the Edinburgh Fringe Festival. Huge deal! Very excited to see this play… a long dream in the making… finally come to life. It’ll be fun to share updates soon. (If you’d like to see a special preview of the show next Monday and happen to be anywhere near west TN, check out the comments for info. It’ll be our final performance before we hop on the plane!)

There’s a lot of fun things going on, but not enough to fully distract me from the fact that I will soon be turning 45. That does feel like a typo. Suddenly I’ve hit the age where doctors are younger than me. Forty-five is the age of someone who knows things (or is supposed to know things.) It’s the age of someone who surely owns a really serious flashlight and knows what all the buttons on their car does.

45 is approximately 16,436 days, give or take a few days where I forgot what day it was.

I really did think I’d have it all figured out by now. As if there was some finish line not just for life, but for figuring life out. Like there’d come a day when I would somehow no longer wonder if I was doing any of this correctly… knowing what to say… when to say yes… when to say no. When to stop looking around the room to see if a more qualified adult might be nearby. (Plot twist: sometimes I am the most qualified adult in the room and in those moments my heart sinks)

Some of you may be aware of my book, Becoming Better Grownups. (Available wherever great books are sold! There’s also a really great audio version that includes music and I read it!) In it, I share the journey of listening to kids about what makes a great grownup so great. I also spent time with people who’d actually grown up and picked their brains about how to live well and age well.

Here’s the part that surprised me:
None of the older folks had it all figured out. These were people over the age of 100. None of them encouraged me with false hope that I would someday be all knowing. In fact, the folks who impressed me the absolute most were the ones who were first to admit they were still learning.

Wise enough to know what all they don’t know. Still curious. Still asking questions. Still growing and changing.

When you’re 8, “Don’t tell me what to do!” means: I want independence. When you’re older, “Someone, please tell me what to do!” doesn’t really mean I want someone to control me. It does mean…. I long for wisdom. I long for trusted voices. I long for companions and guidance, to be seen, witnessed, and understood. To not be alone in this weird, weird journey of living.

When I was eight, I couldn’t wait for that time when FINALLY nobody could tell me what to do. Now, as I approach forty-five, I believe one of the greatest gifts in my life is having people who can. People who know me well enough to say, “You’re overthinking it.” “Take the day off.” “Call your brother.” “Don’t quit yet.” “Try again.” “You’re not alone.”

So, here’s to birthdays! Happy to be celebrating this on. I still don’t fully undersand taxes. I still can’t remember which buttons sprays the windshield. I still occasionally walk into rooms and completely forget why. Even so, I feel like I know the important things.

I know who to call when I need help and I know it’s okay to change my mind. I know laughter and joy make for a better strategy than pretending to have it all figured out. I especially know that becoming a better grownup is a group project.

If eight-year-old me could meet forty-five year old me, he’d probably be pretty disappointed that I don’t know more. I think forty-five year old me would mostly be relieved that eight-year old me never gave up wondering.

Thank you for spending part of your week with me here! If you’re 25, I hope you don’t rush. If you’re already 45 or beyond, I welcome any pro-tips you may have. If you’re eighty-five or beyond, thanks for putting up with the rest of us.

THINGS!

1. THE FABULIST! I co-wrote a play and it’s headed to the Edinburgh Fringe Festival. Read about it here. Get tickets here. Also… let me know if you’ll be there!

2. BOOK NEWS! Big news soon! I will be announcing the newest book and cannot wait, but until then… do you have all the others?!? Get em here!

3. THE MOIST TOWELETTE ONLINE MUSEUM! The gallery of goodness you didn’t know you needed. Thank you Jason Kottke for the link here.

This was not intentional. I was just trying to make our front porch look a little nicer. Living out that von Goethe quote “Let everyone sweep in front of his own door, and the whole world will be clean.” What a good dude am I!

This has been on of the busiest summers for us in recent memory. I just wrapped year 11 of serving on the staff of an 8 week summer camp. We’re prepping our play for the Edinburgh Fringe Festival. We’re reviewing the final art for the big new picture book. Early mornings. Late nights. Repeat.

At the beginning of the summer, three very lush hanging ferns could be seen on our front porch. Beautiful. Green. The kind of ferns that I’m sure made folks think, “OoooOOooo! These people have their lives together!”

