Author: hughlh

Empathy, Kindness, Respect | repost

The current chaos, how to read more, and praying for rain

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“Each one of us matters, has a role to play, and makes a difference. Each one of us must take responsibility for our own lives, and above all, show respect and love for living things around us, especially each other.” ― Jane Goodall
3c9107b4-e1b2-11ef-bece-69528970c09c%2Fmedia-manager%2F1759762791814-pxl_20251005_152353504.mp.jpg
I love tithonia sunflowers (So do the pollinators).
Hey y’all!

Last night, as we drove home from our favorite Chinese restaurant, it began to drizzle, and as the baked on dust on our windshield began to smear under the ministrations of the windshield wiper before washing away , I felt something very much approaching glee.

During 2020, I had a hard time writing, because I wanted to write about what I was feeling, and the problem was, everyone else was feeling it too. Nobody needed yet another tale of the impending doom someone experienced while fighting an elderly person in the aisle at Target for the last package of toilet paper.

I have also had a hard time writing this year. Because while this year has been a very hard year for me, I know it’s been hard for lots of y’all, too. Like many of you – I lost work this year because of the current presidential administration. Like many of you, I can’t watch the news because the constant onslaught of the latest horror is a bit too much. Like many of you, choosing sides has cost me friends and family members. And I have had a hard time writing about any of that.

So let me sum it all up by saying this has been a bad year for both my mental and fiscal health. My publishing schedule has reflected this. As a rule of thumb, if I am not on the road or on vacation, and I don’t get a newsletter out that week, I’m not in a good place, because I love this project, and writing for and to you folks.

This is also reflected in my yard, which is a raucous chaotic cottage garden, filled with folk art and wildflowers and, right now, weeds and overgrowth and deferred maintenance. It always gets a little wild in August and September because those are the miserable months here, when one hides inside with a tall cold drink and fondly gazes at the garden through a window, if at all. But this year it was a little wild in April.

And September is our driest month, and so it rained only once – and not long – in the last 45 days or so. We average an inch or so of rain a week throughout the year, so when we get none for a month, it shows. The grass is brown. Leaves are dropping from plants. Instead of lush and verdant, everything in my yard feels… crispy. Everything feels crispy, if I’m honest. Like the whole nation needs watering and a good trim.

So last night, after a good dinner at one of our favorite places, when on the ride home it began to, at first, drizzle and then to rain, it felt amazing. When we got home, we sat in our new screen house (which still needs to be painted!) and watched the slow rain drip off the edge of the tin roof.

When I woke up this morning, it was still raining. Slowly, carefully. The sort of rain you would walk to your car in without running, the kind that soaks deep into the earth rather than washing down the hill, that drops the temperature.

The sort of rain that gives you hope.

Five Beautiful Things

What Happened when the World Stopped was a poem written in 2020, when the world had, well, stopped, about nature and our ability to impact it. It was then turned into a short animated video, with the poem narrated by Jane Goodall, and if you don’t click on any other link today, I hope you will click on this one.

There are buzzwords I detest. “Content” is one. I don’t make content – I write. Making a “living”. I don’t make a living, I make income. Living is what I do with it. “Maker” is another. But in the way folks talk about their hobbies these days, I’m a maker, and I follow lots of them on YouTube and elsewhere. One of my favorites is Adam Savage, of Mythbusters fame. In this 12 minute video in which he is answering viewers questions, he has this beautiful riff on “Empathy, Kindness and Respect” as a model for dealing with, ahem, uncertain times.

The World Is Too Much With Us
By William Wordsworth

The world is too much with us; late and soon,
Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers;—
Little we see in Nature that is ours;
We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon!
This Sea that bares her bosom to the moon;
The winds that will be howling at all hours,
And are up-gathered now like sleeping flowers;
For this, for everything, we are out of tune;
It moves us not. Great God! I’d rather be
A Pagan suckled in a creed outworn;
So might I, standing on this pleasant lea,
Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn;
Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea;
Or hear old Triton blow his wreathèd horn.

One of the worlds of esoterica I live in is the writing/publishing world, and so I follow the excellent Anne Trubeck. I loved this piece about how to read more books (as opposed to, say, doomscrolling).

