Baron Creative: Letters From My Mind

Back to School

Matthew Baron — Tue, 25 Aug 2026 11:14:42 GMT

Good morning,

As many of you know, my professional life has taken a lot of different shapes over the years. I’ve taught elementary school, coached pickleball, life-coached, written this newsletter, played music, led professional and pickleball workshops, and generally found ways to cobble together a working life out of the things I love doing.

This year, though, through a fortuitous series of events, I’ve made the decision to return to teaching public school full-time. I’ll also keep offering professional coaching services: I’m life coaching a couple of nights per week (you can book sessions here) and I’ll teach the occasional pickleball lesson when an old client reaches out.

I’m also leading self-care/goal-setting workshops like the one I did this summer for school-based professionals or corporate groups. Here’s a flyer with more information:

Please keep me in mind if you’re a business owner or school administrator, or if you know of someone who might be interested in this type of service.

It hasn’t been long, but being a teacher again has just felt right. The other day, I was filling out a form that asked for my profession, and for the first time in a while, the simplest answer felt really good to write: Teacher.

Today marks only the second full day back with students, but I’ve already felt a familiar sense of peace: being back in a school for the majority of my week, the rhythm of the morning, interactions with new and familiar colleagues, even the particular kind of tired I’ve felt at the end of the day. It’s sort of felt like returning to the Shire.

I’ve spent a lot of time over the past several years reading and thinking and talking about what kind of work makes life meaningful. I’ve sometimes fallen into the trap of believing that truly meaningful work has to be something I’ve created myself: my coaching practice, a book, a workshop, an album, some new project with my name on it.

Lately, I’m thinking about meaningful work a little differently. I don’t know how or why; I’ve just sort of come to feel this way without forcing anything. It seems that, yes, meaningful work can be about creating something unique, and it can also be about showing up where one’s needed. That old saw, “Those who can, do; those who can’t, teach,” sometimes lives in my mind as a form of self-judgment. But I feel needed at my job, and that feeling is beginning to change some of the views I’ve held about myself as a full-time teacher.

Anyway, happy to share a little bit of a life update here. I’m curious what’s new with you as well. Feel free to comment or reply to me directly to share what’s happening on your end or what’s been on your mind lately.

All my best,

Matt

Listening: 5 on Fridays with Vince Staples

Watching: Send Help

Reading: Gone For Good by Harlan Coben

Away With Words

Matthew Baron — Wed, 12 Aug 2026 11:15:07 GMT

I’ve added times for new or returning life coaching clients. Have a look at my calendar here. If you’ve never worked with me before, your first exploratory session is complimentary. Hope to see some of you soon! Sessions take place on Google Meet.

Good morning,

I recently heard a zinger that stopped me in my tracks: “The better I sound, the worse I’m doing.”

At first I chuckled at this phrase, and then it stuck with me. I thought about it over the next few days and looked at it through a few different prisms: If I’m doing well, meaning I’m emotionally in touch with myself and feeling optimistic about life and living in the present most of the time, can’t I talk about it with friends? On the other hand, as someone who likes to talk, can I make myself sound better than I’m doing to cover up what’s really going on with me, whether to convince myself or someone else of something that may or may not actually be true? If the latter is the case, what’s the antidote to it?

Shortly after hearing this phrase, a newsletter by Dr. Bob Beare landed in my inbox, with the subject line, “Blah blah blah: How we use words to hide.” I like his newsletters in general because they are informative and easy to read (he only puts one sentence on each line). His recent missive started like this:

“I used to think I was pretty good with words.
Then, when I started doing deep healing work…
I realized I was using them to hide and avoid emotion.
I was a great explainer.
But I was incapable of telling you I was scared, hurt, or sad.
I know I gave my first couple of therapists the blank stare at ‘What are you feeling, Bob?’
Looking back, a lot of my language was keeping me stuck.”

I was in a setting once where I was asked to check in with my feelings on a daily basis. I was given a feelings chart and asked point blank which of these I was feeling. Sometimes I had a limited number of feelings to choose from (anger, fear, pain, joy, passion, love, shame); other times, I had many more.

I was taught that it’s important to know and acknowledge my feelings because my feelings give us information about what is happening inside me. When I can identify what I’m feeling instead of reacting to it, I have more choice about what to do next. This matters because unrecognized feelings often come out sideways as resentment, anxiety, withdrawal, dishonesty, compulsive behavior, or attempts to control other people. Essentially, naming the feeling creates space between feeling and action, which can lead to better relationships and better experiences.

Once I left that setting, I stopped checking in with my feelings so deliberately. Reading Dr. Beare’s article made me realize that I am often unaware of what I’m feeling and don’t acknowledge my feelings regularly. His article continues:

“Many of us became experts at telling the story.
Very few of us learned to notice what was happening in our bodies while we were telling it.
When someone asks how we’re feeling, we often answer with a judgment or an explanation.
The body is usually saying something much simpler.
“My chest is tight.”
“My stomach just dropped.”
“I feel scared.”
Those few words can open a door that years of intellectualization never could.
Speaking the emotional truth
In healthy circles, people practice simple language.
“I’m angry.”
“I’m sad.”
“I’m scared.”
Most of us won’t be very good at it at first.
We smile. We joke. We explain. We intellectualize.
With support, we become more aware of the difference between the story in our heads and the feelings in our bodies.
We don’t have to correct every sentence we say.
We simply begin to notice our language.
And little by little, we find ourselves speaking more honestly, feeling more deeply, and becoming more fully ourselves.”

Over the weekend, I did a thorough deep-cleaning and decluttering of my four-year-old son’s bedroom. It took about six hours of practically constant motion and activity (vacuuming, dusting, moving furniture around, deciding what to keep and what to purge, washing linens). During and after the process, I felt a deep physical and emotional release. Later, while talking with someone, I tried to identify what I was feeling after doing this extreme nesting chore. I said I felt productive. I felt accomplished. I felt like I had done something forward-moving for my little guy. Then I realized none of these are feelings; they are all thoughts. So I looked at the handy-dandy feelings wheel and realized I realized I felt happy, proud, confident, and inspired.

Why does this matter?

Because there is a difference between explaining my life and experiencing it. Saying I felt productive or accomplished wasn’t untrue. But those words kept me one small step removed from what was actually happening inside me.

Happy. Proud. Confident. Inspired. Those words felt different when I said them. They brought me closer to what was actually happening inside me rather than merely describing what I had done.

Maybe that’s what I like so much about the phrase, “The better I sound, the worse I’m doing.” It isn’t a warning against talking about our lives or trying to make sense of them. I’m certainly not going to stop doing either. It’s a reminder to notice when all those words are helping me understand what I feel and when they’re helping me avoid feeling it.

I can tell a pretty good story about how I’m doing. The harder, and probably more useful, question is much simpler:

How do I feel?

And how about you? When someone asks how you’re feeling, do you name a feeling, or do you tell them a story about how you’re doing? Are there certain feelings that are harder for you to name than others? What might change if you checked in with yourself once a day and simply asked, “What am I feeling right now?”

Until next time,

Matt

Reading: Five by Ilona Bannister

Watching: Furious on Hulu

Listening: Vegyn

Future Hits Show Tomorrow in Oak Park + some Camino pics

Matthew Baron — Tue, 04 Aug 2026 11:22:28 GMT

Good morning,

I’m happy to announce that my educational rock band for kids, Future Hits, is playing our first public Chicago-area show since the pandemic in Oak Park tomorrow!

It’ll be a duo show featuring Nick Kabat on drums and me on guitar and vocals. The band has been a tad dormant over the last few years, but we recorded two albums at the Wilco Loft a few summers ago, and I hope to release one of them sometime in 2026.

If you’re in the area, we’d love to see you at the Oak Park Public Library’s main branch at 10:30 a.m. tomorrow (Wednesday, August 5). More info here.

Also, some folks have asked about my trip on the Camino de Santiago earlier this summer. I’ll eventually write a post about it here, but in the meantime, I shared a short post with some photos from the trip on my Instagram page. Here’s the link.

Hope you’re enjoying the waning days of summer.

