Conversations about learning, becoming, and building a coherent life.

Hello,

I suppose there comes a time in the life of a project when the end arrives, or maybe, the end of its current incarnation.

I’ve been struggling with this idea for a while now. A part of me resists accepting that I’ve reached the end of a creative project, THIS writing project in particular. It’s not a problem with letting go — I do that all the time. But the thought of letting this one go sticks in my throat.

I think it’s because this project means something more for me, represents an ideal, a kind of response to a calling. And if I were to say that it’s run its course, what would it mean about my ability to respond to that calling? Does it mean I failed? Or that the calling no longer exists?

A few weeks ago, I wrote about not knowing what’s next and lingering in the in-between hallways. That’s exactly where I’ve been lately: stuck in the hallway staring at doorknobs and various doors. Which way do I go next?

This writing project (no matter what it was originally called or what platform it was hosted on) began at a time of huge change and transition for me.

I had just left my corporate life — my career — and was reinventing myself in more ways than one. I had stumbled upon Stoicism and was beginning to embrace a new way of thinking and being. I was also, for the first time, fully realizing and embracing the idea that I am, excuse me, a midlifer! I was full of questions, dread too. But also, wonder and hope and ideals of and for myself. Who do you want to be in this next chapter of your life, Lou?

Around the same time, I also started a podcast called Second Breaks and was super excited about the prospect of talking with people who were reinventing themselves in midlife, and learning from them, being inspired by them, and in the process, shaping my life.

Looking back, I can see how these projects helped me, grounded me, challenged me, and influenced how I show up in the world today. I’ve met lots of wonderful, inspiring people, some of whom have become friends I now text regularly. My life is definitely richer because of these projects.

But... yeah, I think these projects, they’ve run their course, and I must move on.

• • • 

In chatting with a couple of writer friends recently, I’ve come to realize something: I do not want to stop writing. That calling remains, and it’s one I want to continue to respond to.

The question is, what do I care to write about now? What would I want to share and publish? What record would I like to keep?

That last question, the moment it was raised, stayed with me for a long time. It resonated so deeply, even though I was stumped and couldn’t answer. What record of my life would I like to keep? When I am old and gray and have lost all my teeth, what would I fondly review and marvel at... “look what I’ve created.”

I feel the pull to record the shaping of my life. Not in the context of reinvention or getting older, though. I’m very much inspired by the American philosopher and psychologist William James, and his writings on how our experiences and our lives are shaped by what we attend to. In this noisy, busy, and crazy world, the things we choose to pay attention to shape us.

“My experience is what I agree to attend to. Only those items which I notice shape my mind.” — William James

I love that quote. It’s like an entire philosophy for life in a nutshell.

I want to live it, and I’m curious about how a life is shaped intentionally through attention, reading, experience, and conversations. And I’m thinking this is the thrust of what I’d like to explore in my writing going forward.

• • • 

Can I tell you, I was chuffed when I came up with the name “We’re All Getting Older”. It was for me a cheeky reminder and a call to action and a subtle reference to Memento Mori, without mentioning the mori part. 😉

But it feels I’ve outgrown that name, too. Often, that name now brings up a kind of block for me because what I feel like exploring doesn’t seem to align with the expectations the name carries. I know, I know, it’s just a name, and yet...

So, I’ve decided that while I’m not going to shut down this writing project, I will rename it to reflect its transition to something else. What’s the new name, you ask? Still figuring that one out! I’m hoping the next time I write to you, it’ll come under a new banner name!

I realize many of you, especially those who’ve been with me for years, subscribed when I was writing about reinvention and midlifing and embracing aging. Thank you for sticking with me through the years as I mucked my way through.

I hope you’ll stay with me in this new chapter and we’ll figure it out together. But if you do decide it’s time to say sayonara, I totally understand and wish you all the best.

I’m going to take a short break: I’m traveling again and will be out of pocket for a few weeks. But I also want to take a representative breather to mark the end of a chapter and the beginning of one... at least in my head and heart.

Talk soon,
Lou Blaser

Lou Blaser writes about learning, becoming, and building a coherent life. She also curates and maintains The Filtered, a digital library for reading, learning, and thinking better.

Subscribe now

🏷 Becoming

Conversations about learning, becoming, and building a coherent life.

Hello,

I’ve taken a short break from my reading projects and switched to lighter reading, a sort of palate cleanser. Cozy mysteries are not my usual jam, but one author I like in the genre is Emylia Hall, and her Shell House Detectives series is one I enjoy.

Hall’s plots aren’t formulaic, unlike some of the other cozies I’ve read. I’ve not been able to guess the culprit (much as I tried) or what’s really going on. The stories are set in Cornwall, and I love reading about the Cornish coastline. And she’s got a most interesting sleuthing duo in the series: Ally Bright, a Caucasian artist and a widow in her 60s, and Jayden Westen, a mixed-race ex-cop, barely in his 30s, and a new dad.

While it was the female lead, Ally, who initially caught my attention, I have to say that it’s Jayden who’s really grown on me. His positive spirit, despite whatever’s happening, is what stays with me after each book.

“Cracked [ribs], worst case. I’m all good. I just can’t walk too fast. Or get up too quickly. Or laugh. Honestly, other than that, it’s all great.” — from The Death at the Vineyard

Over the course of 5 books, I’ve noticed that Jayden’s default setting can best be described as upbeat. But this has also got me thinking whether this is innate personality or actually a practice… a choice on Jayden’s part to view his circumstances a certain way.

He does not look away or pretend that nothing is amiss. He notes the cracked ribs. He admits to the pain. But he frames his situation in a way — perhaps a little absurdly — that isn’t so much “positive” as it is somehow preserving his agency. It feels like a choice, doesn’t it?

• • •

Decades ago, one of my best friends and I swore over wine that we would never become curmudgeons. That we would always be the glass-half-full ones, even when we’re old and gray and have lost all our teeth. And through the years, we have steadfastly stuck to this promise — at least when we are chatting with each other. We may be talking about a problem or a hardship we were experiencing, but we would always land on the silver lining, the thing that would allow us to move forward with a lighter heart. And I feel so grateful to have a friend who reminds me of this ideal, this kind of person I want to be.

• • •

An upbeat default setting isn’t something I could claim. Nor was it something I aimed for in the past. I think I was far too controlling, and therefore, more prone to being exceedingly frustrated, making it difficult to muster a setting anywhere close to what might be considered upbeat.

But in the last ten years or so, there has definitely been a softening. At first subconscious and later intentional, to be less controlling. To be more at peace and less whipped about by external happenings. Part of this change, I think, came naturally when I left the corporate world. But I credit much of it to the study of Stoicism, something I’ve fallen into quite accidentally.

One thing that appeals to me about the practice of Stoicism is the discipline and choice it asks of its practitioners. Epictetus would say, “You don’t control what happens, but you do have a say in how you interpret it.”

And that interpretation, fortunately, is trainable. In the Shell House Detectives books, I get that sense that Jayden has trained himself — perhaps subconsciously — to see things in a certain way. It doesn’t come across as cheerfulness for its own sake, but as an insistence on a certain kind of framing.

• • •

But maintaining an upbeat default setting takes hard work, especially for someone who’s not naturally so.

There are days when wallowing is easier, the downbeat offering much less resistance. I find myself in the company of someone who’s in full-on complaining mode, and the pull to jump in and pile on is so strong. I have to remind myself this isn’t who I want to be — and that’s if I even remember to remind myself!

Sometimes, I catch myself midway, and sometimes, it’s only on reflection that I realize what had happened.

But that is what training is like, isn’t it? When you’re working on getting yourself out of one kind of wiring and into another, of course, you wouldn’t nail it all the time, I tell myself.

• • •

If an upbeat disposition is trainable, I suppose the opposite is true as well. Complaining, always seeing what’s wrong first, can also be a practice — albeit perhaps unintentional. I can see how some people rehearse grievance the way others rehearse gratitude or humor. And they end up strengthening certain interpretive muscles through repetition.

It reminds me of William James and his caution: what we repeatedly attend to becomes the texture of our lives.

• • •

As I get older, the conversation with my best friend and the promise we made to each other all those years ago rings even truer. More than ever, I see that being curmudgeonly doesn’t happen all at once, but through tiny repeated acts of interpretation. And before long, if we haven’t been paying attention, it’s become who we are.

This is the thing I most want to guard myself from, perhaps even the work of a lifetime — the everyday practicing of how I’d want to show up and meet reality.

✴️ Questions for you:

• Do you think an upbeat disposition is mostly personality… or practice?

• Have you ever met someone whose way of moving through life made you want to adjust your own?