In light of the opening essay, this seemed pertinent:
Gardener’s Prayer
Karel Čapek

O Lord, grant that in some way it may rain every day,
Say from about midnight until three o’clock in the morning,
But, You see, it must be gentle and warm so that it can soak in;
Grant that at the same time it would not rain on sedums, and others which You in Your infinite wisdom know are drought-loving plants…
And grant that the sun may shine the whole day long,
But not everywhere (not, for instance, on the fern and hosta)
and not too much;
That there may be plenty of dew and little wind,
enough worms, no aphids and snails, or mildew,
and that once a week thin liquid manure may fall from heaven.
Amen.

The most clicked link in the last issue was the website that answers your questions with clips from the Simpsons.
LISB relies on word of mouth.

If you like LISB, most likely your friends will too. Please help me reach more readers by sharing the link to this issue with others.
Member’s Only

Doing this work costs, in terms of both money and time, and rather than publish ads or use affiliate links, a small team of members makes it free for everyone by paying something each month (generally between $5 and $25) to make sure I have the resources to keep publishing.

They also get a lot of input into how I think about my work, and I regularly send them something I haven’t written elsewhere as a thank you. For example, this Friday I asked their input on a business decision I’m making with this newsletter and then Saturday they got the first draft of a section in a long essay about love and kittens.

I know there are so many people doing good work in the world, and we all can’t support all of them, but if this newsletter is valuable to you, I hope you will consider becoming a member.
Become a Member
Thank You!

If you are still reading this far, Thank You! Ideas for links this week came from Austin Kleon, The Kid Should See This, and Felder Rushing.

If you liked this, share it with a friend. The only way this newsletter has grown over the past 11 years has been because someone like you has shared it with someone you care about. If somebody shared it with you, you can get your own subscription here.

Take care, and I’ll see you next week.

HH
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PO Box 68411, Jackson, MS 39286, USA

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Empathy, Kindness, Respect

“Each one of us matters, has a role to play, and makes a difference. Each one of us must take responsibility for our own lives, and above all, show respect and love for living things around us, especially each other.”  ― Jane Goodall  

I love tithonia sunflowers (So do the pollinators).

Hey y’all.

Last night, as we drove home from our favorite Chinese restaurant, it began to drizzle, and as the baked on dust on our windshield began to smear under the ministrations of the windshield wiper before washing away , I felt something very much approaching glee. 

During 2020, I had a hard time writing, because I wanted to write about what I was feeling, and the problem was, everyone else was feeling it too. Nobody needed yet another tale of the impending doom someone experienced while fighting an elderly person in the aisle at Target for the last package of toilet paper. 

I have also had a hard time writing this year. Because while this year has been a very hard year for me, I know it’s been hard for lots of y’all, too. Like many of you – I lost work this year because of the current presidential administration. Like many of you, I can’t watch the news because the constant onslaught of the latest horror is a bit too much. Like many of you, choosing sides has cost me friends and family members. And I have had a hard time writing about any of that. 

So let me sum it all up by saying this has been a bad year for both my mental and fiscal health. My publishing schedule has reflected this. As a rule of thumb, if I am not on the road or on vacation, and I don’t get a newsletter out that week, I’m not in a good place, because I love this project, and writing for and to you folks. 

This is also reflected in my yard, which is a raucous chaotic cottage garden, filled with folk art and wildflowers and, right now, weeds and overgrowth and deferred maintenance. It always gets a little wild in August and September because those are the miserable months here, when one hides inside with a tall cold drink and fondly gazes at the garden through a window, if at all. But this year it was a little wild in April. 

And September is our driest month, and so it rained only once – and not long – in the last 45 days or so. We average an inch or so of rain a week throughout the year, so when we get none for a month, it shows. The grass is brown. Leaves are dropping from plants. Instead of lush and verdant, everything in my yard feels… crispy. Everything feels crispy, if I’m honest. Like the whole nation needs watering and a good trim. 