Thanks for reading,

Matt

Watching: The Invite

Listening: Ambient country playlists

Reading: Big Swiss by Jen Beagin

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matthewleebaron.com

Zone of Genius

Matthew Baron — Wed, 29 Jul 2026 13:40:11 GMT

Good morning,

I hope you’re having a lovely summer. It’s been about six weeks since I’ve written here, and like any dormant muscle, the longer I don’t write, the harder it is to kick-start. Thankfully, I came across a little blurb over the weekend (about Gay Hendricks’s concept of “Zone of Genius”) that motivated me because it related to my recent experience giving a presentation in Tampa a couple of weeks ago.

A little backstory on how I ended up in Tampa: I received an email out of the blue from someone I was dear friends with in seventh and eighth grade. My friend Dushun was new to the area, and she and her family lived a couple of blocks from me. We became fast friends and enjoyed playing cards together, walking to 7-Eleven, and hanging out with our broader friend group as well. I hadn’t seen or been in contact with Dushun since I moved away from Skokie in 1997; she and I are Facebook friends, but we hadn’t had any direct communication in nearly 30 years.

Needless to say, I was quite surprised when I saw her name in my inbox. She explained that she worked in the mental health department for a Florida school district, where they host a summer institute each year for counselors, social workers, psychologists, and administrators. She wondered if I’d be interested in creating a workshop to help the adults who support students in crisis better manage their own internal responses and learn strategies to enhance their own lives and well-being.

This message led to a Teams meeting with some of Dushun’s colleagues, who then decided to hire me to come down to Florida to give a presentation I’d created, titled “Putting on Your Oxygen Mask First: A Self-Care and Goal-Setting Workshop.”

About 50 school-based mental health practitioners attended the seminar, which took place in a cavernous high school auditorium in downtown Tampa. I was nervous because I had never done something quite like this before; my slot was for three hours and I was afraid that the presentation wouldn’t fill the allotted time or that the crowd would become bored with what I was sharing with them (as a public school teacher who’s sat through many professional development sessions, I knew I wanted my time with them to be more interactive and less didactic).

Once I started, I felt like I was entering my Zone of Genius. Giving the presentation came naturally to me, and the activities I developed were well received (dyads, vision exercises, values worksheets, Eisenhower Matrix, identifying triggers and derailers, and more). It was effortless to get people to volunteer their thoughts throughout the session. I loved seeing everyone engaged as we dug into work designed to help them reconnect with themselves and pay attention to parts of their lives that often get neglected amid life’s demands. People were vulnerable as they shared their fears (someone shared that they’d been avoiding taking their LCSW licensing exam because they’d already failed it twice), their wishes (someone shared that they wanted to establish a weekly meeting with their husband to keep the emotional connection between them fresh and strong), and their challenges (someone shared that they wanted to reprioritize their work with students in the face of mounting paperwork requirements).

The three hours zipped by. The people who arranged my visit told me it was a very interactive and engaging presentation. Some attendees came up to me afterward to tell me how much they enjoyed and learned from the presentation. I left feeling happy and fulfilled. (If you’re curious, here’s the presentation.)

Back to the article that started all of this... A short piece appeared in the Sunday Business section of The New York Times as part of a series called Shop Talk, titled “Zone of Genius.” I’d heard the term a few years ago and even listened to the audiobook (The Big Leap by Gay Hendricks) in which the term appears. I’ll share some highlights from the article here:

“Everyone wants a thriving career. Those in the know, especially, as of late, in tech, are not just grasping for satisfaction. They are trying to enter what they call their ‘zone of genius.’
The concept, popularized by Gay Hendricks in his 2009 self-help book, The Big Leap, describes the intersection between one’s skills and passions. When you’re in the zone of genius, ‘it’s not exactly creativity or workplace satisfaction,’ he said in an interview. ‘It’s freedom, it’s zest, it’s energy.’”
***
“‘I love the word genius,’ said Mr. Hendricks, who has written many books while working as a career coach for decades. ‘It’s a very juicy, rich word.’ [Although] many people hesitate to identify as a genius or to acknowledge they have genius in them, he said.”

Part of why I was so surprised to hear from Dushun was that I didn’t know she was following my work. She told me she’d thought of me because she’d been reading my Substack and felt I would be a great fit for the conference. Because I’d never noticed her liking or commenting on my posts, I had no idea she was a reader. As I’ve written here at various points, due to low digital traction on my posts, I sometimes feel discouraged, but I keep writing anyway because I love the process of thinking, writing, and sharing my Substack. Her attention to my work was another great affirmation that writing this Substack is worthwhile and helpful to others, even when I don’t know who it is reaching.

While on that stage in Tampa, I felt like I was in my Zone of Genius. Even while creating the slides, I felt energized. While presenting, I realized the workshop could easily be adapted for various workplace and corporate settings, not just school-based mental health practitioners. Because the attendees and I both enjoyed it so much, I want to put myself out there a bit more and try to give this presentation to other groups. So I’m putting it out there: Keep me in mind if anyone in your orbit might be interested in having me present at their workplace.

Where do your skills and passions intersect? Are you currently doing work or activities that put you in your Zone of Genius? If so, what are they? If not, what’s a small step you could take in this direction?

Thanks for reading,

Matt

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Reading: My Dark Vanessa by Kate Elizabeth Russell

Listening: Reality Awaits by the Strokes

Watching: Widow’s Bay

www.matthewleebaron.com

Hedgehog vs. Fox

Matthew Baron — Tue, 16 Jun 2026 11:21:02 GMT

Good morning,

I was fortunate to befriend the late Bob Fitzpatrick while traveling in New York some years ago. We met by happenstance, and after he learned I was a musician and from Chicago (he once served as director of Chicago’s Museum of Contemporary Art), Bob took a keen interest in my creative endeavors and served as a mentor regarding my creative pursuits as well as an arts space I used to run on Chicago’s West Side.

During one of our first of many long conversations over coffee or lunch, Bob told me that I embodied the French word “disponibilité,” which he said meant that I was available and open to what life had in store for me. He also said that he could tell early on in our friendship that, like him, I was a “person of intensity and not continuation.” By this he meant I wasn’t suited to any one pursuit for a long period of time. Mind you, his career was much more decorated than mine (Bob served as the president of Euro Disney, oversaw CalArts, and directed the 1984 Olympic Arts Festival), but I guess he saw something of himself in me, that we were meant to apply our creative energy across a variety of areas.

I thought about Bob while reading a short article on Monday, titled “A Choice Between Comfort and Novelty” by Melissa Kirsch. She writes:

“If we’ve achieved some success in our work, or in baking, or knitting, or martial arts, we are now people who do that thing, who define ourselves as bakers or knitters. When we were young, we might try many things in search of the one or ones that will stick, but in adulthood, it feels more comfortable to be good at things than to take on new ones.”

To underscore her point, she references an essay from 1953 by a philosopher named Isaiah Berlin, called “The Hedgehog and the Fox.” The essay begins:

“There is a line among the fragments of the Greek poet Archilochus which says: ‘The fox knows many things, but the hedgehog knows one big thing.’
Scholars have differed about the correct interpretation of these dark words, which may mean no more than that the fox, for all his cunning, is defeated by the hedgehog’s one defense. But, taken figuratively, the words can be made to yield a sense in which they mark one of the deepest differences which divide writers and thinkers, and, it may be, human beings in general.
For there exists a great chasm between those, on one side, who relate everything to a single central vision, one system less or more coherent or articulate, in terms of which they understand, think, and feel — a single, universal, organizing principle in terms of which alone all that they are and say has significance — and, on the other side, those who pursue many ends, often unrelated and even contradictory, connected, if at all, only in some de facto way, for some psychological or physiological cause, related by no moral or aesthetic principle.”

When I met Bob, I was actively writing, recording, and releasing music with two bands and running an arts space while teaching full-time. Lately, my creativity has mostly taken the form of this weekly essay, though I do have a couple of days booked with a songwriting partner of mine next month to hopefully write a new batch of songs for a future album. In my case, I do believe my pursuits are connected by the same moral and aesthetic principles. In my teaching career, I’m a hedgehog. In most other ways, I’m a fox. I do try to infuse everything I do with a sense of education/learning, collaboration, and spontaneity. Part of me thinks adulthood means choosing one identity or profession and sticking with it. Berlin’s fox suggests another possibility: a life stitched together from many interests, many callings, and many seasons of reinvention.

