I was first introduced to the concept of junk-journaling in seventh grade, when my art teacher announced we’d be making them as part of our collage unit.

The goal, she explained, was to transform an old book into a work of art. We could achieve this task in any number of ways, be it gluing in ephemera, painting the cover, or even pasting old gum wrappers down the page like shingles on a roof. The only rule, it seemed, was that there were no rules.

To this day, I have kept two things from that project. First, the completed 2005 junk journal:

And second, the continued practice of junk-journaling.

My junk journal is the one place I can unwind my creativity without feeling self-critical. When I write, I self-edit. When I draw, I erase or tap the “undo” button more than I’d like to admit. But when I’m junk-journaling, I grant myself the permission to rip and glue and arrange with abandon. The self-judgment is almost non-existent.

I’ve found that the simple act of junk-journaling loosens some of the self-imposed rigidness hindering my other work. It’s not a miracle drug for creativity, but it’s certainly as close as I’ve gotten.

If you’ve never junk journaled before, let this be your sign to try! Here are a few tips to get started:

1. Use what you have.

One of my favorite things about this art form is its low-cost entry. All you really need is a journal or book (I try to source mine from Goodwill or art resale stores), a good pair of scissors, and glue/tape. From there, you can add anything you want.

2. Collect, collect, collect.

Some of my favorite spreads have been the slow accumulation of everyday ephemera, be it produce stickers, postage stamps, business cards, or even paint chips.

3. Experiment.

Rip up paper and rearrange the pieces until it’s a new image entirely. Pair magazine clippings with surprising words or colors. Combine unlikely textures and items. Allow your junk journal to be a space for play.

4. Let the happenings in your life guide the design.

I typically associate journaling with writing down thoughts, feelings, and experiences. Junk-journaling can be an abstract take on this practice. Here’s a spread I made while grieving my late Nana.

5. Remind yourself again and again: No rules!

Sometimes it’s nice to have constraints on a creative project, but the best part of a junk journal is the unpredictability of the next page. Follow your bliss. It’ll lead you where you need to go.

• Here are links to my favorite junk journal supplies: scissors, glue, double-sided tape, page clip

• Commissions are open

• Shop my book here

• Get your mail club Q3 delivery here

• I watch/listen to this on hard days and you should too

You probably won’t be surprised to learn I’m reflecting my August desires for water and whimsy in this month’s wallpapers:

Download your favorite (or all three!) below. You’ll also find eight of my July favorites and a self-portrait comic.

As a reminder, paid subscribers receive monthly free wallpapers (plus access to the wallpaper archives, which span over two years) and an immediate membership to my quarterly snail mail club. You can join the fun here.

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Marketing emails parade through my inbox, promising me a whimsical life via dachshund-shaped candle holders and beaded earrings and pajama pants with scalloped hems. My algorithms suggest I consider “whimsy-maxxing” (must we “max” everything?!). Even The New York Times reported on the trend, noting that Etsy saw a 50 percent increase in searches for “whimsy-related items.”

I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that “whimsy” is being commodified, but it feels… off. And look, I’m no stranger to purchasing things that lean playful (Pink overalls! Farmers market bouquets! The list goes on). But you can’t buy a feeling, and you sure can’t mass-produce it.

Gretchen Rubin recently described whimsy as “an impulse toward delight.” At first I questioned her phrasing, equating the word “impulse” to the thoughtless purchases and decisions I’ve made over the years. But then I thought about my childhood, when I covered my ice cream cones in sprinkles simply because they were colorful and danced around the kitchen because the radio was on. I was once such a spontaneous, silly creature, following my bliss whenever I could. That, I realized, was whimsy in its purest form.

This is not to say you should avoid purchasing things that delight you, but rather that at its core, whimsy might be more of a mindset than anything else.

As for stepping into that mindset, I have a few ideas:

1. Leave the house.

By passing through your front door and into the world, you increase the likelihood of stumbling upon something delightful! You don’t have to go far—I’ve found some of the best treasures by walking around my neighborhood:

2. Pocket your phone.

Look up from your phone and see a dog in a yellow raincoat. Remove your headphones and hear someone playing the saxophone on their front porch (yes, this has really happened to me). Whimsy is everywhere if you pay attention.