So last night, after a good dinner at one of our favorite places, when on the ride home it began to, at first, drizzle and then to rain, it felt amazing. When we got home, we sat in our new screen house (which still needs to be painted!) and watched the slow rain drip off the edge of the tin roof.

When I woke up this morning, it was still raining. Slowly, carefully. The sort of rain you would walk to your car in without running, the kind that soaks deep into the earth rather than washing down the hill,  that drops the temperature. 

The sort of rain that gives you hope. 

Five Beautiful Things

What Happened when the World Stopped was a poem written in 2020, when the world had, well, stopped, about nature and our ability to impact it. It was then turned into a short animated video, with the poem narrated by Jane Goodall, and if you don’t click on any other link today, I hope you will click on this one. 

There are buzzwords I detest. “Content” is one. I don’t make content – I write. Making a “living”. I don’t make a living, I make income. Living is what I do with it. “Maker” is another. But in the way folks talk about their hobbies these days, I’m a maker, and I follow lots of them on YouTube and elsewhere. One of my favorites is Adam Savage, of Mythbusters fame. In this 12 minute video in which he is answering viewers questions, he has this beautiful riff on “Empathy, Kindness and Respect” as a model for dealing with, ahem, uncertain times. 

The World Is Too Much With Us 

By William Wordsworth

The world is too much with us; late and soon,

Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers;—

Little we see in Nature that is ours;

We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon!

This Sea that bares her bosom to the moon;

The winds that will be howling at all hours,

And are up-gathered now like sleeping flowers;

For this, for everything, we are out of tune;

It moves us not. Great God! I’d rather be

A Pagan suckled in a creed outworn;

So might I, standing on this pleasant lea,

Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn;

Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea;

Or hear old Triton blow his wreathèd horn.

One of the worlds of esoterica I live in is the writing/publishing world, and so I follow the excellent Anne Trubeck. I loved this piece about how to read more books (as opposed to, say, doomscrolling).


In light of the opening essay, this seemed pertinent:

Gardener’s Prayer

Karel Čapek

O Lord, grant that in some way it may rain every day,

Say from about midnight until three o’clock in the morning,

But, You see, it must be gentle and warm so that it can soak in;

Grant that at the same time it would not rain on sedums, and others which You in Your infinite wisdom know are drought-loving plants…

And grant that the sun may shine the whole day long,

But not everywhere (not, for instance, on the fern and hosta)

and not too much;

That there may be plenty of dew and little wind,

enough worms, no aphids and snails, or mildew,

and that once a week thin liquid manure may fall from heaven.

Amen.


The most clicked link in the last issue was the website that answers your questions with clips from the Simpsons. 

Members Only

Doing this work costs, in terms of both money and time, and rather than publish ads or use affiliate links, a small team of members makes it free for everyone by paying something each month (generally between $5 and $25) to make sure I have the resources to keep publishing.

They also get a lot of input into how I think about my work, and I regularly send them something I haven’t written elsewhere as a thank you. For example, this Friday I asked their input on a business decision I’m making with this newsletter and then Saturday they got the first draft of a section in a long essay about love and kittens. 

I know there are so many people doing good work in the world, and we all can’t support all of them, but if this newsletter is valuable to you, I hope you will consider becoming a member. 

Thank You!

If you are still reading this far, Thank You! Ideas for links this week came from Austin Kleon, The Kid Should See This, and Felder Rushing.  

If you liked this, share it with a friend. The only way this newsletter has grown over the past 11 years has been because someone like you has shared it with someone you care about. If somebody shared it with you, you can get your own subscription here. 

Take care, and I’ll see you next week. 

HH

An open future

“The most beautiful things in the world cannot be seen or even touched, they must be felt with the heart” – Helen Keller


 
A mural I saw while at the beach.
Good morning!

I am Hugh Hollowell, and this is Life is So Beautiful, a newsletter about finding the beautiful when it’s hard to – and maybe especially when it’s hard to.Back in the day – you know, before the global pandemic and subsequent meltdown of civilization – one of my favorite things to do was to go to the beach. I never saw the ocean until I was 18, but have been making up for lost time since then. Normally, we make sure to spend as much time at the nearest beach (about a 3 hour drive) as we can each spring and fall.