Now, here we are … just a few weeks later…. and …

there is one fern.

One spectactularly dead fern.

I am struggling, because I want to remove this fern from our porch. I cannot, though. Why? Living inside is a sweet mama bird and her chirpy little babies.

Here is my terrible attempt at photographing them:

So precious. So magical. Life!

Still… why’d she have to pick the dead fern on our front porch as home?

Everytime I pull in our driveway and see the one dead fern hanging on our porch, I have this pained feeling… The neighbors must think we’re terrible at plants.

Which, to be fair, isn’t entirely inaccurate.

Last week, I’d finally had enough.

Thinking I could carefully relocate this fern from our front porch to the side of the house, I lifted the basket from its hook.

Immediately tiny chirps sounded an alarm.

The fern erupted. Tiny peeps, urgent and insistent. Then came a blur of frantic wings with the mama bird darting back and forth around me. She zigzagged in front of my face making it abundantly clear there is no size limit on bravery.

It occured to me that birds have a very different definition of beauty and home than we humans do. They don’t seem terribly interested in symmetry or mulch or whether the fern coordinates with the welcome mat.

About that time, my wife came out. After a good back and forth of “what are you doing” and “what about the baby birds”, and then our children joining the debate with hearty “.. but predators!” and “why dad why”s…

So, the fern is back on its hook.

It is still there. It is still brown and crunchy. It is still making us look decorated early for Halloween.

Even so … every few minutes the whole thing starts singing.

One second it’s the ugliest object on our porch. The next it’s an orchestra. From thirty feet away it looks abandoned, but from three feet away it’s a nursery booming with life.

I’ve wondered more than once about hanging a little sign next to it:

Please excuse the dead fern. It’s currently occupied.

or a

We know. We know. It’s dead.

I don’t know if any signage would help, though. Most people walking by would still see exactly what I saw at first: a dead plant someone desparetely needs to take better care of.

You have to get surprisingly close to notice all the life hidden inside it. This is true of many things. How many things (or… people) have I mistaken for dead ferns?

I keep thinking about how convinced I was that I understood that plant. Knew exactly what it was. Dead. Finished. Embarrasing. Turns out, I had only inspected it from thirty feet away.

How many old ideas, tired neighborhoods, forgotten projects, awkward seasons, or even parts of myself have I been too eager to clean up because they no longer looked impressive …

Somewhere between campfires and airports and projects and progress, our three cheerful porch ferns quietly became one very dead porch fern. I honestly don’t remember any of this happening. That’s the funny thing about busy. Busy rarely announces itself, but just quietly replaces noticing.

Meanwhile …. life.

I almost displaced an entire family, worried about what others might think of my porch. That’s a ridiculous sentence, but it’s also true. The fern is still hanging there as I write this. Looking exactly like a dead fern, but every few minutes …

a song begins.

Yes, we might be terrible gardeners.

The neighbors just don’t know we’re growing birds.

1. THE FABULIST! I co-wrote a play and it’s headed to the Edinburgh Fringe Festival. Read about it here. Get tickets here. Also… let me know if you’ll be there!

2. GROWING PLANTS! Check out this recent post about my friend Stephanie and the Good Soil Collective here.

3. GET BOOKS! Been so encouraged to see that many school districts are purchasing copies of our books for every student in classrooms and, in some instances, entire schools. Find out more here.

I look down at my feet. I look down at the long list of things I haven’t finished, but know I should’ve finished by now. I look down at the tiny glowing rectangle informing me of new problems, old problems, and even imaginary ones that give me even more overwhelming reasons to look down.

Every once in a while, though, something interrupts the downard spiral. Maybe it’s weird clouds or a hawk circling above the interstate or the moon showing up before it was supposed to. Sometimes it’s a child in the airport terminal pointing excitedly at their dad’s mustache or the way late afternoon light can turn an ordinary Wal-Mart parking lot into something out of a Terrence Malick film.

I look up.

I feel different.

Apparently, there are people who study this sort of thing. Science has spent that last few years confirming what parents, grandparents, and people who shout, “COME QUICK! LOOK AT THIS COOL BUG!” have been insisting for centuries.