Kirsch’s article continues,

“Hedgehogs have a unified vision of the world, one central belief that governs their thinking. Foxes are more scattered, pulling from varied sources, changing their thinking as circumstances change. Berlin didn’t assert that one type was better than the other, but put forth his theory to describe writers and thinkers of his day. (Tolstoy, he wrote, was a fox who deeply wanted to be a hedgehog.)”

I can relate to this as well. I’ve had people with conventional careers and high incomes tell me they wish they had as many passions as I do. Meanwhile, I sometimes wish I were dedicated to a single pursuit and could see how far I might go if my attention weren’t spread across so many endeavors.

But Kirsch writes, “I think we’re all some combination of both — a pure hedgehog risks being single-minded, a pure fox might be a dabbler, and people are much more complicated than these designations could ever articulate. But it’s interesting to look at how the hedgehog and fox impulses play out in your own life.”

How about you? Do you tilt more toward being a hedgehog or a fox?

Until next time,

Matt

P.S. Tomorrow I begin my Camino de Santiago adventure. I'll be spending the next few weeks walking across northern Spain, so this newsletter will take a short hiatus. See you on the other side!

Watching: Backrooms

Reading: Whidbey by T Kira Madden

Listening: “The Bridge” by Sonny Rollins

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matthewleebaron.com

Blame

Matthew Baron — Wed, 03 Jun 2026 11:32:49 GMT

Curious about life coaching? Schedule a 1:1 session with me here!

Good morning,

I recently sped through Maria Semple’s latest novel, Go Gentle, mostly due to my interest in all the Stoic philosophy interlaced throughout the book. (I don’t feel qualified to review books, but if I had to give it a one-sentence review, I would say: wholly enjoyable for the first two-thirds, but she kind of lost me in the final stretch with too many unwieldy plotlines).

The novel’s protagonist, the wonderfully named Adora Hazzard, uses her philosophical expertise to navigate life in New York. She is a philosophy teacher to a wealthy family, the mother of a teenage daughter, and a friend to other women in her “coven.”

Some of my favorite quotes from the book are:

“Amor fati. Love fate. You have to love what happened to you.”
“Stoics are very passionate people. The key is to be correct in your passions.”
“We suffer more in imagination than in reality.” (Seneca)
“Once you truly accept all the shit that happened to you, you can get to work on everything that still is available.”
“Acceptance isn’t passive. It’s active. Acceptance is an act of courage. It’s not the end. It’s the beginning.”

But one quote in particular stopped me in my tracks, and I’ve thought about it almost every day for the past couple of weeks:

“Small-minded people blame others. Average people blame themselves. Wise people blame nobody.”

I thought a lot about this as I reflected on a series of events in my life over the last seven or so years. When thinking about some of these life-altering events, I realize I still blame others for certain things that have happened to me. Most prominently, though, I blame myself a great deal for other things that have occurred. I’ve slowly let go of a lot of the shame around certain things, but the blame, that it’s all my fault, I should have known/done better, etc., still persists. After reading that line, I wondered: how can I possibly blame nobody when certain people, including myself, have done things that are worthy of blame?

Perhaps what I find most compelling about the quote is that it separates responsibility from blame. I can be accountable for my mistakes without beating myself up over them, and I can recognize when others have hurt me without centering my life around their wrongdoing.

Blaming others can feel satisfying for a while, but it ultimately leaves me feeling powerless because my well-being becomes dependent on someone else changing, apologizing, or behaving differently. With regard to blaming myself, while self-examination can be an important step toward accountability, it often morphs into shame and self-flagellation. The wisdom, it seems, comes from realizing that blame eventually stops serving us.

I don’t think that blaming nobody means denying responsibility or pretending harm wasn’t done. Practicing this philosophy, I believe, forces me to focus on current reality instead of judging it against how I thought it should be. I can understand the causes, learn lessons, and perhaps make amends where needed. But the key, I think, is to stop prosecuting myself. The energy I put into assigning fault could instead be directed toward growth, healing, and deciding what to do next.

This notion also made me think about the scholar Robert Sapolsky, whose views on free will, or the lack of it, can be summed up as: “Nobody could have been anything other than exactly who they were in any given moment.” He also says that “when humans behave badly, it’s because of something in their biology interacting with something in their environment.” I don’t think Sapolsky is arguing that nothing matters or that people should get a free pass. Rather, like the line from Go Gentle, I believe his view encourages us to spend less energy assigning blame and more energy understanding behavior and reducing future harm.

Adora Hazzard falls in love with Stoicism because she’s been deeply hurt by life and discovers a philosophy that offers a way to suffer less. Without offering any spoilers, her life doesn’t go according to plan. Stoicism gives her a framework for making sense of disappointment, injustice, loss, and uncertainty. Rather than trying to control the world, she learns to focus on controlling her response to it. As her life unfolds, she has mixed success applying these ideas, but the ever-present Stoic themes in the book made it fun for me as the reader to see how I too can apply these ambitious but incredibly helpful philosophical tools.

As a coach, the emphasis of our sessions is less on the why and more on the what. Apropos of the blame theme, the question I’d ask a client would be less about “Why are they blaming themselves or others?” and more, “What would it take to let go of the blame? What would be on the other side of it?” Now I wonder if the concepts in Go Gentle resonated because they align closely with what we do in life coaching sessions… More food for thought.

I’m not sure I’m capable of blaming nobody yet. But I do know that blaming myself hasn’t brought me much peace, and blaming others hasn’t given me much power. Perhaps the first step toward wisdom is recognizing this and choosing, however imperfectly, to let go of blame, even just a little bit.

Until next time,

Matt

Listening: Mia Gargaret by Gia Margaret, “Want to Optimize Your Happiness? This Happiness Expert Says: Don’t.” (Dr. Laurie Santos interview)

Watching: Obsession

Reading: In the Woods by Tana French

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matthewleebaron.com

Hitting a Wrong Note

Matthew Baron — Wed, 27 May 2026 11:36:51 GMT

Good morning,

A couple weeks ago I visited some dear friends in Cincinnati. I brought my now four-year-old son, Jarvis, and we had a lovely time exploring this historic, beautiful and child-friendly city.

While at the Cincinnati Zoo & Botanical Garden, I witnessed a father getting very upset at his young son. I’m not sure exactly why, but I saw him scold his probably three-year-old and then yank him by the arm and drag him along. I felt sad and a tinge of self-righteousness. I would never do that to my child, I thought. I even mentioned it to my friend, who has three young daughters and manages her children and household with remarkable aplomb.

Later that day, Jarvis and I embarked on our five-and-a-half-hour drive back home. On the drive to Cincinnati, we’d navigated many successful potty breaks and some false alarms, where he’d insist he had to go only to arrive at the gas station and suddenly not have to anymore. Given his over-precaution, I felt confident he’d tell me when he needed to go. Before hitting the road home, I encouraged him to use the bathroom, but he insisted he didn’t have to, and I trusted he’d let me know right away as he had on the drive out. Needless to say, he did not. Shortly after I implored him to go, he had an accident, and I found myself raising my voice and being critical of him. I told you to go potty earlier. You need to tell me before you go. Why didn’t you listen to me? It lasted only a moment, but it happened. I sounded much like the father whom I had judged only hours earlier. I suddenly felt a wave of empathy for the father and, surprisingly, for myself.

After I triaged the problem, Jarvis and I shared a moment of tenderness. I apologized to him and told him it’s not his fault, that he’s still learning, and that it was my responsibility to keep calm in the face of an accident, to not be critical or raise my voice. The last thing I want to do is put shame on my son, and in that instant, I did.

I thought about this small but poignant moment while reading an article about one of my favorite musical artists, Miles Davis. In an op-ed in the Chicago Tribune titled “On his 100th anniversary, Miles Davis provides hope for a divided America” by Steven D. Reske, the author shares a famous story about Miles that I was able to apply to this experience I had with my son.

