The Saturday Letter: Baby hats and a brutal stretch.
#008: "Good is the minimum. It's the baseline. You have to be so much more than good. And even if you're great and lucky, you still have to work really fucking hard, and even that is not enough."
Oh my goodness, hi, welcome! There are so many new faces in my little corner of the internet, thanks to those of you who follow ’s new newsletter. I am so incredibly happy to have you here. I usually write about culture and entertainment, but once a month, I send a personal update in this letter. So here we are!
Last newsletter, some of you had such kind things to say in response:
“Mia, love your work! Never ceases to brighten my day. Thank you for sharing a bit of your sunshine with the world.” -Dana
“You’re so right - all of us have a little one inside that just wants to be seen. Some child-like wonder was sparked for me during a recent visit to the zoo. There was something so fun about collectively reacting to a panda’s ungraceful attempt to climb a tree; myself and a group of onlookers gasped when we thought he might fall, then sighed in relief as he safely made his way back down! -Carolyn
“I LOVE ‘Romantic Comedy’ and Curtis in general! ‘Eligible’ is my favorite :) I've never lol'd so hard. Also, so cool that you volunteer!!! I have been wanting to do that but seem to always be stuck finding something to do. -Marissa
With that being said, this month’s letter is a bit personal. I’m keeping this one behind the paywall, especially for those of you who support my “work outside of work” financially. For the über curious, feel free to do a trial or upgrade to $5/month or $30/year if you really want the skinny. But to anyone and all of you who are here reading, I appreciate you so, so much, and I’ll be back with more for you later this month. I have a nice little “In Deep” treat up my sleeve for a while and can’t wait to share. Soon. See you at the bottom, or see you next week. Cheers.
Hello from a long wooden table in Hill Country, Texas. I’m sitting in my parents’ kitchen, the place I call home because it’s where they are. A baby’s bucket hat, pastel yellow plates, and a duster surround me. We’re preparing for my nephew’s first birthday; his first rodeo, as the cow-print banners tell us. I’m writing to you from amidst the beautiful mess.
This past month and a half since we talked last has been brutal for all sorts of personal reasons (which, because they are so personal, I’m putting behind the paywall).