Leave a comment

🏷 Becoming

💬 last word

Here’s one of my favorite songs. There’s also a relaxed, unforced optimism in Jack Johnson’s music that feels just perfect to close out this week’s letter…

Who's to say
What's impossible? Well, they forgot
This world keeps spinning, and with each new day
I can feel a change in everything
And as the surface breaks, reflections fade
But in some ways, they remain the same
And as my mind begins to spread its wings
There's no stopping curiosity
I want to turn the whole thing upside down…

All my best,
Lou Blaser

Lou Blaser writes about learning, becoming, and building a coherent life. She also curates and maintains The Filtered, a digital library for reading, learning, and thinking better.

I’ve been travelling the last few weeks, and then at the end of it, caught the bug and went down with the flu. I suppose in one way, the body forced me to rest after a period of running around (instead of jumping back in and running around in a different direction).

One thing I noticed during this busy season was that the writing easily fell by the wayside. I deliberately did not prepare or pre-schedule anything ahead of time. I thought I might take a break from writing for a week or two at most, and it surprised me that I did not go back to the writing desk for much longer than that. I don’t know what this says about me and my writing life/practice. Maybe it just means that, just like with everything else, a break was needed to refill the cup.

But through it all, the reading never stopped — not that I’m surprised. I always, always, found time for reading, no matter what was happening in my life. Even during some difficult and trying times in the past, the reading never stopped. Do you have the same experience?

In any case, here are a few things that caught my attention over the last few weeks.

🔗 other people’s brilliance

• Ryan Holiday’s “weird” hobby inspires me. Maybe not to do the same thing, but something in the vein of being one of the helpers.

• I spent Saturday doing life admin and accomplished nothing: on the ever-increasing load of life admin, the adulting tax, and why it feels like everything is so exhausting these days.

• Amy Catriona’s 10 unusual ways to use the empty notebooks you keep buying gives a few ideas to those of us who simply can’t resist buying “another one”.

• Nothing Better Than a Whole Lot of Books: In Praise of Bibliomania

• How to Journal Like Haruki Murakami, for when you can’t seem to understand, let alone articulate, what’s really going on inside you

• Petya Grady’s notes on building a reading life: On depth and lightness

• • • • •

📚 dog-eared

• House of Mirth by Edith Wharton. This is part of my study of the Gilded Age and an author deep-dive — two of my reading projects this year. I read this book years ago, and revisiting it as part of my projects provided a different lens with which to appreciate the story. Whereas in the past, I simply focused on Lily Bart and her plight, this time around, I was keenly aware of the structure of the world (and the era) she and the other characters lived in. The unwritten rules, which ones applied to whom, and why. The so-called leisure class and its own set of “labor” expected of its members. Wharton wrote and published this book in 1905, while she herself was part of the very social class she was writing about. It was not a criticism from someone external to the system, but rather a pointed (and often sarcastic) observation from someone navigating a world few people truly understood.

• When the Astors Owned New York by Justin Kaplan. Another read as part of my Gilded Age study project. The Astors were the quintessential “old money” during the Gilded Age era, with Mrs. Caroline Schermerhorn Astor presiding over The Four Hundred — a list of who’s in New York society at that time. Kaplan’s book is a “combination of biography, history, architectural appreciation, and pure reading pleasure,” and I thoroughly enjoyed it. Not to mention I learned a ton!

• • • • •

📺 couch report

I didn’t get to watch much during the travel days, but I enjoyed these two (both of which are book adaptations) while I was lying in bed with the flu.

• Miss Austen: A 4-part series adaptation of Gill Hornby’s book of the same name, which tells the imagined story of the young Jane seen through the eyes of her beloved sister, Cassandra (brilliantly played by Keeley Hawes). I’m not a big enough fan of Austen to have known (before seeing this movie) about what was considered the greatest act of literary vandalism: that Cassandra destroyed the vast collection of her sister’s correspondence to protect her and the family’s reputation and privacy. Of the estimated 3000 letters, only about 160 survive — selected by Cassandra and given to family members as mementos. I don’t know what part of this story is fact and what’s the work of Hornby’s imagination, but it all felt true to me. I’m inspired now to read the book!

• Condor: The first season was adapted from James Grady’s Six Days of the Condor. The CIA thriller series followed the same storyline as the book’s, although updated for contemporary geopolitical threats, surveillance, and technology. I enjoyed both seasons of the series (starring Max Irons in the lead role) and wished they’d gone ahead with season 3, but I think that project’s on indefinite hold now.

• • • • •

💬 last word

Here’s the view from the veranda of the hotel where we stayed in Boracay, Philippines. You’d think I’d be inspired to write all sorts of stuff in the week we were there, but alas, all I did was read, lay out, watch the island scene, and drink copious amounts of mango and watermelon juice!

All my best,
Lou Blaser

✴️ A question for you:

What’s caught your eye or snagged your attention these past few weeks?

Leave a comment

Lou Blaser writes about learning, becoming, and building a coherent life. She also curates and maintains The Filtered, a digital library for reading, learning, and thinking better.

If this is your first time getting one of these, this is where I’d be like “Wait, you have to check this out,” if we were catching up over coffee.

The world is full of little portals. These are a few I fell through these last few weeks.

🐾 previously, on WAGO…

• I don’t know what’s next.

• On attention and the things that shape our minds

• What would we tell our younger selves

• In Profile: Nicole Giordano

• • • • •

🔗 other people’s brilliance

• “You’re trying to tell me that September allll the way through to the end of December is one season? I don’t think so.” Jonathan Edward Durham’s “A man for all (eleven) seasons” is a hoot and a half.

• Bernadette Jiwa’s “On Certainty” is a short read and worth it. Featuring a boy who cast a bottle into the Indian Ocean and the reply that arrived fifty years later.

• “Culture shock is when you’re waiting in line for the toilet and the grandma behind you walks into another stall, takes down the broken sign sitting on the toilet and uses it anyway.” talks about culture and culture shock, identity, moving abroad, being an American (or not), and toilets. “The Land of Smiles”

• 👏🏼 announces the release of her debut novel, AI Baby.

• Ryan Holiday’s “26 Rules to be a Better Thinker in 2026”

• And one from The Filtered: How to Read Difficult Books

• • • • •

📚 dog-eared

As I mentioned here and here, I have a few reading projects this year. I didn’t get around to starting on any of them until March, though, as I was reading other books! Here are the ones I finished this month.

• Enduring Love by Ian McEwan. This is part of my author deep-dive project, and the first of 5 McEwan books I wanted to tackle. McEwan is described as a writer preoccupied with hinge moments and their outsized consequences. And this book is certainly that. A balloon accident; one man lets go, one man doesn't, and entire lives are destroyed or altered. This book left me with a few lingering questions, not least of which was “Can I trust this narrator?”

• The Year of Reading Dangerously by Andy Miller. Author, critic, and editor Andy Miller chronicles a year of reading the books (50 in all + one of Dan Brown’s) he felt he should read; books he previously started but hadn't finished; and books he’d lied about having read to impress people. Miller’s entertaining — I laughed quite a bit reading this book. I also found his experience quite inspiring and motivating.

• The Hallmarked Man by Robert Galbraith. I’m a fan of the Cormoran Strike novels, and this is the 8th book in the series. Not surprisingly, I loved it and didn’t want it to end, even though it clocked in at ~912 pages!

• • • • •

📺 couch report

I seem to have gotten myself in some kind of time machine with these. Perhaps one of the few times I’m not embarrassed to say I’m stuck in the past.

• Poldark: c. 1783-1801. Captures pre-industrial Britain. Set in Cornwall, a world away from London drawing rooms. Captain Ross Poldark returns from the American Revolutionary War and discovers his father has died, his estate is in debt, and the love of his life is engaged to his cousin, Francis. Ugh.

• The Count of Monte Cristo: c. 1815-1838. This is the 2024 TV series adaptation of the book, starring Sam Claflin as the unjustly accused and imprisoned Edmond Dantès.

• Bookish: c. 1946. Post-World War II London. A man named Book owns an antiquarian bookstore, lives upstairs from the bookshop, and helps cops solve crimes in his spare time. Created by Mark Gatiss (same guy who co-created Sherlock back in the 2010s — which I also loved). What’s not to like?

• • • • •

💬 last word

Vivaldi’s violin concertos, Four Seasons, were recomposed and reinterpreted by contemporary classical composer Max Richter. Spring 1 is my favorite.

Happy Spring,
Lou Blaser

Lou Blaser writes about learning, becoming, and building a coherent life. She also curates and maintains The Filtered, a digital library for reading, learning, and thinking better.

Conversations about learning, becoming, and building a coherent life.

Hello,

We are back in that time of the year again. The season of new beginnings. Nature’s way of reminding us that everything restarts — whether we’re ready for it or not.