Researchers who study awe have found that even brief moments of noticing something vast… like a piece of music or a giant tree … don’t just inspire us. These are moments that calm our bodies, soften our stress, increase our sense of connection, elevate joy, and remind us that we’re part of something larger than ourselves. Which is to say, these things don’t just inspire us or make us feel good, but are actually, scientifically good for us.

One of my favorite things right now is The Cloud Report by Christine Tyler Hill.

Christine is a crossing guard.

She stands daily at the same intersection.

She helps children cross the street safely.

With her presence, she serves and notices. She sees all the ordinary, extraordinary things surrounding that one spot. Things like clouds, trash, dogs, weather, humans … all these small dramas and delights from her daily life become drawings and stories for the rest of us.

I cannot begin to adequately explain how much I love this.

In a world where hot takes and arguments are rewarded, and a culture (online and beyond) packed with conflict and urgency, we seem to be “drowing in information, while starving for wisdom,” as Harvard biologist E.O Wilson once said.

For me, Christine has been a welcome reminder that there’s many more stories out there and wonder is worth working for.

She’s become a sort of neighborhood correspondent for wonder.

Now, look.

I realize there are many people reading this who are curing diseases, designing bridges, running organizations, and solving massive problems that we massively need figured out. Thank goodness for all of this! Whew! Yes.

I also believe the world really, truly, desperately needs crossing guards who make cloud zines.

“You should’ve seen the sky today.”

There are probably much better business models available to you than enthusiastically reporting on clouds. My encouragement today will not help elevate your brand or suddenly make you wildly successful or make life easier.

It might, though, help us feel a little more alive.

There just may be something helpful and holy about interrupting ourselves long enough to remember that that world is bigger than whatever is currently demanding our attention.

Today, before I check the next notification or move on to the next task, I’m going to attempt to pause. Not forever, but just for a moment.

I’ll look up. I’ll see what sees me back. It might not solve anything, but maybe

… just maybe …

…. I can remember I’m part of something larger, stranger, and more beautiful than my to-do lists suggest.

Look at the sky. It might not solve all your problems, but it can remind you they aren’t the only thing that’s true.

1. Find out more about The Cloud Report Christine Tyler Hill here. (This is in no way a sponsored post and I do not know Christine, but am just a fan of what she is doing! Send her some love.)

2. THE FABULIST! I co-wrote a play and it’s headed to the Edinburgh Fringe Festival. Read about it here. Get tickets here. Also… let me know if you’ll be there!

3. Thank you for supporting my work, sharing my posts and inviting other people into this community!

Why do some forms of effort drain us, while others bring us back to life?

Every summer, I watch this mystery unfold at camp. This is my 11th summer serving at an 8 week overnight camp in west Tennessee. Young people who should, by all reasonable standards, be collapsing into little piles of exhaustion somehow become more themselves as the week goes on.

It’s the strangest thing. These kids and counselors sleep too little. They lose their voices. They happily hike in the often scorching southern heat and lead songs no one requested and perform skits that should have never made it past the planning stage.

These folks are T-I-R-E-D …

… and yet …

I’ve watched super important and fancy executives leave super important and fancy events absolutely depleted after two easy days in some air-conditioned hotel ballroom with cooshy chairs and non-stop coffee.

There’s lots and lots of ways to be tired. The worst kind is the kind of tired hat leave you smaller. The kind of tired that comes from too many tabs open on your laptop and your brain, too. The kind of life with too many passwords to remember, too many hours assembling furniture with instructions translated from Swedish into hieroglyphics or something and then back into English. Tired. Tired.

There’s another kind of tired, though. The tired that follows an afternoon helping a friend move. The sort of tired that comes after making a meal for people you love. The tired that sort of settles into your bones after staying too late around a campfire just swapping stories and feelings. Do any of these sorts of things and you might arrive home exhausted, but somehow you’re renewed in a way that leaves you more yourself than you were before.

How is this possible? I’ve been wondering about that difference. For years, I’ve been collecting clues ….

Exhibit A: rocks

A woman (Megan Murphy) paints a rock with a few encouraging words.

She leaves it on a beach in Massachusetts. She wonders if a stranger who needs it might find it.

Years later, her project the Kindness Rocks Project has spread around the world.