“[The story] is recounted by his young pianist from a 1963 concert. Herbie Hancock played a chord that clashed appallingly with the conversational call and response of Davis’ signature composition ‘So What.’
Hancock was mortified. Davis paused momentarily to digest the dissonance, then countered with a melody making Hancock’s ‘wrong’ chord sound ‘right.’ Davis’ ability to reflect and respond with his pithy probing of the disagreeing chord turned chaos into something cogent. Hancock said Davis’ musical lesson even taught him about life itself. ‘The important thing is that we grow and … turn poison into medicine.’”

While the author uses this story to apply it to society’s current woes, I found it helpful in understanding my own experience. I could have carried that anger forward and then forgotten the moment entirely. There are countless interactions every day with my son, and this could have been just another one. Instead, we shared a moment of reconciliation that I believe brought us closer together.

“Davis thought it’s not the note you play but the next note that makes it ‘right’ or ‘wrong.’ This echoes an old concept in jazz: When you hit, or get hit by, a ‘wrong’ note, it’s your response that promotes either harmony or dissonance.”

As hard as I try to hit all the right notes as a dad, and as a human, i.e., not being as judgmental as I was towards that dad at the zoo, I falter. What I’m grateful for are tools that help me make sense of these seemingly mundane experiences that make up the fabric of our relationships and lives, in this case the simple willingness to admit I was wrong and apologize to my young son.

Later in the article, Reske quotes the existentialist philosopher Søren Kierkegaard. “He wrote we need ‘to be objective towards oneself and subjective towards all others.’ Good civic engagement requires us to see ourselves as harshly as we view others and to see others with the humanity we view in ourselves.”

When it comes to friends and loved ones, I think I see their humanity much more readily than I can see it in myself or in strangers. Good food for thought, these existentialist ideas :).

Have you hit a wrong note lately? Did the next one you hit create dissonance or harmony? How so?

Until next time,

Matt

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Listening: Ratboys Singin’ to an Empty Chair

Reading: You’ve Changed: The Promise and Price of Self-Transformation by Benoit Denizet-Lewis

Watching: Big Mistakes

Analysis Paralysis

Matthew Baron — Wed, 20 May 2026 11:47:31 GMT

Curious about life coaching? Schedule a 1:1 session with me here…

Good morning,

This summer, I’ve decided to embark on a trip I’ve loosely wanted to take for over a decade: the Camino de Santiago in the Basque region of Spain. As I prepare for the trip, and pray to the pickleball gods that I don’t get injured playing between now and then, I’m faced with many decisions about what to bring for my three-week journey. (The trip really takes five weeks to complete, and I’ll only be doing part of it.)

For the duration of the trip, I’ll be living out of a backpack. Not one of those massive bags I took to Europe after college, but something between that and a book bag. According to everything I’ve been reading, the packing list is an art form. The goal is to minimize weight and unnecessary items, since anything I bring will be on my back for 10 to 15 miles per day as I traverse the terrain.

As I dig deep into message boards, podcasts, and conversations with someone who’s done the trip a couple of times, I’m finding myself slipping into a bit of analysis paralysis when it comes to purchasing the items I need and locating the stuff I already own (My Keen sandals vs. my North Face trail runners; an ultralight sleeping bag vs. a silk mummy liner; which secondary pair of shoes to bring–definitely OOFOS, but which ones?).

I thought about all of these micro-decisions while reading an article called “Stop Trying So Hard to Make the Best Decision” by David Epstein.

He starts the piece by saying:

“If in making decisions you are often guided by a search for the best, you are going about decision making all wrong — and you’re also probably less happy for it.
In an age of information and choice abundance, we assume we can find the best of everything if we look long and hard enough. Psychologists call that tendency maximizing.
But searching for the best is the wrong goal. That is because searching is itself a cost, and most people forget to account for it. If you did, you would see that the optimal strategy isn’t optimizing at all.”

The abundance of choice (using my tried-and-true Costco merino wool socks or splurging on a couple pairs of Darn Tough hiking socks, bringing a novel to read or leaving it at home) can get in the way of enjoying the fact that I get to go on this wonderful adventure.

According to Herbert Simon, a pioneer of artificial intelligence and cognitive psychology, and a Nobel laureate in economics, “there’s a better way to make decisions…”

“Mr. Simon demonstrated that for most decisions, humans can’t really evaluate the options available — there are too many, our information about them is incomplete and our minds aren’t built to weigh them all — and so we rely on mental shortcuts. He coined the term ‘satisficing’ — a portmanteau of satisfy and suffice — to describe how we consider a limited set of options, then choose one that is good enough and move on to live our lives.”

The idea is simple: when facing a decision, consider a few alternatives, maybe ask for some advice, make your choice, and then move on. Don’t argue with yourself or second-guess it afterward. “‘The best is enemy of the good’ was the mantra [Simon] lived by.”

Because of our unfettered access to message boards, AI feedback, five-star rating scales, and reviews, I’ve found myself mired in minutiae and consciously needing to pull back. I want the spontaneity of the trip, and the imperfections in the packing list, to be as much a part of the experience as whatever good inevitably comes from it.

When going through life coaching training, one of my key learnings was the concept of what I want to be doing vs. how I want to be while doing it. Yes, I can be doing the things I say I want to be doing, but am I stressed out/wreaking havoc/no fun to be around while doing them? It’s been a while since I’ve gone on a solo vacation, and getting ready for the trip is part of the fun of it. Little by little, I will commit to being lighter and less perfectionistic about the planning and enjoy the fact that I get to go, and be “satisficed” with whatever happens leading up to it and while on the trail.

What in your life are you overanalyzing? What decisions are you circling? What could help you make the decision and embody being okay with it, one way or the other?

Until next time,

Matt

-

Listening: The Field “Now You Exist,” Drake “ICEMAN”

Watching: DTF St. Louis

Reading: Go Gentle by Maria Semple

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matthewleebaron.com

Chillax

Matthew Baron — Tue, 12 May 2026 11:03:52 GMT

Good morning,

Each week at my teaching job, I lead a couple of music classes for different groups of students. The kids range from 3 to 6 years old, and since I’m the ESL teacher, the groups usually include at least one of my ESL students along with their classmates.

I jokingly call them “mini concerts” because there’s a performative element to them, but they’re educational in nature. People have compared what I do to giving kids cookies with vegetables baked into them. They don’t necessarily realize they’re learning, but through the songs they absorb lessons about opposites, synonyms, tattling versus reporting, ways to be kind, colors, emotions, and more.

As the year winds down, students and teachers alike are becoming a little more restless, especially as the weather gets nicer. I’ve noticed that one of my groups has become a little more unruly over the past few weeks. Not bad, just young kids being kids. They’re still learning the basic fundamentals of how to be in school. But their behavior during our music time has become more erratic. They wander around the room when they’re not supposed to or get into small scuffles with one another.

Last week, though, something remarkable happened. First, kids were requesting their favorites in between every song. The setlist usually includes a few staples, but some of the songs they were asking for were ones we hadn’t done in quite a while. I was surprised they even remembered them.

In that spirit, I said, “We’re going to do a song we haven’t done in a very, very long time.” Before I could even introduce the title, one little girl, without raising her hand, suddenly blurted out the name of the song. The song was called “Chillax.” (It’ll be on the new Future Hits record whenever that comes out.) I was gobsmacked. I said, “Yes! That’s the song I was thinking of. We are on the same wavelength.”

It had been many months since we’d done that song, and I was shocked that she remembered it at all. She’s probably five years old. But even more than that, I couldn’t believe she somehow knew exactly which song I was thinking about before I gave any indication of what it might be. I was beaming. I looked at their teacher and said, “This is unbelievable.”

Then I looked at the girl and said, “You’re amazing. I can’t believe you guessed the song we’re going to do. I feel so happy that you remembered that song.” The whole thing happened on the same day I released last week’s newsletter, the one about how people sometimes notice our work even if we are unaware of it. It felt like a meaningful little synchronous moment, so I thought I’d continue the theme this week.

This theme reminds me of two quotes I come back to often. One is from John Cage: “We do our work and then we step back. The only path to serenity.” The other comes from the Bhagavad Gita: “You have the right to your labor, but not to the fruits of your labor.”