And hey, if you encounter something particularly delightful, take a photo and add it to a dedicated album. You never know when you might need a pick-me-up.

3. Make it yourself.

I mentioned that whimsy feels antithetical to mass production. In the same vein, whimsy offers a true antidote to AI.

To be whimsical is to create, be it birthday cards or dinner party menus or even donut decor. If you mess up, remember: whimsy = play = imperfection = human (and that’s math, folks).

4. Reclaim the mundane.

A few years ago I broke my toe and had to wear a clunky medical shoe while it healed. Upon seeing it, my sister offered to give it a glow-up with her paint markers. If this isn’t whimsy, I don’t know what is:

Googly eyes will also do the trick.

5. If all else fails, tap into your childlike wonder.

Reacquaint yourself with play. A few ways I’ve done so include decorating cookies, watching movies outside, painting with friends, categorizing rocks by color, trying new crafts, drawing with sidewalk chalk, making seasonal bingo boards, ordering the most absurd ice cream cone on the menu, and, of course, hanging out with kids themselves.

I’m curious where you find whimsy in your life, so please share in the comments!

I wanted this quarter’s snail mail to feel like your favorite farmers market:

Here’s how mail club works:

I send out a link to a form at the start of each quarter. Fill it out, and I’ll know you’ve opted in for mail club! If you filled out your information last quarter, you will need to resubmit it for this quarter.

Today, the link to submit your information will be at the bottom of this email (behind the paywall).

What if I join mail club later this quarter?

Because there is a chance form submissions will trickle in over July, August, and September, I will check for submissions at the mid-way point of each month and send out accordingly! All submissions to receive this quarter’s mail must be made by 9/15/2026. That way I can procure the right amount of prints, stickers, etc.

When should I expect to receive my mail club?

I aim to get mail sent out within two weeks of address entry. If you are worried your mail got lost, email me!

Please fill out the following form to receive this quarter’s mail treasures:

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Download your favorite (or all three!) below. You’ll also find eight June favorites and a self-portrait comic.

As a reminder, paid subscribers receive monthly free wallpapers (plus access to the wallpaper archives, which span over two years) and an immediate membership to my quarterly snail mail club. You can join the fun here.

Read more

To end, a few ways to brighten my birthday:

• Support this newsletter

• Read my book

• Bake my favorite summer dessert

Thank you thank you thank you for being here.

And if you need more than sunshine to get in the mood, may I present to you:

• A song that feels like vacation

• A self-designed artist residency

• A thoughtful guide to a Scandinavian summer wardrobe

• A book to read outside

• A roundup of scoopable salads

• A movie to watch after a day in the sun

PS:

• I designed a map for one of my favorite neighborhoods in Seattle! If you’re local, you can pick one up at participating locations in Fremont.

• Last call for Q2 mail club! More info here.

• Ways to support my work: read my book, consider a commission, and/or support this newsletter!

To celebrate the arrival of my birthday (and therefore favorite) month, I’m offering a 15% discount on annual subscriptions (which includes mail club + monthly phone wallpapers) through the end of June. It’s one of the best ways to support my work.

The fun doesn’t stop there, though! This month’s wallpapers + the rest of my May recap are free to all. Download your favorite design here!

Seven things I loved in May:

1. The only TV show that makes me actually laugh out loud:

If you haven’t watched Hacks I’m kind of jealous because you still have the chance to experience the show for the first time. The series finale aired last Thursday and I weeped. The characters are so special. I miss it already.

2-3. Two (very different) novels:

• Whidbey by : A dark, riveting mystery that follows three women all connected to an abusive man. The prose, plotting, and voice are a masterclass in craft (particularly the last 80 pages). This one is quite heavy, so check out the content warnings before diving in.

• Girls Our Age by : This one perfectly encapsulates the tether between college friends, even when they grow up (and, sometimes, apart). I instantly saw my own friendships reflected in the dialogue and storylines, so read it for nostalgia’s sake if nothing else! The book itself also has one of the most beautiful hardcovers I’ve encountered:

4. My favorite home improvement budget hack:

I’ve recently taken to searching through shelves of artwork at Goodwill with the goal of finding quality, matted frames. My success has varied, but I’ve had some good luck (especially with the help of a little glass cleaner):

5. For your summer soundtrack:

Big Disgrace, the deliciously danceable debut album from Haute & Freddy. Not a single skip (this applies to the tracks themselves and the music videos).