March has a way of insisting, doesn’t it? Open the windows. Step outside. Embrace what the season brings. But I’m not sure I’m there yet.

March finds me restless this year.

I recognize this feeling. I’ve been there before. It is me in the process of closing a door and leaving something behind. Me in the hallway, in between. I wander around, touching doorknobs, wondering if this one or that one is the next thing... the right next thing.

You can’t really tell, though, unless you walk through. But I am not ready, so I stay in the hallway.

• • •

I have outgrown the space I was in before, and that is a good thing.

Growing is always good. Never mind that it results in you finding yourself in awkward spaces that no longer fit — where you no longer fit — and you bend yourself this way and that so you can continue to occupy the same space. Because it feels not so much comfortable as it is familiar.

But having bent yourself to fit, you ache all over. You can’t stretch yourself properly, and each time you flex a leg or an arm, you’re reminded that you no longer belong there. And oh my goodness, isn’t that thought equally delicious and scary at the same time!

And so one day, you say to yourself, “Enough of this”, and you climb out of the old, ill-fitting space. You head toward the door, peek outside, and eventually, gather enough … what exactly? Strength, is it? Curiosity maybe? Anyway, you walk out.

• • •

Hallways are funny. Like any space designed for transition — stairwells, airports, train stations — they are not meant to be comfortable. You’re not supposed to stay there, you see. You’re supposed to know or figure out where you’re going and get going.

So this restless feeling I have comes with the territory, I suppose. Especially as I haven’t a clue where I’m going next.

In the past, I would rush this part.

Pick a door, any door, just to be out of the in-between. There’s a certain efficiency to that approach, and I’ve relied on it more than once. But I do wonder sometimes what might have happened had I not been in such a rush all the time. If I had been more patient and not forced things to take shape too soon.

And so that is what I’m doing now. Not rushing. Sitting with restlessness and staying in the hallway. I’m foregoing a timetable, which is, in and of itself, a sign of growth. But my goodness, is it uncomfortable.

• • •

Trees do not deliberate spring; they simply respond to conditions. I, on the other hand, excel at standing in hallways overthinking doors and feeling antsy for not choosing one quickly.

The Greeks had a word, kairos — the opportune moment, when something that wasn’t yet possible suddenly is. I’ve decided to trust that this time. I’m not going to treat the waiting as a failure of will.

I don’t know what’s next, and I’m choosing to remain in this uncomfortable hallway. For as long as I can.

Leave a comment

🏷 Becoming

💬 last word

To everything, a season. To every purpose, a time.

Pete Seeger lifted these words almost wholesale from Ecclesiastes, and The Byrds made them a classic. It seemed only right for this letter — a three-thousand-year-old reminder that waiting has always been part of the cycle. Not a detour from it.

Kairos, in a different key.

All my best,
Lou Blaser

Lou Blaser writes about learning, becoming, and building a coherent life. She also curates and maintains The Filtered, a digital library for reading, learning, and thinking better.

Subscribe now

If ’s life has a theme, it might be movement.

Nicole has lived in New York, Singapore, and Thailand, currently calls Philadelphia home, and spends part of each winter in Spain. She and her partner have visited more than forty countries together and still try to add two new ones each year. Along the way, she’s built a career as a creative entrepreneur, running her own businesses for nearly two decades. Most recently, she launched The Midlife Creative Studio, a new venture focused on creative practice for people in midlife and beyond.

When she’s not building companies or planning the next trip, Nicole is usually reading — or lately, writing essays of her own about identity, creativity, and the emotional landscape of midlife.

IN WHICH GENERATION DO YOU BELONG?

Gen X: 1965 - 1980

DO YOU WORK? IF SO, WHAT DO YOU DO?

I have been self-employed for almost 20 years. My company is called StartUp FASHION. We support independent fashion designers in building and growing businesses, doing something they love. Recently, I launched my new company, The Midlife Creative Studio. We offer online art and craft classes for those of us in midlife and beyond who see having a creative practice as an important part of our emotional well-being. It’s very new, and I’m excited about all the ideas I have to build this new company.

WHAT WOULD THE 25-YEAR-OLD VERSION OF YOU THINK OF YOU TODAY? HOW ARE YOU MOST DIFFERENT FROM HER?

I think she would be delightfully surprised that I have been able to travel and live abroad as much as I have. Not because she didn’t dream of it, but because growing up with modest means made it difficult to picture the possibility. I remember being in my early twenties and meeting a thirty-something woman who was selling everything in her apartment, except her books and clothes, because she and her husband were moving to Europe. I was in awe.

I’d say that the biggest difference is that I no longer start with all the reasons something won’t work, and instead focus first on all the reasons something will work. When things inevitably don't work out exactly as I planned, I adjust and keep going. That wasn't me 20 years ago.

LB: I love this approach so much — starting with all the reasons it will work. How often do we sabotage our own dreams and goals by listing all the reasons it won’t work?

WHAT HAS NOT CHANGED ABOUT YOU?

My independence, love of change, and creative entrepreneurship. I have been saying since I was a teenager that I “would” work for myself, even if I didn’t have any idea what that would look like.

GOOD OR BAD, WHAT ABOUT YOUR STAGE IN LIFE HAS SURPRISED YOU SO FAR?

One of the big surprises for me has been how up and down this stage of life is. There are two prevalent messages for what midlife is “all about”, especially for women. You’re either lost and struggling to figure out who you are now. Or you’re taking the world by storm, midlife super power, giving zero fucks. But this has not been my experience. For me, I wobble between these two identities, from day to day, sometimes hour to hour. It’s a rollercoaster. I don’t think that’s talked about enough.

WHAT’S ONE THING YOU THOUGHT FOR SURE YOU’D HAVE FIGURED OUT BY NOW, BUT HAVEN’T YET?

I don’t mean to sound like a jerk, but I truly cannot think of an answer to this question. It is part of my personality to decide on what I want, then figure out how to make it happen.

WHAT COMES TO MIND WHEN YOU HEAR THE PHRASE ‘FULFILLING LIFE’? HOW HAS YOUR PERSPECTIVE ABOUT THIS CHANGED AS YOU GOT OLDER?

I love this question because — and I’m not exactly sure how — but I have, for a very long time, known that success (or fulfillment) is a relative term and everybody gets to define what that is for themselves.

For me, it has always been about being able to lead a flexible life — my time is my own. Because life flies by really quickly.

Working for yourself is not easy; it takes discipline and focus and sacrifice. I knew that building a business that didn’t require me to be in one place, where I wasn't answering to investors or a board or a boss, where I made my schedule, was my version of professional success. Financially, I just wanted to make enough to lead the life I wanted to lead, which was a lot of travel, great food, and a cozy home in the heart of a city.

For personal fulfillment, it’s been about time. Having time with my partner, with my friends, with my family, and for my hobbies. I feel fulfilled every day when I wake up and get to do an hour-long morning routine without having to rush out the door. I feel fulfilled when my partner and I spend an evening having a delicious meal together, whether cooked by us or at one of our favorite spots. I feel fulfilled when I can drive to see my family on a random weekday or plan an evening with my best friends (p.s., midlife sleepovers with your besties is FANTASTIC!); when I spend long periods of time reading a wonderful book or a Sunday afternoon writing.

I’m fulfilled by a slower approach to being, which doesn’t mean I don’t have goals, just that I accomplish them my way.

WHAT ARE YOU MOST EXCITED ABOUT THESE DAYS?

The Midlife Creative Studio! There is nothing like the early days of building a business when you're excited about all the possibilities and having fun figuring things out, and not yet thinking about all the roadblocks that are part of the journey. LOL.

IF YOU COULD GIVE SOME WORDS OF WISDOM TO SOMEONE 20 YEARS YOUNGER THAN YOU, WHAT MIGHT IT BE?

Prioritize travel. See the world. Experience other cultures. Understand that there’s so much out there besides your own existence. I think the world would be a much more loving and beautiful place if more people did this.

AND THE MOST IMPORTANT QUESTION: WHO WAS YOUR FAVORITE SINGER/BAND GROWING UP?

There wasn’t one favorite. Even though I grew up in the eighties and nineties, because of my parents, I loved everything from The Beatles to Janis Joplin to The Temptations to The Doobie Brothers.

• • • • •

Lou Blaser writes We’re All Getting Older, an essay series about change, meaning, and the lives we’re unfolding. She also maintains The Filtered, a digital library for reading, learning, and thinking better.

An ongoing conversation about what we are learning, who we are becoming, and how we are building a coherent life.

Hello,

“My experience is what I agree to attend to,” said American philosopher and psychologist William James. “Only those items which I notice shape my mind.”

I love that quote. It’s like an entire philosophy for life in a nutshell, especially the second part.