Exhibit B: a little library

A man (Todd Bol) in Wisconsin builds a tiny wooden library in honor of his mother, a former schoolteacher who loved books.

He stocks it with a few favorites and invites neighbors to take one and leave one. It’s a sweet and sticky idea that catches on in a big way. Now, thousands of Little Free Libraries stand in front yards and schoolyards in more than 100 countries.

No business plan and no viral strategy. Definitely no intentions of starting some global movement.

I wish there was some other strategy, but here’s the common thread I keep finding in all the examples I’ve collected:

Just little things, lovingly done.

NONE OF THIS IS EFFICIENT.

Why do people do things? Anything? Why do some things expand beyond our initial intention? How is it that some acts energize both us and the people around us in such a way that it multiplies beyond anything we could’ve imagined?

Before there were millions of painted rocks or hundreds of little libraries or any other number of wonderful little delights in our world there was a person and a question:

I wonder if this might brighten someone’s day?

Here is something I’ve scribbled in the margins of enough notebooks now that I suppose it qualifies as a sort of equation:

joy + curiosity + action=/__u/bradmontague.substack.com/momentum%3C/strong>

Each of these are powerful on their own, but together seem to add up to something unstoppable.

JOY is not to be mistaken as fleeting happiness. I mean something more. Deep delight. The kind of steady, wild affection that comes from a bright inner knowing that makes you lean in a little closer to life.

CURIOSITY is that part of you that asks … What if? Curiosity is caring. It’s noticing. It’s a willingness to remain interested a few moments longer than practicality might advise. hmmm… what if?….

ACTION is that brave and often unimpressive decision to just do the thing. Send the invite. Bake the cookies. Make the sketch. Offer to help. Start. Even if you’re not ready… do the thing, already.

I began to notice the combination everywhere.

It’s in all the movements I am drawn to.

It’s in the projects of mine that have caught on and found audiences beyond anything I ever imagined.

It’s in the creative spirits and artists I admire. Take a look…

Exhibit C: Fred.

Exhibit D: Corita.

Exhibit E: Kermit.

There’s an equation in you.

Find your joy, follow your curiosity, and take action.

Momentum has a way of showing up when these things combine.

“WHAT IF?” Oh, how I used to love that question. In recent years, though, I’m embarrased to admit that it’s been replaced often with a different question … “WHY BOTHER?”

The ‘why bother?’ sounds mature. Responsible, even. It seems wise, realistic, and maybe even a kind of maturity protecting me from getting my hopes up or getting hurt again. I understand that voice. I really do.

Today, though, I have decided to take a risk. I am blasting out my secret equation to you good people. Some people might not even read it or care or gasp might not even like it. Why bother? Well … we need more folks like you joyfully and curiously bringing us into a better world.

Take this. Do this. Go make something happen. See what happens.

We often think of enthusiasm as a personality trait. We categorize it with happiness or smiling or tossing confetti in the air when we like something. I keep learning that enthusiasm is a practice. It’s a way of engaging with the world.

It’s this weird willingness to remain delighted and refuse to stop wondering. It’s showing up. It’s a commitment to take any small steps you can to help bring others towards the joy too. It’s why I named this newsletter, The Enthusiast. It’s what I’ve been learning from all of you.

I wish I could tell you enthusiasm will guarantee success.
I wish I could tell you it protects you from all disappointments. I cannot in good conscience tell you this.

I can, though, confidentely and with an absurd amoung of hope, tell you this: enthusiasm helps keep us awake.

In a world that constantly tries to tip us towards cynicism, distraction, disillusion, consume, complain or just disengage, staying awake with a big goofy grin on your face may be one of the bravest things we can do.

AAAAAA! GO FOR IT! ALL CAPS! I LOVE YOU!

1. THE FABULIST! I co-wrote a play and it’s headed to the Edinburgh Fringe Festival. Read about it here. Get tickets here. Also… let me know if you’ll be there!

2. ZIP and the TINY SPROUTS! Very cute and huggable plush toys of the characters I created are now available. So excited for mine to arrive soon. I’m very proud of this little show. See them here.

3. SHARE! Thank you for sharing my work and inviting other people into this community. Grateful. May the best be yet to come.