I was also thinking this week about something I heard on a podcast with professor and life coach Brad Stulberg. He talked about how, after either success or failure, he gives himself a certain amount of time to celebrate or ruminate, and then returns to the work. Whether it’s two minutes, two weeks, or two months. He encourages giving yourself time to process what happened, to enjoy the success or mourn the failure, and then get back to work.

Part of me considered skipping this week’s newsletter altogether. Partly because I wanted to enjoy the small personal victory of realizing the songs had resonated more deeply than I knew. Especially because, just the week before, the same group had been crawling all over the furniture, running around the room, and generally seeming unable to focus at all.

This shift completely caught me off guard, and I was genuinely moved by it.

Not just because the kids remembered the songs, but because it reminded me that impact and influence are often invisible while it’s happening. Even being up close, I rarely feel like I get to watch learning take root in real time. Most days, I just keep showing up and trust that something is landing, even when it doesn’t seem like it yet.

Until next time,
Matt

—

Listening: Andy Kershaw at the BBC playlist
Reading: All the Sinners Bleed by S.A. Cosby
Watching: Jagged (the Alanis Morissette documentary)

—
matthewleebaron.com

"To be defeated by ever greater things"

Matthew Baron — Tue, 05 May 2026 11:17:34 GMT

Good morning,

One of my favorite forms of active meditation is riding my bike while listening to psychoanalyst and author James Hollis. Whether it’s a podcast interview or an audiobook, something about being in motion while hearing him speak opens things up in me. I feel understood. Ideas spark.

Right now, I’m listening to A Life of Meaning: Exploring Our Deepest Desires and Motivations, and during a recent ride I stopped to screenshot a couple of timestamps from Chapter 17.

One of them speaks directly to something I recognize in myself. He talks about how many of us wake up each morning to a kind of low-grade fear and lethargy, and that it is our responsibility not to let those forces dictate the direction of our day, to not let them run the trajectory of our thoughts and goals.

He doesn’t frame it as “fix yourself,” but more as: move anyway. Don’t negotiate with the inertia. Later in the chapter, he paraphrases a line from Rainer Maria Rilke about surrendering to forces larger than ourselves: “to be defeated by ever greater things.” (The actual quote is: “The purpose of life is to be defeated by greater and greater things.”) Hollis presents being defeated by greater things as something positive, a sign that we are pushing ourselves in challenging and rewarding directions.

I’ve been thinking about that a lot lately. What does it mean to keep showing up in my creative and professional life without much control over the outcome? What does it mean to persevere in the face of what feel like closed doors?

Even though it’s rarely linear, when I do keep showing up, things happen. Recently, I was booked to lead a workshop this summer. It came out of nowhere. I hadn’t advertised it. Someone who reads this newsletter, someone I didn’t even know was paying attention, reached out to me.

That’s the part that’s easy to forget when I’m stuck in lethargy: The work I do compounds quietly, slowly and mysteriously.

I think about something one of my favorite thinkers, coach and author Steve Chandler, has shared as an antidote to that feeling of “is my work even landing with others?”. A client once reached out to work with him as their coach after having read his books and newsletters for years. From the outside, it looked like the client came out of nowhere. But it was a result of years of showing up to do the work he loved.

So it’s not luck so much as it is continuity and persistence. For me, one of the clearest antidotes to lethargy is simple . . . Keep going, making, and sharing the next thing. Because somewhere, someone might be paying attention. Further, something within me is being shaped in the process.

The workshop I’ll be leading is an opportunity to facilitate a few hours for about 75 school-based mental health practitioners. I’ll be teaching them how to put their oxygen mask on first, so to speak, offering tools, actions, and ideas for prioritizing their mental, physical, and spiritual well-being day in and day out while caring for a wide range of students with diverse needs.

I’m very much looking forward to this kind of life coaching event, and I’m interested in doing more of them. If you’re reading this and are affiliated with a company or organization that would like to do something similar, please let me know.

I’m also taking on new life coaching clients. If you’d like to work together, you can book a session here. Perhaps we can work together to help you become defeated by ever greater things.

Until next time,
Matt

—

Listening: William Basinski’s “El Camino Real,” Steve Jobs by Walter Isaacson (audiobook)
Reading: Transcription by Ben Lerner
Watching: The Singers

—
matthewleebaron.com

I’ve added new time slots for life coaching sessions on Mondays and Fridays at 12.

A Quick Note Beyond the Essays

Matthew Baron — Wed, 22 Apr 2026 12:04:47 GMT

Hi all,

I usually share essays here on Tuesdays, but I wanted to send out a quick note today:

These can be one-off sessions or part of a longer series if you’re looking for ongoing support.

If you’re feeling stuck, overwhelmed, or circling a decision you can’t quite move forward on, this is a focused space to slow things down, get clear, and take meaningful next steps with structure and accountability.

A lot of what I write about shows up in these sessions, turning thoughts into action and ideas into something you can actually follow through on.

Sessions are on Google Meet. $200, with a sliding scale available if needed.

You can book a time here:
https://calendly.com/baroncreativecoaching/life-coaching-session

~Matt

I Can Change

Matthew Baron — Tue, 21 Apr 2026 11:36:44 GMT

Good morning,

Much to the consternation of some folks I communicate with, my now four-year-old son still co-sleeps. Even though he has his own big-boy bed, he’s been allowed to continue his co-sleeping patterns. In anticipation of his fourth birthday, he and I used a system where we’d count down the nights leading up to his fourth birthday, and on the evening of his fourth birthday he would finally sleep in his own big-boy race car bed.

We took seven pipe cleaners and made a chain out of them and hung them on my bedroom door. Every night before bed, we would take one of the pipe cleaners off to show that we were counting down toward the big day.

When the night finally came, his room was adorned with a beautiful new bedspread and pillows. He seemed excited to sleep in his own bed. He even mentioned earlier in the day that tonight was the night he was going to sleep in his bed by himself.

As bedtime approached, we picked out some books. I gave him a special reading light that we could use. We put his pajamas on and brushed his teeth. As the moment approached, he crossed his toy-strewn bedroom and walked right up to the bed. Just as he was about to crawl in, his hands clutching the new bedspread, he said, “I want to sleep with you, Dad.”

I don’t know if it’s good parenting or not, but I told him OK, he can stay in my bed again. I don’t think it helped that on this big night for him, sirens were blaring due to a tornado warning. Whatever contributed to him wanting to stay with me, I went with it.

While in bed, just before he fell asleep, he said to me, “I would be scared in my own bed, Dad.” I said I understand, it will just take time.

I thought of my son and his readiness to sleep in his own bed, as well as my readiness to be firm about him doing so, while reading an article called “Change Doesn’t Happen the Way You Think” by Benoit Denizet-Lewis. The author writes about self-transformation and how this massive industry tries to sell self-control. He goes on to write about how real change is much messier.

The author writes:

“After decades of working to change myself, and nearly six years spent talking with changers and would-be changers, from personality reinventors and esoteric self-actualizers to name-swappers and ideological shape-shifters, I’ve come to believe that the ‘self’ in self-transformation is only half the story. Change is less about willpower than we imagine, more shaped by other people than we admit, and far more mysterious than the self-improvement industry can afford to sit with.”

Recently, I stumbled across an old journal of mine from middle school, and my entry said something along the lines of: I want to practice my guitar more, run more, and eat fewer desserts. Something that I wrote when I was 12 could easily have just been written today, over 30 years later.

Obviously, we have agency, and we need to work on things to change ourselves. However, if it were so easy, then therapists wouldn’t need therapists, coaches wouldn’t need coaches, and elite athletes wouldn’t need trainers. If we could all just muster whatever it took to enact the changes that we wanted for ourselves, or need for ourselves, we would do so whenever we desired.

The author continues:

“Should we throw up our hands and give up? I hope that’s not the lesson we take. The paradox is that effort matters, but it works best when paired with a bracing dose of humility. Ideally, we work on ourselves, cultivate better conditions, seek wiser company, and in the process discover, as Viktor Frankl did, that we change partly by loosening our fixation on ourselves. When we love other persons or serve causes other than ourselves, we actualize ourselves by way of a side effect.”