6-7. A few reminders that it is indeed the little things in life:

• Exhibit A: Setting these yellow coasters on our placemats as an homage to butter on pancakes:

  

• Exhibit B: This peony in my garden, a bloom that made me gasp upon seeing it.

  

As for how May looked:

Fortunately, I’ve collected a few sketchbook prompts that help kickstart my brain. Best case: The creative juices flow! I make art I like! I feel fulfilled by the very act of making! Worst case: I close the sketchbook and try again the next day.

I hope these help you get started, too:

1. Play with shapes + lines

No easier way to put pen to paper than to put pen to paper! Pick a pattern, commit to a color palette (or don’t!), and off you go:

2. Reflect with a diary comic

Sometimes the easiest way forward is to look back. I like to structure my diary comics by dividing each page into four squares and drawing a few moments from the day or week prior (Katharine Woodman-Maynard just did a great how-to guide on making these)!

3. Draw whatever’s in front of me

Could be anything—the sky, a bookcase, a pet, your phone. I’ve found nature to be an especially stunning subject.

4. Make a how-to guide

Why stop at making the recipe? Draw it, too!

5. Find inspiration elsewhere

When in doubt, look to the work of your favorite artists! I adore ’s whimsical animals, so I took a stab at my own grid of creatures one afternoon:

And for those wondering, here’s what I use in the photos above: MD Notebook (blank pages, A6 size) /Tombow Fudenosuke Brush Pen / Tombow Dual Brush Markers / Penco Clampy Clip

Happy drawing!

PS: Mail club members—don’t forget to sign up for your Q2 delivery here. It’s a fun one (sparkly bug stickers and all):

Download your favorite (or both of them!) below. You’ll also find a self-portrait comic and a few of my April favorites, including the memoir everyone’s talking about, my favorite flowers we planted in our garden, and another dance-worthy Swedish pop album.

As a reminder, paid subscribers receive monthly free wallpapers (plus access to the wallpaper archives, which span over two years) and an immediate membership to my quarterly snail mail club. You can join the fun here.

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This quarter’s snail mail features a spring-y color palette and my new return address stamp:

Here’s how mail club works:

I send out a link to a form at the start of each quarter. Fill it out, and I’ll know you’ve opted in for mail club! If you filled out your information last quarter, you will need to resubmit it for this quarter.

Today, the link to submit your information will be at the bottom of this email (behind the paywall).

What if I join mail club later this quarter?

Because there is a chance form submissions will trickle in over April, May, and June, I will check for submissions at the mid-way point of each month and send out accordingly! That said, all submissions to receive this quarter’s mail must be made by 6/15/2026. That way I can procure the right amount of prints, stickers, etc.

When should I expect to receive my mail club?

I aim to get mail sent out within two weeks of address entry. If you are worried your mail got lost, email me!

Please fill out the following form to receive this quarter’s mail treasures:

Read more

1. Obsessing over the numbers will drive you mad

I’m embarrassed to admit how often I used to check my book sales. Sometimes I’d be thrilled to find an uptick in purchases. Other times, there was barely a change. This number (and any stat, really) had the power to brighten or darken my day in an instant—and the latter happened far more often.

It’s so human to use quantitative information as a datapoint in determining success. But that’s all it is: one datapoint amongst many datapoints. Try not to give it too much power.

PS: This same philosophy applies to aging, weight, and social media among other things. Inescapable is all I’m saying.

2. The second your book is out in the world, it’s no longer yours to control

For better or worse, every reader will have their own relationship with your book. When someone inevitably gives it a negative review or low rating, try to let it go (or better yet, avoid the reviews in the first place!). This is not easy, but Dita Von Teese said it best: “You can be a delicious, ripe peach and there will still be people in the world that hate peaches.” The same is true for your work. What you’ve made is bursting with flavor. It will be the most delectable thing in the word to some people while others will spit it right out. The sooner you can accept this fact, the easier it will be to keep putting pieces of yourself out into the world.