But then Covid 19 happened, and all our spring plans fell through, and then the next thing you know you haven’t been away from your house for more than an hour at a time for months on end. So… last week, while on vacation, we went to Ocean Springs, a cute little beach town outside of Biloxi.

The thing about beaches is that you have to judge them on their own merits. To compare the shallow, relatively placid waters of the Mississippi Gulf Coast to the Outer Banks of North Carolina will only fill you with frustration, but if you judge them on their own merits, they are lovely. Ocean Springs has cute shops, a beach district that is walkable from the shopping district, and the shallow waters are great if you happen to have a child who has never seen the ocean before and is getting used to the sensation of salty waves splashing over him.

We were pretty apprehensive to travel during the pandemic, but we took lots of precautions. Masks all the time when we were around people at all, going during the middle of the week when it was slowest, only eating takeout or at outdoor venues that took lots of precautions, practically a gallon of hand sanitizer. It wasn’t everything it normally was, but it was infinitely better than sitting at home wishing I could see the beach.

And it was the shot of beauty I needed in the midst of a chaotic year. I hope you get a chance to see something beautiful this week yourself.

Five beautiful things

I really liked this twitter thread asking the best lesson you have learned.

This Japanese video of a blue and white flycatcher (and other birds) playing at a birdbath is magical.

I love Rebecca Solnit’s writing, so it is no surprise I loved this interview where she talks about the transformative potential of a crisis – you know, like a global pandemic.

People who know me will not be shocked that I love this huge, crazed picnic table that looks like a giant tree. (Thanks to the several folks that sent me that link!)

They are just floating black balloons, but they capture my fancy all the same.

Bonus:

After a lot of work by a lot of people, Mississippi finally took down that flag. As someone who has prayed for this day for decades and has worked on this issue recently, I find myself weeping with joy at the prospect of what this says about where my state is, and where it could go.

  * * *

Well, that is it for this week. I hope you have a great week, and that your life is filled with beautiful things. If you see something beautiful this week, I hope you will let me know about it, and if one of my five I shared today struck you in a special way, I hope you will let me know about that, too.

If you want to support this project, you can sign up to be a Patron or buy me a book or throw me some cash or, especially, forward this email to your friends. And if someone did forward this to you, you can get your own subscription here.

Take care of yourself. And each other. 

Planning for it

“In a racist society, it is not enough to be non-racist. We must be anti-racist”. – Angela Davis

 
On the banks of the Mississippi yesterday.
Good morning!

I am Hugh Hollowell, and this is Life is So Beautiful, a newsletter about finding the beautiful when it’s hard to – and maybe especially when it’s hard to.

A way we stay sane in our house these days is to adhere to a rough routine.

For instance, on Friday nights, we order takeout and then watch a movie as a family, usually one that is nostalgic for the adults, so the kid knows what was important to us. Or on the 24th of each month, which is PXXX Day, where we celebrate (with cake and everything) the day our foster son, P, came to live with us. Or Sunday mornings, where after we meet with our friends from church on Zoom, we have Sunday brunch, where pancakes usually play a prominent role.

Or, the highlight of our week, Sunday afternoon, where we go motoring. Basically, we pile in the family truckster and go for a drive. Sometimes it’s just up the road to the Reservoir for a picnic, and other times it has been just grabbing milkshakes and driving 20 miles up the Natchez Trace and back, or eating takeout hamburgers on the grounds of the art museum, or sometimes, like yesterday, it is a half-day trip an hour or two up the road. The point is we get out of the house and see something different together as a family.

Yesterday we drove 80 miles or so down the Natchez Trace Parkway to Natchez, where we saw beautiful houses, urban decay, live oaks dripping with Spanish moss, and the Mississippi River, on whose banks we ate tater tots from Sonic and took pictures. We then drove home and, for the first time in more than 3 months, I drove at nighttime. Life is definitely surreal these days.

It was a beautiful day. The weather was nice, and the boy was well-behaved, and the scenery was beautiful. But it wasn’t an accident – it was planned. One thing of which I am utterly convinced, and which is foundational as the premise of this newsletter, is that in spite of everything falling apart around us, beauty is everywhere. But you have to look for it. And sometimes, you have to make room for it on your calendar.