This reminds me of a notion I’ve heard when it comes to spiritual transformation, called “polish here, shine there.” We do certain things, and the results aren’t necessarily linear, but by enacting certain habits, like making your bed every day, brushing your teeth, washing the dishes in the sink before bed every night, or whatever the case may be, we begin to bring more agency and organization into our lives. When we do that, along with activities or gestures that serve others ahead of ourselves, other changes we might want for ourselves sometimes arise, almost magically, out of nowhere.

I love when the author invokes a comic strip by Mort Gerberg featuring a butterfly “who peers down at a caterpillar and, with the easy authority of someone who has only recently become a butterfly, says, ‘The thing is, you have to really want to change.’ The cartoon works because we are all that butterfly, dispensing familiar advice: you have to want it, you can’t change for other people, nothing changes if nothing changes. And we are also that anxious caterpillar, wondering if change will happen for us, quick to blame ourselves or others when it doesn’t.”

Denizet-Lewis concludes his essay by stating the obvious irony in the cartoon: the caterpillar’s transformation has nothing to do with wanting, and the caterpillar will become what it becomes in nature’s time.

I know that my son won’t forever be co-sleeping. His shift will happen over time as I enact better principles for him to follow. Just like all the other milestones he’s experiencing, this one will one day seem to happen magically out of nowhere.

I look forward to the day when he progresses into that next phase of growing up, but in the meantime, I will enjoy the reality of our current situation and let him continue to be himself, and may I continue to be mine.

Until next time,
Matt

-
Listening: This is Lorelai Box For Buddy, Box For Star (Super Deluxe)

Reading: Razorblade Tears by S.A. Cosby

Watching: Beef
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https://mailchi.mp/72394949b1f5/newsletterinsteadofinstagramtrial

Me and My Friends (Their Substacks, that is), Pt. 2 of 2

Matthew Baron — Tue, 07 Apr 2026 11:27:12 GMT

Good morning,

Thanks for your kind responses to my sharing my friends’ Substacks. In addition to the Chili Peppers documentary, I felt motivated to reach out to friends after reading an essay by Roger Rosenblatt, titled “The Bigness of Small Talk.” In his essay, Rosenblatt writes:

“I try to let at least five people a day know that I’m thinking of them and wishing them well. Sometimes it’s in person; often I send a little email. I don’t say much more than that to my five. Thinking of you. Hope you’re thriving. That sort of thing.
Small talk, I know. Yet small talk powers human activity and human feelings much of the time.
The key to good small talk is to believe, if only for a moment, that it is just as urgent and consequential as any philosophical conundrum or national event. At the core of this belief lie kindness and tenderness. People with whom you make small talk are made aware that for at least one moment in their lives, they have a safe home with you, a place where they are welcome just as they are. They do not need to earn your attention. They receive it simply by existing.”

I’m fortunate that I work in an environment where there’s kind small talk occurring all the time. My job plus pickleball, the Pilates studio, and my regular trips to Metric Coffee yield ample opportunity to connect in the ways Rosenblatt describes. But the reaching out to five people a day just to say hi, that’s a tall order. I did it, though, in regard to prepping these last two newsletters, and it was a lot of fun. Here are five more friends and their Substacks:

***
Drew Davis Art & Writing

by Drew Davis

What it is (from the author):
My Substack is a collection of stories of my youth from the 60s and 70s as a prodigal son. With art that’s been infused with my mother’s creative quilting influence. Hindsights and insights, I found in caring for her during her death and in the years subsequently.

Currently enjoying: I just recently finished My Friends by Fredrik Backman. Lots of really good deep psychology about being creative, what it means, and how it changes people.

***
Proof of Life

by Jen Pastiloff

What it is:
A Substack exploring writing, creativity, grief, and being fully alive, often through personal essays and prompts.

***
In Praise Of…

by Christie Tate

What it is (from the author):
I’m not as prolific as Heather Cox Richardson, or as smart, but I’ll praise people, places, processes, and institutions as a means to stave off debilitating depression. Join me!

Currently enjoying: I just read an excellent book about male friendship called Who Needs Friends by Andrew McCarthy. And I’m doing a deep dive on the work of Dr. Anna Lembke, author of Dopamine Nation. Listening to her on podcasts explaining why we are all trying so hard to escape reality. And watching The Rooster on Netflix with Steve Carell because I love anything involving father-daughter dynamics and a campus. Podcast obsession: Good Hang with Amy Poehler — so much joyful wisdom.

***
The Last Layer

by Colin King

What it is (from the author):
The Last Layer is where I get to share the things I don’t post on Instagram. The process. The doubt. The thoughts I usually keep to myself until a friend asks what I really think about millwork or lamp cords or the color greige. It’s where I talk about styling as a practice not just of placement, but of presence.

This Substack is named after the part of design I care about most: the final 10 percent. The instinct. The pause. The slightly off center object that changes the mood of the room. And maybe your day.

***
Veronica Bruce Woodward

by Veronica Bruce Woodward (monthly Mailchimp newsletter)

About the artist:
Veronica Bruce Woodward is an interdisciplinary artist based in Chicagoland. She received her BFA in Art Education in 2004 from the University of Illinois Champaign-Urbana and her MFA in Painting from the University of the Arts in Philadelphia in 2011.

Her art has been exhibited nationally and internationally and is held in numerous private collections throughout the country. She has been awarded artist residencies at Threewalls in Chicago, Bundanon Trust in New South Wales, Australia, and Nida Art Colony in Lithuania. Veronica has spent years teaching at institutions such as the School of the Art Institute of Chicago and the University of Chicago Laboratory Schools, while also taking time to focus on her art practice and projects. She has over nine years of teaching experience between 2005 and 2018.

Veronica moved to San Diego in the summer of 2019, where she had two solo exhibitions. She returned to Chicagoland in the summer of 2022 with her family and has worked as a freelance art consultant and production artist on commercial projects from 2022 to 2025.

***
Thanks for your continued readership…

~Matt

-

Reading: The Ten Year Affair by Erin Somers, None of This is True by Lisa Jewell

Watching: The Drama

Listening: Who Needs Friends by Andrew McCarthy (audiobook)

-
matthewleebaron.com

Me and My Friends (Their Substacks, that is), Pt. 1 of 2

Matthew Baron — Tue, 31 Mar 2026 11:32:29 GMT

Good morning,

I recently watched the phenomenal new documentary about the early days of the Red Hot Chili Peppers on Netflix, titled The Rise of the Red Hot Chili Peppers: Our Brother, Hillel. I’d read Flea’s wonderful memoir, Acid for the Children, a few years back, and I still learned a ton about the band in this succinct and impactful portrayal of the band’s inception, particularly its deceased founding guitarist, Hillel Slovak. The movie is really about the friendship and bond between Anthony Kiedis, Flea, and Hillel, and it shows how they navigated the early days of playing to nobody and then to huge crowds. Sadly, drugs were a major part of their bond, and an overdose ended up taking Hillel’s life at 26 years old.

At one point, the band jams out on their funk-heavy song “Me and My Friends.” I got to thinking about a couple more of their songs about friendship, particularly “Road Trippin’” and the classic off of One Hot Minute, simply titled “My Friends.” I like how friendship is such an integral part of their story, and I was thinking how much my own friends are a part of mine.

For this week and next, I’ve decided to feature 11 of my friends’ Substack pages. This week features six, and next week will feature five more. Give each of these a quick gander if you can, and perhaps you might even want to subscribe.

***
The Inside Edge

by Matt Baron (Oak Park)

What it is (from the author):
Since 1984, Matt Baron has been a news reporter, columnist, PR pro, and journalism coach on topics ranging from reporting crisis stories to math literacy. With The Inside Edge, he has covered subjects across life’s spectrum since March 2023, including:

A 25-year flashback to his cameo in the movie “Return to Me”
His adventures as a substitute school teacher
His older brother, Phil, who has battled drug addiction, homelessness, and for years was a panhandler
Reflections on his reconnection with his namesake, Matt Baron

The columns are published every Saturday.

Recent / Recommended:

A Fever in the Heartland: The Ku Klux Klan’s Plot to Take Over America, and the Woman Who Stopped Them by Timothy Egan

*
This Wasn’t on the Lesson Plan**

by Starina Catchatoorian

What it is (from the author):
Notes from a substitute teacher. Each day, the seemingly mundane brings pearls of wisdom and endless stories.