3. Your network can buoy you if you let it

For me, the word “networking” used to conjure an image of a finance bro gesturing around a room while asking, “Who do you know here?” I had to unlearn this notion, because networking, when done genuinely and with the interest of building community within your industry, is a life raft.

Here’s my method: rely on experts (bless my agent , who has answered many an anxious text/email), befriend other writers (both online and in person), and allow yourself to be vulnerable with both. Publishing has proven to be a strange and lonely industry, and while your friends and family may help you navigate the highs and lows, no one gets it quite like other people who have been through what you’re experiencing.

4. Big accomplishments are cool, but they aren’t shortcuts to happiness

It might bring moments of joy! But even an achievement as thrilling as publishing a book does not guarantee a posh, fulfilling life henceforth. summed this up perfectly in her book Bird by Bird: “All I know about the relationship between publication and mental health was summed up in one line of the movie Cool Runnings, which is about the first Jamaican bobsled team… The men on [this] team are desperate to win an Olympic medal, just as half the people in my classes are desperate to get published. But the coach says, ‘If you’re not enough before the gold medal, you won’t be enough with it.’”

And hey, if the goal is happiness, I suggest riding a bike on a perfect spring day. Or eating a peach (see the previous lesson).

5. Similarly, becoming a published author will not fundamentally change you in the way you think it will

I’ll admit I delight in seeing my book at a bookstore or hearing how much someone loved it, but day to day? I’m still me. I still doubt myself and my work. I wonder if I’ll ever publish again, if my authorial career is one-and-done, if everyone who bought my book is in on a massive prank (can you tell I got bullied in middle school?). I’m not sure any accomplishment guarantees pure satisfaction or self-actualization or unbridled confidence.

I feel lucky to have my story in print (and bound in a bubblegum pink cover). But truthfully, I don’t think about the fact that I’m an author half as much as I thought I would. Instead, my brain zooms in on the same things it did before: anxious spirals over the news, mundane to-do lists, whatever song is stuck in my head at the moment. Unsexy as it is, that’s life, baby.

Bonus lesson: Promoting your book never ends

Which is why you won’t be surprised to see me link to a place you (yes, you!) can procure your very own copy!

In all seriousness, thank you, thank you, thank you to every single reader. You’ve given Give Me Space such a special life. I love you all.

• Mother’s Day commissions are open now! Reserve yours here.

  

• Every month, I illustrate wallpapers for my paid subscribers. The April designs are, as Meryl Streep would say, “groundbreaking.”

• Tulip, a short stop-action film by + Andrea Love, is a cozy woodland take on the tale of Thumbalina. Perhaps even more impressive is the artistry that went into making the puppets.

Snail Mail Q2 opt-in coming early next week. Till then!

I was twenty-four when the article was published, just a year and a half into receiving a steady paycheck from my first desk job. It wasn’t a lot of money, but it was the first time I felt an unwieldy freedom while spending (both in person and online). So, even though I recognized myself in Patchett’s words, I kept shopping.

I bought lipstick and purses and notebooks (So. Many. Notebooks). I collected cheap lamps and fragrant candles and jeans that never fit quite right. I fell victim to trinkets displayed by the checkout counter. I added just one more thing to my cart in order to get free shipping. Each time, I was sure that my life would fall into place as soon as I had the object of my affection, whether it be a 100% organic cotton sweater or a pack of shimmery gel pens or even a leather AirTag case in the shape of strawberry. Of course, the thrill faded each time, and I’d begin the hunt for my next purchase.

It wasn’t until 2025 that the idea of slowing my consumption sounded more like a worthy challenge rather than a cruel punishment. I studied my bank statements and saw what I already knew: I shopped with the impulsivity of a child in a candy store.

I’m not the only one chasing the sugar high. Patchett’s essay aside, I’ve encountered quite a bit of content focused on consuming less, be it an infographic about the horrors of fast fashion or a video detailing a creator’s no-shopping rules. Most effective of all was the essay You’re overspending because you lack values by , which popped up on my Substack feed last autumn. In it, she wrote: “Standing in front of all my stuff, it hit me that all of it used to be money, and all of that used to be time. I was standing in front of the metabolic waste of my existence, materialized. I was looking at the amount of my time, therefore my life, that had been turned into garbage.” Upon reading this I looked away from my computer screen and at my surroundings, clocking more than a few things that I’d bought on impulse. The room felt crowded, cluttered. Something had to change.