Five beautiful things

This British man makes recordings of bees, and then uses it to make music.

This short video about him and his work is interesting in several ways

This interview with a travel photographer is interesting all on its own, but what sucked me in was the photographs of mosque ceilings from Uzbekistan.

The level of intricacy is staggering.

Obviously inspired by Klimt, Tawny Chatmon’s art project The Redemption is designed to “celebrate and reinforce the beauty of Black hair, features, life, and culture”. This is fire, y’all.

I came across these color photographs from the early 1900’s, and the process they used makes them have a nearly dreamlike quality.

This is a trailer for a book, which still seems a bit weird to me, but I love the animation, and the book itself is now on my wishlist.

Housekeeping

Next week I am taking the week off from both newsletters while I’m on a socially distanced vacation. Y’all be kind to each other, OK? 

* * *

Well, that is it for this week. I hope you have a great week, and that your life is filled with beautiful things. If you see something beautiful this week, I hope you will let me know about it, and if one of my five I shared today struck you in a special way, I hope you will let me know about that, too.

If you want to support this project, you can sign up to be a Patron or buy me a book or throw me some cash or, especially, forward this email to your friends. And if someone did forward this to you, you can get your own subscription here.

Take care of yourself. And each other. 

If you haven’t been here before

“We are not here to curse the darkness, but to light the candle that can guide us through that darkness to a safe and sane future.” – John F. Kennedy, in his Presidential nomination acceptance speech
 

A pic I grabbed in a walkthrough of my front yard.
Good morning!

I am Hugh Hollowell, and this is Life is So Beautiful, a newsletter about finding the beautiful when it’s hard to – and maybe especially when it’s hard to.Being a human who lives with depression has its moments, and right now, I’m fighting through one of them. I mean, I’m OK, lest the calls and texts start from all the people who love me. If I were in any danger, I would let you know. I’m not. I’m just depressed. This is what life is like for me.

For the most part, I am highly functioning. A few years ago I wrote and published this here newsletter (under it’s previous title) for a whole summer while in the deepest depths of depression I have ever known.

I once knew a man who lived in an abandoned house, and he explained to me that when housed people find out about his circumstances, they say things about how horrible it must be, and how they could never do what he does, and so on, and he said that what they are doing is imagining if they were snatched from their comfortable house and on day 1, were given his current life.

“But that isn’t how it works,” he said. “I evolved to live this life, and so while I wish some things were different, it isn’t horrible for me. It just feels like Thursday.”

So being depressed is not, for the most part, horrible for me. It just feels like Thursday. I evolved to live this sort of life, and while I wish things were different, I also wish I could use that transporter thing they have in Star Trek. Since neither are likely to happen any time soon, I have had to learn how to manage – to be a functioning person while also being clinically depressed most of the time.

One of the ways I do that is to actively search for evidence that my reality isn’t all there is. As dark as it is in my head, there are flowers blooming, babies being born, people falling in love, and the sun rises every damn day.

I’m not sure why I felt led to share this today, other than to point out that it seems like, in this pandemic haunted world in which we now live, some of y’all are in dark places too, some of you for the first time. And while I don’t know what it is like to be you, I do want to let you know that it is important to realize that your reality is not the only reality, and the world is still a beautiful place and worth fighting for, and that sometimes the best you can do is to search for the evidence of the beauty you cannot see, and then rest in it until the darkness passes.

And, for me at least, it always passes. Sometimes it takes an hour or two, and other times it takes 7 months. And sometimes it just goes from a 9 to a 7, and we call that a victory and decide to take a shower to celebrate.

I hope you are taking care of yourself the best you can. I hope you get some time in nature every day. And more than anything, I hope you feel loved. And if it gets too dark where you are, and you need a guide, hit me up. It may be your first visit, but I live here, and I am happy to show you around.

 Five beautiful things

I needed this: David Byrne and the Brooklyn Youth Chorus singing One Fine Day.