*
Spectrum Sounds**

by Josh Friedberg

What it is (from the author):
Spectrum Sounds is a blog for newsletters, personal essays, listicles, and more about autism, music, and other passions of TEDx speaker Josh Friedberg. In 2025, the National Federation of Press Women named it the First Place personal website among many entries in their national communications contest.

Recent / Recommended:

The Heart of Rock and Soul: The 1001 Greatest Singles Ever Made by Dave Marsh
Songs featured in this article: https://www.popmatters.com/10-anxious-love-songs
Spectrum Sounds
Autism, music, writing, and life with Josh Friedberg.
By Josh Friedberg

***
Infinite Particles of the Divine Sun

by Scott Hess

What it is (from the author):
My Substack, Infinite Particles of the Divine Sun, takes its name from a line in my favorite poem, John Wieners’ “The Acts of Youth.” It’s where I write about things I love, things that bug me, and things I’m still trying to figure out. I’m told it’s a self-help Substack, although sometimes I think I’m mostly helping myself.

Recent / Recommended:

The Nick, Dick, and Paul Show podcast featuring Dick Costolo, Nick Bilton, and Paul Kedrosky

*
Don’t Forget to Write**

by Amanda Nyren

What it is (from the author):
A newsletter about creativity, the writing process, and how to pursue these things when you also work a day job, have family responsibilities, and/or are simply trying to exist in this crazy mixed-up world.

Recent / Recommended:

Big Kiss, Bye-Bye by Claire-Louise Bennett
“Whatever is weird about you and weird about your way of seeing things and doing things is probably the thing you should be doing. But you have to do it more. Because if you do it more, it becomes something.” (via Louisiana Channel)

*
Climate House**

by Whitney Richardson

What it is (from the author):
Climate House is a think tank with a forthcoming Los Angeles climate museum staging creative interventions toward better worlds through integrated arts, cultural, and policy works. These letters are indexed field notes tracing the research behind emerging initiatives. Like other Climate House initiatives, they frame the systems that govern our lives alongside the ways people have organized to confront and redirect them.

Recent / Recommended:

A recent letter built around Peace Resonance: Hiroshima/Wendover

Do any of your friends have Substacks? Send me a link, I’m curious to check it out!

Until next time,

Matt

-

Reading: Half His Age by Jennette McCurdy

Watching: Nobody 2

Listening: “You Are Every Girl to Me” by MJ Lenderman

Mattering

Matthew Baron — Tue, 17 Mar 2026 17:44:34 GMT

I’m leading a pickleball workshop for couples who play together on 3/28, from 3-5 p.m. at Pickledilly in Skokie. There were six slots, but only one remains (one couple per slot)! Register or share with a pickleball couple who might be interested: https://app.courtreserve.com/Online/Events/Details/13337/2CEFI861333792

Good afternoon,

Over the past year I’ve worn an Oura ring. I like how it tracks my sleep score and readiness, as well as how it tracks my stress and restorative levels throughout the day. This gamification motivates me to get to bed earlier and create time throughout the day to rest and recharge. I also like to see how my body reacts to certain situations, for example how my stress and restorative levels look while at work, out with friends and family, or watching a movie in the theater, which is my favorite solo activity. Surprisingly my stress is often high during this time, even though it’s an inherently relaxing experience for me. Maybe the movies themselves are quite stressful: Bugonia, One Battle After Another, Marty Supreme, Weapons.

The other day I co-led a pickleball training at a new facility out in North Aurora. There were five participants, all working toward getting their Level I IPTPA certification (IPTPA is the teaching organization I’m certified by. There are others, but its founder calls it “the gold standard” because it was first.) I checked my stress levels and saw that during the entire four-hour training session, I was in a restored or relaxed zone. This surprised me because it was the first time I had ever done something like this (I’m getting certified to lead these trainings), and although I wasn’t necessarily nervous, I was definitely hyper-focused and making sure I stayed on my toes and helped facilitate the training. It’s one data point. Anecdotal, but useful. I’ll take it as good information, an affirmation that I feel good teaching pickleball, especially multi-hour group sessions where I can create a deeper impact on those participating.

While reading a review about two new books, I thought that perhaps part of the reason I felt so relaxed was that, in this environment, I mattered (once certified, I’ll be the only trainer in this capacity in Illinois besides the IPTPA founder). This work matters not only to me, but also to my teaching community and future coaching candidates.

The book reviewer, Jennifer Szalai, kicks off her piece with:

“What do you call it when people living in the wealthiest, most powerful country on the planet report feeling worn down, burned out and on edge?
Any number of explanations have been offered for this predicament, including political breakdown, economic inequality and an ‘epidemic of loneliness.’ But two new books suggest that underlying these troubles is a ‘crisis of mattering.’
According to ‘Mattering,’ by the journalist Jennifer Breheny Wallace, and ‘The Mattering Instinct,’ by the philosopher Rebecca Newberger Goldstein, feeling valued — which is to say, deserving of attention — is a core need that has grave consequences when it isn’t met.

What I like most is how Szalai articulates that “even if the mattering instinct is something we all share, our mattering projects differ.” She notes that Newberger Goldstein’s book talks about four ways we matter:

“Socializers” want to matter to others
“Competitors” want to matter more than others
“Transcenders” want to matter to God (or the universe)
“Heroic Strivers” want to do something (whether artistic, athletic or intellectual) that matters to them

If I were to rank these for myself, I’d say I’m a Heroic Striver first, then Socializer, then Transcender, then Competitor. I’m surprised by how I rank these. For years, I would have said that Competitor would have been my first instinct of mattering. Yes, I still feel competitive on the pickleball court or wish my creative projects had as much success as some of my contemporaries. But my instinct for creating this work, including leading an upcoming pickleball workshop for couples or writing this week’s Substack, is something I do because it matters to me, and part of that mattering is knowing my work impacts at least one other person.

How about you? Is mattering a core need for you? If so, how would you rank the four kinds of mattering?

Until next time,

Matt

Watching: Not much

Reading: Unspeakable Things: Silence, Shame, and the Stories We Choose to Believe by Brooke Nevils

Listening: Earl Sweatshirt Live Laugh Love

I Made an Audiobook...

Matthew Baron — Tue, 03 Mar 2026 15:58:36 GMT

Good morning,

Over a few days, with my handy-dandy podcast mic, I made an audiobook version of my pickleball essay collection, allgoodnoworries.

It’ll be in more places eventually, but for now you can find it on Audible: https://a.co/d/09GEH9r3

If you’d like a free download, respond to this message and I’ll send you a unique promo code.

I had a good time flexing my novice GarageBand skills (mostly to scrub vocal clicks and sibilance). I also included a snippet of a recent Young Man in a Hurry song as an interstitial between chapters.

Fun to forge ahead… Thank you for your continued readership and support.

~Matt

Listening: Friendship

Watching: Mel Brooks: The 99 Year Old Man!

Reading: Strangers by Belle Burden

Daily Tao # 9

Matthew Baron — Tue, 24 Feb 2026 12:57:56 GMT

Good morning,

Lately I’ve been prioritizing meditation every day. I do it for many reasons: to relax, to calm down, to rest, to regulate my nervous system (my prediction for 2026 is that “nervous system” will be the top buzzword in the therapeutic jargon category; last year, I believe, it was “narcissist”). It’s one of those habits I know are good for me in the long run, but that I’ve struggled to prioritize consistently. What got me back to daily meditation a few months ago was a simple conversation with a friend who said he was prioritizing meditation each day. He inspired me to give the practice a try again.

Part of the appeal of meditation is that I read the now-defunct Daily Tao app just before closing my eyes for 20 minutes. The app contains translations of the Tao by Stephen Mitchell, which can be viewed on this website. Sadly, the app no longer seems available for download, but it rotates through one of the 81 entries each day. Sometimes the entries are verbose or esoteric; other times they’re clear and piercing, like entry #9 was for me the other day:

Fill your bowl to the brim
and it will spill.
Keep sharpening your knife
and it will blunt.
Chase after money and security
and your heart will never unclench.
Care about people’s approval
and you will be their prisoner.