To tell myself I can’t buy anything reminds me too much of the restrictive, punishing nature of diet culture. So instead of a “no-buy” year, I’m opting for a “slow-buy” year, which I’ve defined through the following guidelines:

• Pinpoint the want behind the want. Almost every purchase I make is fueled by two things: a dopamine rush and an imagined future with the item. Am I buying this jacket because I like it or am I buying the lifestyle I think I’ll have upon purchasing it? It’s not unlike my approach to haircuts—do I want bangs, or do I want the face of the beautiful actress who has bangs? Sometimes the answer will be, well, actually, I like this jacket! I do want bangs! But most of the time, I’m trying to buy a sense of self an object can’t provide.

• Shop in person. Adding something to an online cart feels weirdly unceremonious… and way too easy. If I need to buy something, be it a shampoo refill, my next book club read, or a gift, it’s brick-and-mortar or bust—and ideally in support of a local business. Occasionally there will be something (concert tickets, artwork, newsletter subscriptions, etc.) that will necessitate an online purchase, but this should remain an outlier.

• Write all non-essential purchases down. Since the start of the year, I’ve added every frivolous item I’ve bought to a list in my Notes app. The goal here is not to shame myself for buying things, but rather be aware of where my money is going. Included on the list so far: a dry robe for open-water swimming, a pair of cobalt blue pants, and privacy film for my office window.

• Redirect the desire. Shopping is a dopamine rush, but the novelty of a purchase always wears off. If I have an itch to spend money, I ask myself if there’s something else I could do that might bring joy—make art, call a friend, cook, move my body. I even started sketching desired items rather than buying them:

• Consider the trade-off. Money is one thing, but the work I did to make the money is another. Is an espresso martini keychain worth the time I spent on a project? Probably not.

• Get creative. Take stock of gift cards. Clip coupons (both physical and digital!). Use the library, which has a TON of free resources beyond book lending. Refer to that Pinterest board full of outfit inspiration based solely on clothing already in your closet. Consider what could be done with the construction paper in the craft box instead of buying a whole new set of stationary. Rather than procuring furniture, try rearranging what’s already in the room. Enjoy what you have instead of dreaming of what you don’t.

I’m sure this list will change and grow, but so far it feels good, like I’m catching my breath after a long, uphill walk. The urge to shop still calls. But so does a life where perhaps what I have is enough. And I like the sound of that a lot better.

• It’s Give Me Space but Don’t Go Far’s second birthday this month! I know I just waxed on about reducing consumption, but buying my book is obviously the exception (and you can probably do so at your local bookstore!).

• Screen time feels good when it involves The Midnight Cafe, a charming video game from the brilliant mind of . In it, you manage a quaint forest cafe and tend to your woodland customers. Oh, and you get to be a bunny:

• Every month, I illustrate wallpapers for my paid subscribers. You can see the designs for April here.

Thanks for reading. And hey, if you’ve implemented a no-buy or slow-buy year, I’d love to hear about your approach!

Download your favorite (or both of them!) below. You’ll also find a self-portrait comic and a few of my March favorites, including two books, a laugh-out-loud TV show, and my most treasured custom pet commission.

As a reminder, paid subscribers receive monthly free wallpapers (plus access to the wallpaper archives, which span over two years) and an immediate membership to my quarterly snail mail club. You can join the fun here.

Read more

I’ve found the best way to approach grief is to write my way through it, to preserve my loved ones in words like a fly cast in amber. I know there’s no keeping Bowie here, not literally. But what follows is an attempt to make permanent the things I will miss most about him, the parts of him that have become part of me.

As far as Goldendoodles go, Bowie fit the mold: blond curls, standard build, wet brown eyes, a big rubbery nose. He loved ice cream and swimming. He feared the dishwasher and thunderstorms. We gave him nicknames that made sense until they didn’t: Bo-Bo, Bobs, Bo-Ba-Lob, Mr. Bo, Bobalina, Bobini, The Velveteen Bobo, and, for some reason, Theo.