A few weeks ago I linked to Kevin Kelly’s 68 pieces of advice on his 68th birthday. He recently reshared them by video, and somehow, I like it even more than the written list.

I, to my shame, learned about Nina Simone from movies – her songs were part of the movie Point of No Return, and while I liked the movie, I fell in love with Nina Simone. Here is an animation of her singing – almost chanting, really, Color is a Beautiful Thing, and if you are not singing along by the end, are you even alive?

If coloring is your thing, many museums have released coloring sheets from their archives. I mean, there are thousands of pages here.

This photoshoot of a couple in Japan’s Nara Park, under the cherry blossoms, that got photobombed by deer is the sort of content we need in this world. 

 * * *

Well, that is it for this week. I hope you have a great week, and that your life is filled with beautiful things. If you see something beautiful this week, I hope you will let me know about it, and if one of my five I shared today struck you in a special way, I hope you will let me know about that, too.

If you want to support this project, you can sign up to be a Patron or buy me a book or forward this email to your friends. And if someone did forward this to you, you can get your own subscription here.

Take care of yourself. And each other. Hugh Hollowell Jr
Publisher

What I know how to do


“Bring what you have, and ask for what you need.” – Gareth Higgins
 

When in doubt, build something. The boy and I made a chicken coop for the backyard. 

Good morning!

I am Hugh Hollowell, and this is Life is So Beautiful, a newsletter about finding the beautiful when it’s hard to – and maybe especially when it’s hard to.

I grew up in a house with a father who revered quotes. You know, short, pithy sayings that usually convey a point of view or moral argument. Like, “A man convinced against his will is of the same opinion still.” Benjamin Franklin said that, and come to think of it, Franklin figured large in the quote library that lives inside my dad’s head.

Because of this, I guess it is natural that I too love quotable snippets, although I tend to collect them from less famous people. Like my friend David LaMotte, who once told me that “You are changing the world, whether you want to or not.” Or my buddy Brian Ammons, who opens worship services with the brilliant (and radical) phrase, “You are all welcome here. And all of you is welcome here.” Or, from his husband Gareth Higgins, who organizes gatherings and says that you should “Bring what you have, and ask for what you need.”

I recently came across an interview with Fiona Apple, who is promoting her new album, and in it she says that her decision to release a new album now doesn’t make sense to a lot of people, but that this is what she knows how to do. And that line – “This is what I know how to do” gives language to what has been going through my head the last 40 days or so we have been in quasi-isolation.

Because right now, the world is a hot freaking mess, and all of us are trying to find our way in it. And maybe pumping out two newsletters (1, 2) and starting a podcast are not the most obvious ways to help the rest of the world in the midst of this pandemic, but it is what I know how to do; it is what I can bring to the table, and then it is up to me to ask for what I need for the rest of it.  
 
 Five Beautiful Things
 
A 2-hour tour of Switzerland, as seen from the cab of a train. Imagine this being the scenery you see everyday? I want to have a party now, where I can put this on the TV to play in the background.

This will only appeal to a small subset of you folks (or maybe not, since we are all cooking more), but one of the happiest points of my day right now is when I log onto Facebook and see that Jacques Pepin has posted another short how-to video – something he has been doing quite a lot while in isolation.

Over on Instagram, there are virtual tours of Frank Lloyd Wright houses.

Paul Graham is a venture capitalist. He and I don’t have a lot in common. But this essay about the brevity of life, something he really only discovered after becoming a parent, really punched me in the gut. It feels particularly pertinent right now, as we fear that so many people we love will die.

Ariel views of Hong Kong’s fountains. These are so lovely.
 
And if you get a sec, check out my new podcast, and I would appreciate it if you left a review on Apple Podcasts. Reviews really do help.

 * * *

Well, that is it for this week. I hope you have a great week, and that your life is filled with beautiful things. If you see something beautiful this week, I hope you will let me know about it, and if one of my five I shared today struck you in a special way, I hope you will let me know about that, too.

If you want to support this project, you can sign up to be a Patron or buy me a book or forward this email to your friends. And if someone did forward this to you, you can get your own subscription here.

Take care of yourself. And each other. 

Hugh Hollowell Jr
Publisher