James’ observation is a reminder for me to mind where my attention goes, because what I choose to attend to shapes my reality, shapes the world I experience. And the older I get, the more careful I am about this.

But maybe “careful” is not the right word — although I very much want to be so.

Careful implies choosing. Being deliberate ahead of time. And although I have done that to some extent, my attention still seems to get arrested, way too often, by one thing or another, without much forethought.

So, I haven’t always been careful. But I have become very aware of where it’s gone, which I think is the second-best thing. Being aware allows me to interrupt, stop my attention from being continuously directed toward something I may not particularly want to care about in the long run.

Becoming aware of our attention is akin to waking up in the middle of a dream sequence, and it’s not always easy. When I look back to my so-called “career years”, I’m not entirely sure that all the things I attended to were deliberate. I imagine a good number of them were out of momentum or consensus.

The trek toward awareness of attention — noticing what I’m noticing, so to speak — began as I studied philosophy, Stoicism in particular. To the Stoics, a disciplined life begins with monitoring where the mind goes. As I got into the practice of pausing and noticing and examining, I recognized not only what I was paying attention to but how it was shaping my experience and by extension, my life — and not always to my liking.

• • •

Noticing the object of my attention is interesting, but so is noticing how my attention is being captured. I find that my attention isn’t usually wandering around, but rather is being pulled. And understanding how this is happening helps me retain agency over what I choose to attend to.

News

Paying attention to the news has always been a tricky thing for me. There’s a constant tug-of-war between wanting to be informed and wanting to safeguard my emotional and mental well-being.

News is designed to pull our attention by urgency. And there aren’t any boring days when nothing much is happening in the news these days. Every single day presents a new kindling to keep the fire going. And there are days when it feels like kerosene is being poured to keep it raging.

I’ve had to be extra deliberate about news consumption since the beginning of the year, when back-to-back horrific events hijacked my attention, so much so I spent days curled on the couch in despair. But I can’t just cover my eyes and ears and completely ignore what’s happening. Epictetus’ rule of thumb is: know what’s happening, but don’t hand over your peace of mind to events you cannot influence.

So, I’ve resolved to put boundaries on how I give my attention. If news is going to occupy part of my mind, I want it delivered in a form that doesn’t hijack my emotions. For the last few weeks, I’ve not consumed any news apart from what I read in The Economist. Its typical dry, understated, minimal drama presentation makes it the best courier of news for me for the moment.

Television

Paying attention to what I’m watching on TV is interesting. Because while the news drags my attention through urgency, TV invites it in through story and mood.

Watching TV holds our attention through immersion. I fall into stories and stay in a world. And while that is a kind of choice, it’s not always obvious to me why.

Mind you, I’m fully aware of the kind of moral baggage TV has. It is passive; it wastes time; it rots the brain. And a lot of people talk of TV-watching almost like a vice: “I watched too much TV last night.” So there’s a kind of guilt narrative around it.

But I don’t find attention to fiction and stories trivial. We certainly don’t feel guilty about going to the theatre and watching plays. So, I think the tension is about mindless consumption versus chosen absorption.

The legitimacy of attention depends less on the medium and more on the consciousness with which we give it. What are we watching? What shows have we chosen to attend to?

Three shows that are currently holding my attention are Belgravia (MGM+), Poldark (PBS Masterpiece), and Bookish (PBS Masterpiece). I don’t feel drained or numbed after watching these shows. And while an episode may move me to tears or a character may infuriate me, the experience feels satisfying as a whole.

Reading

Where I am most deliberate about attention is reading — books, publications I subscribe to, etc.

I regularly cull publications that I allow in my inbox, that’s for sure. And when it comes to books — well, that’s an even more careful consideration! There are way too many books and so little time, as they say, and I’m quite deliberate about the ones I attend to.

Reading — and reading books in particular — cultivates sustained attention. It is self-paced and entirely voluntary. We decide how long we stay, where we linger, whether we might pause in the middle of a page and think.

Unlike news or television, reading places the tempo of attention in our hands. We set the pace of attention when we read.

In the last couple of years, I’ve been more conscious about the structure of my reading experience. I didn’t have a word for what I was doing until I read describe her approach to “reading projects”. That is what I’m doing. I have reading projects. And framing it that way gives it a sustaining and self-contained arc.

My current reading projects are:

• The Gilded Age study

• Deep dives of Edith Wharton, Ian McEwan, and John le Carré

• Revisiting Assigned Reading

It might look like a lot, but I only have a list of 5-6 books per project for this year.

• • •

I do want to be selective about what I notice, as James suggests. That is the goal. As careful as I might want to be, though, I realize I won’t always be able to choose where my attention goes. But I can notice it sooner, interrupt it when necessary, and sometimes, steer it toward things that matter more.

✴️ In which parts of your life do you feel most deliberate (or least deliberate) about your attention?

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🏷 Thinking Life

💬 last word

The finale in the musical Hamilton is a meditation on legacy and the subjective nature of history. Our impact is determined not just by our actions but by those who record them. And perhaps most powerfully, the song is a reminder to put ourselves “back in the narrative” and tell our story ourselves.

“And when my time is up
Have I done enough?
Will they tell my story?”

All my best,
Lou Blaser

Lou Blaser writes about learning, becoming, and figuring out how to build a coherent life. She also curates and maintains The Filtered, a digital library for reading, learning, and thinking better.

WAGO is a continuing conversation about learning, becoming, and building a coherent life.

Hello,

There’s this question that’s been around forever, a favorite by interviewers... what would you tell your younger self if you met her?

Many say they’d impart some hard-earned wisdom, some philosophy they’ve proven to be true, or a worldview shaped from their experiences. I imagine myself as some kind of wisened Gandalf visiting a younger me, who, for some reason, looks suspiciously like Frodo.

But I do wonder if this were to happen, if I were able to visit my younger self, would I do that? Impart some advice? And if I did, would she listen? You know, I’m not entirely sure.

In this admittedly fantastical imagining, it may be useful to look at other fantastical works to help us out. Stories have been playing with the idea of meeting our younger selves for years, and pop culture has given us plenty of versions of this scenario. But three encounters in particular stick with me.

In Star Trek (2009), Spock Prime meets his younger counterpart and offers wisdom without forcing a specific outcome. In Back to the Future Part II, Biff Tannen does the opposite. He uses the encounter with his younger self to manipulate time for personal gain. And in The Adam Project (Netflix), Adam Reed meets his much younger self and spends most of the encounter being exasperated by the kid he used to be.

I thought it interesting to study these characters to understand different philosophies about what we owe our past selves, and what happens when past and present collide.

Spock Prime: The Mentor

Spock Prime approaches his younger self with the wisdom of experience, but without arrogance. He offers guidance but recognizes that his younger counterpart must make his own choices.

“I could not deprive you of the revelation of all that you could accomplish on your own.”

Spock Prime wants his younger self to experience the challenges and triumphs of learning on his own, not to be shielded from the painful yet transformative process of growth.

It makes me think of self-determination. Spock Prime does not attempt to overwrite the younger Spock’s decisions but instead nudges him toward a path of wisdom. This is a kind of mentorship that assumes growth will happen, even if it’s not immediate.

Biff Tannen: The Controller

Biff’s encounter with his younger self comes across as purely self-serving. He doesn’t want to guide or teach. He wants to exploit the opportunity. By giving young Biff the sports almanac, he essentially hacks the system of time, using knowledge of the future to amass power and wealth.

“You see this book? This book tells the future.”

Biff’s interaction isn’t about sharing wisdom or offering any meaningful guidance. What he’s interested in is controlling his younger self’s destiny to create the ideal version of his life.

This taps into a more cynical view of human nature: If given the chance, would we use hindsight to help others or just to help ourselves? Biff’s actions suggest that meeting one’s younger self can be an opportunity to rewrite the past for personal gain.

Adam Reed: The Reconciler

The older Adam Reed is irritated by his younger self. The kid version of him is awkward, emotional, and vulnerable in ways that the older Adam would rather forget. Instead of offering wisdom or trying to alter the past, Adam’s first instinct is to distance himself from the version of himself that still carries old wounds.

“You’re just a kid. You’re always so angry.”

In this moment, Adam rejects his younger self, seeing him as a source of frustration rather than an ally.

But, as the movie progresses, Adam’s perspective shifts. He learns that this “angry” kid is part of what made him who he is, and rather than rejecting his past, he must embrace it. This reflects a deeper journey of self-acceptance, where Adam comes to terms with his own flaws and the emotional baggage that shaped him.

Adam’s story brings a crucial point: Meeting our younger selves might not always inspire wisdom or nostalgia. It could be an uncomfortable confrontation with parts of ourselves we’d rather forget. But it’s also a chance to acknowledge that our past is just as important as our present in shaping who we are.