Though his genetic makeup suggested retrieval skills, he was the least coordinated dog I’d ever encountered. He bounced with athletic promise at the sight of a ball, only to have it sail right past his open jaw. But he was flexible, a canine contortionist. Sometimes his front legs splayed out in opposing right angles, mimicking the shape of a football goal post. Other times he became a corkscrew, his chin resting on the floor while his back paws hovered in the air.

Bowie could open doors and outsmart even the most complicated of my mother’s dog-proofing efforts. Just weeks ago, he found a way to the forbidden second floor by moving a fifteen pound weight (we still don’t know how exactly) and squeezing himself past the gate affixed to the staircase. These efforts were often in pursuit of personal space, as Bowie loved solitude in closets and corners and even the crawl space under the house. I once caught him hiding behind a tree far too small to conceal his furry frame. The photo makes me laugh to this day.

Bowie was two when we got Henry (a fuzzball of an albino mutt) and four when Ziggy (the Dalmatian) joined the pack. They became a chaotic trio, tangling their leashes on daily walks and harmonizing their barks when neighbors passed our house.

At night, they didn’t cuddle so much as fit their bodies together like blocks in a game of Tetris.

My brother Graham trained Bowie to be a therapy dog, an irony given Bowie’s anxiety. But Bowie was also gentle and empathetic and therefore a natural at comforting people. When I cried after my grandfather’s death, he rested his head on my chest. When Graham brought him to preschools and libraries, Bowie sat patiently while children weighed him down in hugs. And when Henry had a seizure in the middle of the night, Bowie nudged the dog-sitter with his snout until she woke up. The vet believes this act saved Henry’s life.

Bowie wasn’t eating much in his final weeks, but managed to lap down two scoops of vanilla ice cream on his last day. The vet arrived shortly after. My parents rubbed his back and reminded him that he was a good boy, the best boy. They were with him until the very end.

I wish there was a way to tell Henry and Ziggy why their oldest brother isn’t hiding in the closet or sniffing around the backyard anymore. I wish I could hug him one more time. I wish there was a world in which we got more time with our pets. But god am I glad I overlapped with Bowie at all, that he was my dog and brother and friend.

PS: I’d be remiss not to share one of Bowie’s most iconic Halloween costumes of all time:

Links of note:

• I made a pocket-sized version of this list for my mail club. If you want one you can sign up through 3/15 to receive this quarter’s delivery here.

• I’m counting down the days until Jury Duty Presents: Company Retreat is out. Trailer here—worth the watch.

• Shouting ’s recent pesto pasta recipe. This shit rocks, okay? Also, such a good shade of green.

Sending love to you all.

Download your favorite (or all three of them!) below. You’ll also find a few of my February favorites and self portrait comics from the last two months.

But before we get there, I wanted to share the (very personal) essay I wrote for Kelcey Ervick’s project Letters to Dead Authors & Artists. It was a bit scary to share, but I’m so happy I did. Read it here:

Letters to Dead Authors & Artists

Letter #26: To Eric Carle from Haley Weaver

Welcome to the 26th installment of Letters to Dead Authors & Artists. Letters like this one are the reason I started this project. Haley Weaver’s letter to Eric Carle, author of the beloved children’s book The Very Hungry Caterpillar, goes in an unexpected and deeply personal direction that took my breath away…

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6 months ago · 60 likes · 30 comments · Haley Weaver

As a reminder, paid subscribers receive monthly free wallpapers (plus access to the wallpaper archives, which span over two years) and an immediate membership to my quarterly snail mail club. You can join the fun here.

Read more

The concept is simple: Whenever Goffer coveted a material item (be it a lilac pasta pot or a Dyson vacuum or even cushioned insoles), she didn’t add it to her shopping cart. Instead, she drew it.

I love this for so many reasons—the intimacy of witnessing someone’s materialistic desires, the creativity used to combat consumption, and, of course, the whimsy of the illustrations themselves.