Do your work, then step back.
The only path to serenity.

What struck me most is the specificity of the claim that doing one’s work, then stepping back, is the only path to serenity. Really, the only way? A simple definition of serenity is: “the state of being calm, peaceful, and untroubled.” I sometimes qualify this definition as: being calm and untroubled in a situation that inherently isn’t. For me, serenity looks like calm in the face of challenge or trouble. Recently I heard on a podcast that the winner in the game of life is the one who is least bothered. I like that as a barometer for my own spiritual well-being or serenity. If I’m in an objectively bothersome situation, can I be the least bothered? Can I not complain? Can I not let the situation be an excuse for my behavior?

The other day I helped a friend migrate over to Substack. I had a lot of fun doing it. It was nice to see how adept I’ve become at using this platform over the years, and it felt good to watch my friend’s excitement build as we dove deeper into the various tools and options available. Working with my friend on his Substack reminded me how fun this tool is for sharing thoughts, ideas and projects. It took some of the seriousness out of it for me, like I have to have the perfect topic each week to be worthy of writing.

Sometimes I resist writing because I measure my Substack by the likes and comments (“Care about people’s approval and you will be their prisoner”) instead of putting it out there as self-expression and trusting that I’m forging ahead with my creative work, one week at a time (“Do your work, then step back”). By helping my friend and encouraging him to share his Substack, even if it’s not yet “perfect,” I was reminded why I do this each week: to express myself creatively and, hopefully, reach even one other person and brighten their day or shift their perception just a little.

Until next time,

Matt

Reading: Buckeye by Patrick Ryan

Watching: Curb Your Enthusiasm

Listening: A Life of Meaning (audiobook) by James Hollis, Ebo Taylor, Spiral Staircases by Larry June, Curren$y, The Alchemist

Done List

Matthew Baron — Tue, 17 Feb 2026 12:39:27 GMT

Good morning,

Recently while out to dinner, someone asked me what I’ve been up to lately with my creative work. I sort of stammered and couldn’t think of much to report. I thought about all the music my band released in 2025, the book I self-published in the fall, and the fact that I returned to the classroom as a public school teacher. I said I was keeping up with my newsletter, but I couldn’t think of much else that was relevant. Someone else at the table reminded me: “You just finished recording an audiobook version of your pickleball essays book.” Oh yeah. I did that. “Your band recently played an in-store at Rattleback Records.” Okay, that, too. “You’ve begun making progress on the artwork for new Future Hits music.” Yes, I have. So I have been doing things to keep my creative projects afloat; I just overlooked them.

I think part of the problem was that my thoughts are usually less centered on what I’ve accomplished and more on what I want to accomplish but am either avoiding or striking out on (a short podcast series about male friendship; signing up for a writing class; an opening slot for my band at a better venue; feedback from collaborators on demos I made a year ago).

While thinking about this, I was reminded of a tool I tried out for a while but had ceased using: Oliver Burkeman’s “Done List.” (I wrote a bit about Burkeman’s Done List almost three years ago, and feel this may be a retread, but I’m finding that this tool is so helpful that it’s worth exploring again).

Burkeman writes:

“Few things feel more basic to my experience of adulthood than this vague sense that I’m falling behind, and need to claw my way back up to some minimum standard of output. It’s as if I need to justify my existence, by staying “on top of things”, in order to stave off some ill-defined catastrophe that might otherwise come crashing down upon my head.
This is why I’m such an enthusiastic proponent of keeping a “done list”, which starts empty, first thing in the morning, and which you then gradually fill with whatever you accomplish through the day. Each entry is a cheering reminder that you could, after all, have spent the day doing nothing constructive – yet look what you did instead! (If you’re in a serious psychological rut, just lower the bar for what gets to count as an accomplishment: nobody else need ever know that you added “brushed teeth” or “made coffee” to the list.)
But a done list isn’t merely a way to feel better about yourself. If you can give up the impossible quest to pay off your productivity debt, and instead start thinking of each day as an opportunity to move a small-but-meaningful set of items over to your done list, you’ll find yourself making better choices about what to focus on. And you’ll make more progress on them, too, because you’ll waste less time and energy being distracted by stress about all the other stuff you’re (unavoidably) neglecting.”

The reason I think Burkeman has struck such a chord with the mainstream is his humility and humanity. His writing brims with compassion and charm. He implores his readers to face the fact that we will never get everything done that we want to do, and that it’s okay. He wants us to celebrate what we can do, and he gives us permission to celebrate our accomplishments, whether it’s making a book proposal or making a cup of coffee.

If you’re a list maker, this week I encourage you to write a Done List for one day. See what it feels like. Maybe cap it at ten items so it doesn’t feel overwhelming (remember, brushing your teeth, making your bed, eating lunch, etc. count!) Or look back at 2025 and write a Done List of larger accomplishments. Make it tangible so you can celebrate yourself and your efforts, no matter how big or small.

Until next time,

Matt

P.S. I am taking on new life coaching clients on Monday afternoons. If you or anyone you know is interested in a session, please drop me a line!

Listening: Tim Hecker, George Saunders on The Ezra Klein Show

Watching: Industry

Reading: Drop Shot by Harlan Coben

If I had resolutions...

Matthew Baron — Tue, 10 Feb 2026 12:45:03 GMT

Good morning,

It’s a month into the new year and I think my resolutions for this year have come into focus. It came in a greeting card my mom sent the other week to say hello. In the letter, she included a chakra card that she thought I might like. This simple card landed for me; I see myself either embodying or striving to live out the four points it listed.

5th Chakra:
Throat Chakra
Expressing My Feelings

I allow my emotions to be fully experienced. I acknowledge feelings of grief, anger or fear and I make a conscious effort to express my emotions or resolve them within myself so that I can move forward freely.
- I’ve made it a point to meditate daily as well as carve out time just to sit and be for a few minutes at a time. I also notice throughout the day if/when I take a conscious breath, i.e., I might be driving and suddenly think to myself, as I breathe in deeply, ‘This is a conscious breath.’ I am aware of my breathing. This enables me to feel more consciously and express/resolve emotions within myself.

I let the unconditional love experienced in my heart be expressed through my voice and my creativity.
- Continuing with this newsletter: last week I woke up early to write and send it before heading to work. I wanted to skip it last week but decided to write it anyway. Surprisingly, last week’s letter drew more likes, comments, and direct emails than I’d received in a while. It was a good reminder to show up and do the work because I never know what will resonate with those of you who read this (I thought my Brian Eno essay was one of my better ones, but it got hardly any traction; last week’s I thought was fine if not a little slapdash, but folks seemed to like it a lot). I’ve also taken action on two other creative projects: album artwork and liner notes for two new Future Hits albums and the audiobook version of my pickleball essay collection, allgoodnoworries.

I let those close to me know how much I love and care for them.
- I believe I do. Handwritten cards are still a significant way I communicate, and I sent out physical copies of Jarvis’s class picture this year to aunts and uncles and felt really happy to express my care for the many relatives who support and love my young son, as well as me. I’ve also felt compelled lately to drop texts or calls to friends I haven’t connected with in a bit, and I always feel happy receiving these kinds of gestures.

I forgive all those who have done me wrong in the past as well as forgiving myself, as I could not have responded in a more evolved way than I was able to at the time.
- I’ve had to work hard to forgive the handful of people who derailed my life a few years ago and believe I’ve been able to fully do so, thanks to the loving support of many people in my life. The latter task, to forgive myself in light of not being able to “respond in a more evolved way than I was able to at the time,” is much more challenging for me. I was a part of a healing group last year and the feedback I routinely got from my peers was: You’re very hard on yourself! Be gentler on yourself! Be kinder to yourself! This is something I will continue to work on this year, and what that looks like is being at peace with how my life is shaping up and surrendering to the process, living one day, one next right action at a time.

As always, I welcome your comments either on my Substack page or to me directly. I’m curious what your resolutions might be and how they’re shaping up so far, and also if this chakra card speaks to you, I’d like to know how!

Thanks for reading.

Until next time,

Matt

-

Reading: Intermezzo by Sally Rooney

Watching: Secret Mall Apartment

Listening: The Alchemist’s discography, Talk Talk’s East of Eden