• • •

Honestly, there’s a funny — albeit a little embarrassed — side of myself that gets Biff. Maybe it’s not so bad to make sure the younger version of me has a more successful life. After all, what’s wrong with wanting to give someone, especially our past self, a better shot?

It’s easy to judge Biff for messing with time, but deep down, isn’t there a part of us that would love to make sure that younger self doesn’t struggle so much? That, perhaps, they find happiness a little sooner? (I see Spock Prime shaking his head.)

But when I think about it, I’m not sure my younger self would even understand me now. If I were to meet her, I’m not entirely sure she’d be proud — though I’d very much want her to be. “What?! You walked away from the career that we worked so hard to build?! What’s the matter with you?”

I’d like to think I’d impress her with how things turned out, but the truth is, she might not recognize this version of me at all.

So, what would I tell my younger self? I don’t know… it changes depending on the day. Some days, I want to sit my younger self down and tell her everything I’ve learned. Other days, I think she should figure it out the hard way, just like I did. And sometimes, I suspect that if I actually met her, she’d roll her eyes at me and go off to do whatever she wanted anyway.

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🏷 Thinking Life

💬 last word

Here’s a reggae-fusion track from one of my favorite artists in the 90s, British-Jamaican artist Maxi Priest. This one showcases his signature smooth vocals and promotes themes of unity, diversity, and love among different cultures.

Just the kind of thing we need to be reminded. Often.

It takes all kinds of people in this world
To make this world turn around
Make this world a better place

All my best,
Lou Blaser

Lou Blaser writes about learning, becoming, and figuring out how to build a coherent life. She also curates and maintains The Filtered, a digital library for reading, learning, and thinking better.

WAGO is a continuing conversation about learning, becoming, and building a coherent life.

Hello,

A fellow writer, Daniel Puzzo, in this recent Profile, wrote something that has stuck with me: “By all means, make plans,” he said, “but don’t stick to them.”

That’s the kind of advice that would have given me hives back in my 20s. Come to think of it, it would have still given me the hives in my 40s!

I’m a planner to the core. I don’t know where I’d end up if I didn’t have a list. In the much-maligned MBTI type, I’m an INTJ... and my J is off the charts.

Flexibility is a must, yes. But in my desire to impose order in my corner of the universe, I’ve learned even flexibility can be planned. I even learned how to plan for serendipity. Like, you know, on a well-itemized vacation itinerary, there’s an open afternoon or two for “surprise discovery”. Loose as ever.

But in the last few years, I’ve noticed a slight easing up on this mad grip at control (or attempt at control).

It wasn’t until I saw Daniel’s words that I realized what was happening. I’m learning how not to be so dependent on “the plan”. In fact, there have been times lately when I even dared to venture out without a plan. The younger me would have groaned.

• • •

Make a plan, but don’t feel like you must stick to it.

Because you know what they say about plans anyway. It goes to pieces the moment it hits reality. (Or Mike Tyson’s version if you prefer: “Everyone has a plan until they get punched in the mouth.”) And you’ll only end up pulling your hair out if you insist on sticking to your plan at that point. I have lost many lumps doing this.

Life has a way of pulling the rug from under us every so often, if only as a reminder that we’re never in control. Not truly. We can sure try. But the Universe will simply laugh at our attempts.

The younger me would have smirked at that, what I just wrote there. Would have said, “Watch me”. Because the younger me was so naive and so idealistic and so full of “I can take on the world” kind of energy. I don’t honestly know where she got it from.

But living in the real world all these decades has toned down much of that energy. Certainly, I’ve not become jaded or cynical. Just more pragmatic. More realistic. More humble about my ability to control my world, that’s for sure. And thank goodness for that, too.

• • •

Make plans, but don’t feel like you have to stick to them.

And don’t throw a tantrum and complain when your plans don’t — can’t — work. Because why waste energy on that?

A couple of years ago, I ran into Will Bowen’s 21-Day No Complaints Challenge, and I have to tell you, his book and doing that challenge changed me. It rewired my brain — like, I can literally now feel a complaint bubbling up, like in slow mo, you know, so that I’m able to stop it — and I believe I’m a better person as a result. I certainly like myself better.

Complaining doesn’t help at all, and you end up looking like this guy throwing a tantrum when things don’t go according to plan. One never looks good doing that.

I so admire people who can simply go with the flow, you know? Adjust their sails quickly and catch wherever the wind is blowing. So much easier on the nerves. And you look so much better doing it. I’m not there yet completely, but I have certainly made great strides in that direction. Letting go of control (or the idea of it) isn’t easy.

• • •

What I’m coming around to, I think, is that the real problem isn’t that plans fail. It’s my emotional insistence that they shouldn’t! Fool’s errand, I know.

And that’s when Epictetus would walk in and calmly remind me: “Some things are up to us, and some things are not.” He won’t tell me not to plan, but he’d remind me not to stake my peace on the outcomes.

Maybe making plans is still my thing. But sticking to them at all costs? That part was never up to me.

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🏷 Living Well

💬 last word

Released in January 1971 and inspired by the real-life experience of Gaye’s brother, who returned from Vietnam with a much different outlook on life, this song asked what was happening in America. (Source)

I imagine loads of us are asking the same question often these days.

“We’ve got to find a way
to bring some understanding here today…”

All my best,
Lou Blaser

Lou Blaser writes about learning, becoming, and figuring out how to build a coherent life. She also curates and maintains The Filtered, a digital library for reading, learning, and thinking better.

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is a singer, artist, and writer who lives in her great-grandmother's house in Wilder, VT. She is married to a handsome fiddler and, despite her reluctance to embrace organized sports, has become a certified soccer mom to one third-grade goalie in training.

Jes tells me she doesn’t always remember to brush her hair, so she cuts it really short and calls it shaggy hip. She thinks the only way to stay sane in northern winters is to play in the snow as much as possible, and loves to start her day with a run down her local ski hill before the to-do list takes over. She also loves to dance and does so as often as possible despite the mortification it occasionally causes the aforementioned third-grade goalie in training.

IN WHICH GENERATION DO YOU BELONG?

Gen X: 1965 - 1980

DO YOU WORK? IF SO, WHAT DO YOU DO?

I am a working artist, which means I do too many different things for work. Sometimes it's gigs — jobs where I exchange creative services for money, like playing fiddle tunes at the cocktail hour of one of Vermont's many rustic chic barn weddings. Sometimes my money comes from my own art, presenting my own songs in a concert or selling copies of my prints or collages. Sometimes it's kind of a combination of the two — like writing a theme song for the pilot of a children's show about a kid named Blue Ocean Bob.

I work on all sorts of projects, but they do have some unifying themes. I am adamant about the benefits of daily creative practice. I believe wholeheartedly in the necessity of art and music in our day-to-day lives and the transformative and healing power of live music and storytelling. That's what I write about in my newsletter, A Wilder Wonder.

WHAT WOULD THE 25-YEAR-OLD VERSION OF YOU THINK OF YOU TODAY? HOW ARE YOU MOST DIFFERENT FROM HER?

When I look at 25-year-old me, she is scared that she won't be able to pull it off. Now at 48, I have learned that I can trust myself to figure things out. I would tell her she doesn't have to know the whole plan, just the place she wants to go and the first step. It's taken me a really long time to get to that place.

WHAT HAS NOT CHANGED ABOUT YOU?

I'm still in love with music. Straight out of high school, I went to music school on a scholarship to study voice. For a whole bunch of reasons that are probably a series of essays I should write, I lost my scholarship and dropped out after two years. I moved into a cabin in the woods, and until I was 25, I did whatever I could to just have as much of my time as possible to be in the mountains, write songs, and practice my guitar.

At 25, I went back to finish college at The Evergreen State College, the only public liberal arts college in the country. I was studying music, natural history, psychology, and mythology. I was in love with learning, working for the school's Outdoor Program, and playing in an all-girl bluegrass punk band.

When I graduated from college, I was offered the job as the climbing ranger on Mt Olympus in the Olympic National Park, or the chance to go on tour in a minivan with my all-girl bluegrass punk band. I remember a drawing I did in my journal at the time, a very cartoonish illustration of myself on stage with a whole crowd of people dancing, and I chose the tour. I'd still make that choice. I'm still the most in love with music; it's the strongest medicine I've got to share.

GOOD OR BAD, WHAT ABOUT YOUR STAGE IN LIFE HAS SURPRISED YOU SO FAR?

I'm surprised at how much I have grown to love writing. Writing songs in my twenties and thirties was more of an oral and aural thing for me. I mean, I want to have something real to say, and I always wrote in journals and things like that to figure that part out, but more of the process was about finding the words that sounded right together, and people didn't read my lyrics; they listened to them.