Though I’m typically not a ‘resolutions’ person, I did set a goal to be more mindful of my own consumerism in 2026. Inspired by Goffer, I decided to illustrate a wishlist of my own (it helps that most of the items below are out of budget anyway—but hey! A wishlist is for dreaming, especially when drawing is free).

To end, a mail club reminder: I am sending out a batch of Q1 deliveries this week and need your address (yes, even if you’ve given it to me in a past quarter. A flawed system, I know!). Please find the submission information here—and if you run into trouble, respond to this email and we’ll get you sorted.

Thanks for reading!

I quickly decided that Joshua Tree is the perfect locale for a traveller who likes the outdoors but isn’t outdoorsy. There are many flat, short hikes, and the sights are stunning even from the car window.

Best of all were the Joshua trees, their bodies otherworldly with thick trunks and spiky leaves and branches warped at sharp, surprising angles. This is what a dance floor is supposed to look like, I thought as we drove through the park, admiring the way they twisted and leaned and reached toward one another.

Desert fashion delighted me—think fringe-lined jackets, sunglasses with egg yolk yellow lenses, and cowboy boots. But then there were the dusty sneakers, the faded t-shirts, the hole-speckled pants. My outfits fell somewhere in the middle. I paired mud-crusted trail runners with barrel jeans. I tied a bandana around my neck and felt like I was trying to be someone I’m not, but then I remembered it was my bandana! On my body! Who else could I have been?

At night we turned off every light in the house before slipping into the hot tub at the edge of our Airbnb’s backyard. The sky looked as if someone had punched thousands of tiny holes in a navy sheet and held it up to the light. We tried to point out the constellations we knew, but how do you describe a cluster of stars among many? “Do you see his belt? Right there, three in a row. No, not there. There.”

I almost didn’t trust my eyes when I caught a star in motion. As a child, I often mistook airplanes for shooting stars, casting my wishes upon smooth metal and jet fuel. Whether any of them came true or not, I can’t recall.

But as an adult, I wonder if it’s less about what we wish upon and more about believing in magic enough to wish in the first place.

On our last morning, I brought my coffee out to the backyard and turned a lawn chair to face west. I had a goal to be present, but my mind kept tugging elsewhere—to my to-do list, to the week ahead, to the news, to the horrors, to the urge to avoid it all and scroll Pinterest.

In the distance, a mountain of rocks cut into the sky like a pair of wieldy scrapbook scissors. I heard a bird caw, or maybe it was the neighbor’s laugh. The smell of chlorine drifted from the pool. I leaned back and the sun warmed my face in a way I wished I could bottle.

There would be time to worry later, I decided. There always was.

Links of note:

• I still have a few Valentine’s Day commission slots open! If you want one, please place your order this week so I can get it done in time for the holiday.

• I am also selling zines based on the comic that seems to go viral every February. You can secure yours here!

• I continue to be in awe of ’s comics, which detail her experience in Minneapolis right now. A must-follow.

• And finally, a link to download February wallpapers, which are free to all this month. It’s been a tough, tough bit of time. I hope this can add a little joy to your phone screen.

Love love love to you all.

For The Big Feeler: Lovey-Dovey Emotion Chart

My newest and most cost effective option! Pick from different sizes, color palettes, and a whole slew of gushy emotions.

For The Dynamic Duo: Four-Panel Love Note

Every relationship has a story, and that story is even cuter when you let me draw you and your loved one as hearts doing cute things together!!

For The Sentimental Softie: Happy Place Custom Portrait

Could be the home you share, the cafe that served as your first date, a wedding venue, or even that shitty apartment you look back fondly on.

There are only a few slots of each, so reserve your spot if you want one! Thanks (as always) for supporting my work.

Links of note:

• This song has been stuck in my head for days after hearing it on KEXP (and I’m not mad about it).

• To my fellow artists: a reminder that this call to action is a great opportunity to share your stories about the atrocities happening in the states right now. Here’s my take.

• A reminder to submit your info for mail club—I’m sending out my first batch early next week!

• I’m doing a slow-buy year (more on that in an upcoming letter), so instead of purchasing all of the cute things I discover, I’ll just share them here. Most recently, I’m coveting all things Collin Garrity, but especially this sourdough toast candle holder.

Sending love to each and every one of you.