I rarely tried to create anything that was meant to be read. In fact, I'm a really slow writer with horrible spelling and grammar, so I actively resisted any task that included writing. I was notoriously bad at responding to emails and always last-minute with papers. I once convinced a professor to let me do a series of woodcut prints as my final project instead of a paper.

The last couple of years have really changed writing for me. I started writing on Substack just because it was a free newsletter platform, and Mailchimp was charging me every month for my subscriber list that I built up touring for 10 years. I switched it all over for that reason alone, just when notes started to come out, and I discovered some writers that I really enjoyed reading who were teaching craft. I started to look at my newsletter as a creative practice instead of a chore I had to do, and it changed everything. I found out I actually love working with essay forms. I love how much more deeply I have been able to express myself, how much deeper my reading has gotten as I practice writing for writing’s sake, and how it has helped me connect in a real way with my audience off stage.

WHAT’S ONE THING YOU THOUGHT FOR SURE YOU’D HAVE FIGURED OUT BY NOW, BUT HAVEN’T YET?

I definitely did not think I would still be winging it quite as much as I still am. Between moving across the country before my son was born and all the changes in the music industry, I do an awful lot of throwing spaghetti at yonder wall to see if anything sticks.

WHAT COMES TO MIND WHEN YOU HEAR THE PHRASE ‘FULFILLING LIFE’? HOW HAS YOUR PERSPECTIVE ABOUT THIS CHANGED AS YOU GOT OLDER?

Good food, good movement, and good relationships. Plus, I want to be of service to my community with a vibrant, creative life. I want to stay connected to the natural world.

WHAT ARE YOU MOST EXCITED ABOUT THESE DAYS?

I've got a bunch of projects that I am excited about. My husband and I have finally started recording our duet project, BEECHARMER, and I'm hoping to have an EP out by spring. This is the second year I have made “A Wilder Wonder” postcard calendar. I made cut paper collages this year from illustrations that I made for my newsletter, and I'm stoked with how the calendar came out. I have also somehow gotten myself to develop a daily yoga practice, and that is really exciting me. Partly because I can't believe how consistent I have been, and partly because I can finally do the crow pose, which I surely could not do at 25.

IF YOU COULD GIVE SOME WORDS OF WISDOM TO SOMEONE 20 YEARS YOUNGER THAN YOU, WHAT MIGHT IT BE?

You are worth what you want, so decide to be brave. The world needs kind people who are prepared to do things that scare them, and to get what you want, you will have to do things that scare you.

AND THE MOST IMPORTANT QUESTION: WHO WAS YOUR FAVORITE SINGER/BAND GROWING UP?

This question is so unfair! Pick only 1?! Ahh! Okay, I loved The Cranberries. But also Dolly Parton and the soundtrack to Les Mis. Beck. And Pearl Jam. Vince Gill. Joni Mitchell. Ani DiFranco. Whitney Houston. The Shirelles..... Clearly, I can't do it. Before college, I was steeped in a brew of folk-singer songwriters, 90's pop and alt rock, Broadway musicals, my Dad's bluegrass and classic country, and my mom's order from TV album sets with like a hundred songs of Female Stars of the 50's.

LB: I’ve heard from others before that this “one-favorite-singer-band” question was tricky. But clearly, it’s torture for someone like Jes!

Lou Blaser writes We’re All Getting Older, a weekly essay series about change, meaning, and the lives we’re unfolding. She also maintains The Filtered, a digital library for reading, learning, and thinking better.

WAGO is a continuing conversation about who we are becoming and the lives we are unfolding as we get older.

Hello,

I’m reading How to Begin by Michael Bungay Stanier, and its subtitle tells you what the book is about: Start Doing Something That Matters. What has struck me so far is his discussion of ambition, and how his framing complicates another concept I’ve been thinking about: enoughness.

Stanier begins his book with the most soaring of prompts, Mary Oliver’s, “Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?”

What indeed! We’ve only got one crack at this life… how do we make it worthwhile? How do we make sure we’re doing something that matters?

Stanier says the key to answering these deep (and sometimes elusive) questions is to be ambitious. Doubly ambitious in fact — for our lives and for the world.

Ambition for our lives, as he frames it, is not about money, fame, or status.

“Ambitious for your life means unlocking your greatness and becoming the best version of yourself. Science repeatedly tells us that happiness rarely comes from money or fame or status, even if you’re lucky enough to have any of those; it comes from a life well lived. A life where you don’t let fear or past scars or made-up BS get in the way of growing, refining, and using your talents, exploring your edges, and having adventures.”

Becoming the best version of ourselves, not letting fear or past scars stop us… that alone is no small ambition. And for some, it may already feel like enough — more than enough, even — to be getting on with. And yet Stanier suggests holding a second ambition alongside it.

“Ambition for the world might mean making headlines: starting an organization; inventing a technology; protesting against tyranny; populating Mars. But also consider it at a more intimate scale: building a better relationship; following through on a challenging deliverable; leading a thriving team; returning to study; making and sharing a creative project; chairing a community meeting.”

Stanier urges us to look beyond ourselves, past our happiness. To contribute.

“The test is, ‘Will you give more to the world than you take?’ No matter who you are, no matter how much privilege you do or do not have, you can find a way to give more to the world than you take.”

Which leads me, quite inevitably, to Jane Goodall’s enduring message, “What you do makes a difference, and you have to decide what kind of difference you want to make.”

• • •

Enoughness — an ancient principle that has been modernized and applied to contemporary culture — is sometimes positioned as a softening. A letting go of striving. A decision to be happy with what we’ve got and stop reaching. I’ve always thought of this particular framing as somewhat reductive and missing something crucial to keeping the light that is in all of us and that we ought never extinguish.

Stanier’s discussion of ambition (both for ourselves and for the world), I think, provides the necessary complication. In this light, enoughness can be viewed as not about opting out of effort. Rather, it’s about choosing the right direction for it.

Stanier also frames this often-maligned word, striving, as something worthwhile. We’re not striving for accumulation or self-optimization. We are instead striving for contribution and participation. We’re not striving from a place of inadequacy, but rather from a place of ability. And in that context, why wouldn’t we want to strive?

Ambition for the self asks, How fully can I become who I am? Ambition for the world asks, Where does that becoming actually land? What does it touch? Who does it serve? In these questions, scale or grandness is not demanded or even implied. But they do ask for a quality of our intention and commitment.

• • •

A few months ago, I met a couple who had retired early and had finally permitted themselves to pursue those ambitions they didn’t have time for before. The catch is, they’re treating each one as a project with a five-year window to be all-in. What struck me wasn’t the boldness of their plans or ambitions, but the clarity of their frame. They weren’t chasing more for its own sake. They were being specific about how to use their time, energy, and experience in ways that felt both stretching and sufficient.

On Substack, I’ve recently become acquainted with Mark of . His core message is about the power of kindness and the hope for us to embrace it for ourselves and for others. I thought of him and his work when I read about ambition for the world.

Contrary to some overly simplistic presentation, enoughness, then, may not be the absence of ambition at all. It may be what keeps ambition from breaking down and collapsing inward. It can be a way of measuring success not by how much we secure for ourselves, but by how generously our efforts extend beyond us.

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🏷 Enoughness

💬 last word

Loved this song back in the day. But loving it better now, listening to it as a protest song, which it was actually, and its message for people everywhere to take a stand and make their voices heard.

All my best,
Lou Blaser

Lou Blaser writes We’re All Getting Older, a weekly essay series about change, meaning, and the lives we’re unfolding. She also maintains The Filtered, a digital library for reading, learning, and thinking better.

WAGO is a continuing conversation about who we are becoming and the lives we are unfolding as we get older.

Hello,

If there is one activity that I have always engaged in, from the time I was a kid, it is reading. (How I wish I could also say playing the piano and dancing, but alas, I had stopped doing those, and now want to reclaim them. But that is a story for another time.)

But reading. Yes. Hardy Boys. Nancy Drew. Agatha Christie. My father had an Erle Stanley Gardner lying about, and that introduced me to Perry Mason, and this fantastical idea that I, too, could become a lawyer one day and solve interesting cases, like him and like my father.

Speaking of my father, I think I got my reading genes from him. I remember him reading all the time, at all hours of the day and night. He had this small home office/library set-up in the house, and I can still recall him sitting behind his desk, surrounded by his books, reading, reading, reading.

Now, studying carried a heftier weight than just reading when I was growing up. This was primarily my mother’s rule. I could study as much as I wanted. Bury my head in my textbooks all day and all night long if it suited. But reading other books, like Nancy Drew? Absolutely not. I should be helping in the kitchen, doing house chores, or practicing my piano lessons.

So, I “hid” my reading. It was my earliest guilty pleasure. I sneaked the other books into my room and read while pretending I was doing homework. It is too funny to think about this now.

• • •

Reading stayed with me through high school, through college, and throughout my adult life. What I was reading, though, changed over time. There was a long period (the career years) when I read mostly non-fiction, mainly management, leadership, and productivity books. When I went back to school for a second degree in IT, technical books got added to the TBR pile.

Reading fiction became even more of a guilty pleasure then, something I would only indulge in while on vacation, lying on the beach, and such. I felt that reading those books was for entertainment, and took me away from the very important task of developing myself so I could climb the ladder. (I had told you before, the career was the center of my universe for a long time, right?)

But slowly, I found my way back to fiction reads in my late 30s, thank goodness for that. Authors like Dennis Lehane, Robert Ludlum, Scott Turow, and Stieg Larsson pulled me back. I fell in love with Anna Quindlen, Anita Shreve (I think I’ve read all her books), and Rosamunde Pilcher. And I found a new appreciation for the classics, which I much enjoy reading as an adult, as compared to when they were assigned readings.

And slowly, slowly, the non-fiction books gave up more and more of their allotted space to novels and short stories.

• • •

I have friends from my younger years who used to be as much a bookworm as I was. But they tell me they’ve stopped reading now. Most of them said their reading slowed down and eventually sputtered to a stop when they got married and had kids.

Although I had been married twice, I never had kids, and so I can’t tell you how child-rearing might have affected my reading life. But I also have friends who continued reading and in fact, passed their love of reading to their children. I’d like to believe that in another timeline, one where I do have kids, that I would fall into this second category.

Outside of required reading for school, though, I’ve never been intentional with my reading. I picked up books I simply felt like reading. I’d go to the bookstore and buy books that caught my attention. Or the ones everybody was talking about, or are on the bestseller’s list. Or books that were recommended to me by friends. Sometimes, watching a movie version drove me to read the book it was based on.

Lately, though, I’ve been interested in reading intentionally. This line from Celeste Nguyen’s essay has stayed with me since I read it the first time:

“I find myself turning this phrase — research as leisure activity — over and over again, especially as I plan out what I want to read this summer, what I want to write, and who I want to be at the end of the season.”

There’s something about being deliberate about what you want to read and immerse yourself in for a period of time that sounds so delicious to my ears. And that this kind of well-considered reading could help me shape my experience and who I might want to be at the end of a given period. How inviting is that?!

Even more directly, following and reading his publication, Beyond the Bookshelf, has inspired me to inject some planning and deliberateness into my reading life. Matthew shared this in one of his essays:

“Each fall, I sit down to plan out my reading for the following year. This is a special day as I think critically about which books to read. Time is finite, and so are the books in one's life. I look carefully through my unread shelves and the list of books I keep close at hand. Where will the new year take me? What will I learn about the world and myself? Who will I become?”

There is one subject I’ve been curious about and wanting to study — The Gilded Age — and I am encouraged by Matthew’s work to come up with a kind of syllabus that would allow me to study this era on my own time. It is such a big topic, though. So, following his suggestion, I’m going to narrow it down to one or two areas to start with or anchor my study in, instead of diving in trying to boil the ocean.

But I’ve also been pulled to read some authors a bit more deeply (also inspired by Matthew’s deep reading of John Steinbeck). Something about immersing myself in one person’s body of work, their world, and their point of view sounds so appealing to me at this stage of my life. I honestly don’t know why this is the case. But rather than psychoanalyzing myself, I’m going to follow my curiosity and stop interrogating. Maybe I’ll be able to articulate this “pull” better once I get into it.

There are three authors that I’d like to do this sort of compendium reading: John Le Carré, Ian McEwan, and Edith Wharton (as her work dovetails with my desire to study the Gilded Age).

But instead of reading all of their work — which I feel is too overwhelming to think about, and also requiring a level of commitment that I’m not sure I have — I’ve selected a few of their work that I feel gives me the core deep dive I’m looking to accomplish.

These are the books on my list:

John Le Carré:

• A Perfect Spy

• The Spy Who Came In From The Cold

• Smiley’s People

• Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy (a re-read)

• The Night Manager

• A Most Wanted Man

Ian McEwan:

• Atonement (a re-read)

• Enduring Love

• Saturday

• Amsterdam

• On Chesil Beach

Edith Wharton:

• The House of Mirth (a re-read)

• The Custom of the Country

• The Age of Innocence (a re-read)

• Twilight Sleep

• Ethan Frome (a re-read)

• Summer

I don’t know that I will read these books back-to-back. More than likely, I’ll switch from one author to another, and intermix the reading with other books and authors. I’ll have to see and will let you know how it goes.

• • •

These days, I do 95% of my reading on the Kindle, primarily for portability and ease of reading at night. I do miss physical books. I miss the tactile feel, the act of underlining or writing notes on the margins. I miss the feel of flipping pages back and forth, or the act of surreptitiously peeking at the last page. I had amassed a library of books over the years, and when I sold the condo a couple of years ago, it broke my heart when I donated the books to the local library. I keep telling myself I still have a library, albeit digital now.

Reading is such a key part of my life and integral to me being who I am. Strip all the labels, old and new, and being a reader is a nametag I’ll proudly keep. Two of my CliftonStrengths are Intellection and Input, and I’m a card-carrying introvert — I would be totally lost in this world if I were not reading.

Reading has taught me, shaped my thinking, shaped my being, for that matter. Books have allowed me to enter worlds beyond my imagination, walk in other people’s shoes, and see from their eyes. My entire human experience has been made richer and fuller because of books, and I cannot wait to see where my attempt at deliberate immersive reading would lead me.

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🏷 Becoming

💬 last word

If there ever was an anthem for appreciating the present moment, finding joy in life's simple moments, and creating memories out of fleeting times when we feel blessed and lucky…

All my best,
Lou Blaser

Lou Blaser writes We’re All Getting Older, a weekly essay series about change, meaning, and the lives we’re unfolding. She also maintains The Filtered, a digital library for reading, learning, and thinking better.

WAGO is a continuing conversation about who we are becoming and the lives we are unfolding as we get older.

Hello,

In a recent re-reading of Austin Kleon’s Keep Going: 10 Ways to Stay Creative in Good Times and Bad, this passage caught my attention:

“When my son Jules was two, I spent a ton of time watching him draw. I noticed that he cared not one bit about the actual finished drawing (the noun) — all his energy was focused on drawing (the verb). When he’d made the drawing, I could erase it, toss it in the recycling bin, or hang it on the wall. He didn’t really care. He was also medium agnostic: he was just as happy with crayon on paper, marker on a whiteboard, chalk on the driveway, or, in a medium that put his parents’ encouragement to the test, chalk on the outdoor couch cushions.”

Kleon recounts this story with his son in a chapter about focusing on the doing and not so much on the being, or on the labels that we claim for ourselves (for instance, on writing versus being a writer). “Forget the nouns altogether,” he says. “Do the verbs.”

I get that part for sure, but the story landed for me for a couple of other reasons, too.

One was about the lack of any need for validation. Kleon’s son didn’t pause to see if anyone was watching. He didn’t look up for approval. He didn’t check his parents’ faces or listen for applause. He just kept going.

Which made me wonder: when did we learn to look up? When did the shift from absorption to being aware of an audience start? The switch from doing to being seen doing.

My brother, a retired doctor, painted as a hobby for years and years. A couple of his watercolor paintings hang in their house, but most of them, hundreds, are stacked neatly in their basement. He took out those brushes for himself — more often now that he’s retired — not for an audience but for himself. To be absorbed in doing something he enjoyed, to lose track of time, creating from his imagination.

The last time I visited him, I asked for a tour of the basement and look at all his paintings. I said to him, “You can have an art show!” He told me he had actually done so, once, a long time ago, at the urging of a friend. But that’s not what it’s about, he said. That’s not why he paints. You know, I admire him so much for that.

I think about my work and various projects, creatively or not, that feed from the validation I get from others, and how I react when I do not get it. I think about what I do in private and reaffirm to myself that those are equally meaningful as the ones I choose to share and be witnessed by others. I think about how I could reclaim the spirit of a kid, like Kleon’s son, and not care too much about external validation.

• • •

The second thing about the story that landed for me was his son’s utter indifference to the outcome.

“I could erase it, toss it in the recycling bin, or hang it on the wall. He didn’t really care.”

Wow. That line feels almost radical in an adult context. We rarely engage in anything that casually anymore. I mean, most of what we do these days carries some kind of implied obligation — to be useful, to be shareable, to be “good” — which, usually, is something we’ve come up with all by ourselves, to justify the time we spent doing the thing.

But Kleon’s son, he demonstrates a form of engagement where the result was optional. The act was the point. The outcome — no matter what — was just what happened next.

Okay. Obviously, outcomes matter. Finishing matters. This is how we earn a living or move forward in life. I’m looking out the window as I write this, watching construction workers build a new condominium tower across the street. Clearly, the outcome of their work matters. Matters a very great deal, actually.

But there are loads of other work, creative or otherwise, that aren’t quite as outcome-critical. And I love the lightness of the relationship to the result that this story highlights. No clinging. No anxiety. No despair if the outcome didn’t turn out as imagined (or hoped for).

I’m interested in bringing a bit more of that energy into my life. A loosening of my grip on “desired outcomes”. A focus on the doing, and enjoying that part — like, really enjoying, not just an “oh well, at least I enjoyed it”.

• • •

Georgia O’Keeffe once said, “I have already settled it for myself, so flattery and criticism go down the same drain and I am quite free.”

I can’t claim the level of freedom as I write this, but it certainly is aspirational, and I’d like to head in that direction. Especially as I spend this year thinking about creative life — not capital-C Creative… but in the ordinary ways we stay engaged with what we’re making and doing, even when nothing comes of it.

✴️ What’s something you might keep doing even if no one was watching and nothing came of it?

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🏷 Enoughness

💬 last word

Nothing like David Bowie reminding us that the doing is really enough. No need to plan. No expectations, just movement. Let’s dance.

All my best,
Lou Blaser

Lou Blaser writes We’re All Getting Older, a weekly essay series about change, meaning, and the lives we’re unfolding. She also maintains The Filtered, a digital library for reading, learning, and thinking better.

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I didn’t know I’d like snarky notes until I ran into . Another writer on Substack said it best: “Your sarkiness has an appealing, international flavour to it, combining American directness, European disdain, and British world-weariness.”

Daniel drinks a lot of coffee (and occasionally stronger stuff), says he wastes way too much time watching sports, and meandering around Vienna (where he currently lives), marvelling in the splendid architecture. A teacher by trade, he loves reading and writing, and hanging out with his 7-year-old daughter.

IN WHICH GENERATION DO YOU BELONG?

Gen X: 1965 - 1980

DO YOU WORK? IF SO, WHAT DO YOU DO?

I consider myself to be a full-time writer, though making ends meet is tough these days. Am I unemployed? More or less, I suppose, but I teach from time to time and find other sources of (legal) income, sometimes in creative, less orthodox ways.

WHAT WOULD THE 25-YEAR-OLD VERSION OF YOU THINK OF YOU TODAY? HOW ARE YOU MOST DIFFERENT FROM HIM?

I’ve always been very cynical about trends and fads. I was the kid who looked at weird fashion things like pegged jeans (remember those?) and thought, ‘One day, we're going to look back and laugh at this.’ But did I join in? Of course I did. I wasn’t brave enough to rebel and be that much of a contrarian.

Looking back, I wish I’d stuck to my guns and been that contrarian, but I fear this is a cliché to admit as we get older, the classic I-don’t-give-a-**** attitude when we hit middle age. That younger version of me would very much say, ‘Daniel, you should’ve thrown all caution to the wind and been a rebel!’ He’d also say, ‘How did you end up in such a pickle in life, my goodness, what choices you’ve made, what on earth were you thinking moving to Ukraine all those years ago?’

WHAT HAS NOT CHANGED ABOUT YOU?

Humour and sarcasm. I’ve always been a snarky bastard, but I hope I’ve at least refined it over the years and become a wee bit more witty.

GOOD OR BAD, WHAT ABOUT YOUR STAGE IN LIFE HAS SURPRISED YOU SO FAR?

I thought there’d come a time when I’d feel properly grown up, like an adult, but honestly? I still feel like a floundering kid and barely know what I’m doing. I’m nearly half a century old now, and I still haven’t got it figured out. Not that this bothers me all that much. I’ve accepted it for what it is, but... do other people actually feel like adults at a certain point?

WHAT’S ONE THING YOU THOUGHT FOR SURE YOU’D HAVE FIGURED OUT BY NOW, BUT HAVEN’T YET?

See my previous answer (haha). Truly, I thought that I’d have figured out many things by now, I can’t pinpoint just one. It’s mainly a case of feeling like a proper adult. I moved around a lot growing up, and I reckoned I’d have a similar life once I hit adulthood, and this has indeed been the case. But I thought I’d be a bit more settled down now. And if Russia hadn’t invaded Ukraine, forcing me and my family to flee, I suppose I would be more rooted somewhere.

WHAT COMES TO MIND WHEN YOU HEAR THE PHRASE ‘FULFILLING LIFE’? HOW HAS YOUR PERSPECTIVE ABOUT THIS CHANGED AS YOU GOT OLDER?

I hate goals, and I have no idea what success means. When I think of “fulfilling”, I think it means having freedom over my own timetable and plenty of time for reading, which I do have. What I don’t have, however, is much money. Money isn’t everything, but I wouldn’t mind a bit more.

WHAT ARE YOU MOST EXCITED ABOUT THESE DAYS?

I simultaneously suffer from crippling reading-related FOMO anxiety as I start to worry I won’t have enough time to read everything I want to before shuffling off this mortal coil and excitement over the books I have yet to read (as well as the ones I'm eager to reread). It's a complex mix of emotions. I have that same mix of (bittersweet) emotions watching my 7-year-old grow up so quickly.

IF YOU COULD GIVE SOME WORDS OF WISDOM TO SOMEONE 20 YEARS YOUNGER THAN YOU, WHAT MIGHT IT BE?

Read a lot and stay in touch with the humanities. Don’t get swallowed up in devices and screens. And be curious, well-read, informed, and open-minded.
Also, by all means, make plans, but don’t stick to them. Be flexible.

AND THE MOST IMPORTANT QUESTION: WHO WAS YOUR FAVORITE SINGER/BAND GROWING UP?

I was a massive Britpop fan, and Suede was my favourite then, and they're still my favourite now. They've been going strong for over three decades (wish I could say the same for me...)

• • • • •

WAGO is a continuing conversation about who we are becoming and the lives we are unfolding as we get older.

Hello,

Did you grow in the areas you wanted to grow last year? Or were you surprised where growth showed up? Perhaps, in areas you weren’t even considering?

I spent a lot of time last year writing, which, for me, was the setting where most of my surprise learning happened.

I aimed to improve as a writer, for sure. But somewhere between all the drafting and the editing, I realized it wasn’t just about becoming a better writer. It was also about being braver.

1. Learning to say more than I’m used to saying

Emotional openness has never been my strong suit. My default MO is to stay neatly zipped up. But last year, I tried — really tried — to loosen the zipper by a millimeter.

There were times when hitting “publish” felt like stepping outside with my coat unbuttoned on purpose. I definitely felt a little exposed and chilly. And sometimes I did get that vulnerability hangover everyone talks about. (I heard Brené Brown said she feels this way too sometimes, so I guess I’m in good company.)

There’s still a long way to go. But it felt like I was using a part of myself that had been dormant all this time. Like stretching a muscle I didn’t even know I had.

2. Letting things be smaller, tighter, simpler

Another surprise: learning to say less.

I’ve always admired writers who can land an idea in under a thousand words. Not because shorter is better (this is so not about attention span). But because brevity and concision force a different kind of honesty.

You can’t hide behind elaboration when you’re trying to be concise. You have to name the thing straight on.

Trying to write that way taught me to notice when I was padding, when I was hiding, when I was afraid to say it, and land the sentence. Funny how growth can happen while you’re deleting a paragraph and being okay with what’s left.

3. Learning to leave things unfinished (on purpose)

My instinct has always been to tuck everything in and offer myself and the reader some kind of takeaway. But I’ve been noticing that some pieces don’t want a tidy ending. Some pieces want to leave a question hanging in the air.

Last year, I fought the urge to always reach for the neat conclusion, and do you know, the strangest thing happened. The writing felt less engineered. More honest, more like conversations. More like the lived experience, which rarely ends with a moral, and almost never with certainty.

Holding that unresolved space in my written work wasn’t (isn’t) easy. Some part of me still wants to close the loop. But I’m learning to sit in that space. To trust that sometimes, questions hold as much clarity as pat answers.

• • •

Looking back, the growth I noticed last year didn’t always show up in the areas I set out to improve. And certainly not how I’d imagined. Most came in small ways that would have been so easy to miss and leave unappreciated.

I’m sharing this experience because I suspect that’s often how growth works for a lot of us — whether in the writing arena or not. Growth often isn’t a big reveal. Usually it’s a series of small shifts we only notice in hindsight and if we’re paying attention.

✴️ Does this align with your experience? Where and how did you grow last year?

Leave a comment

🏷 Thinking Life

💬 last word

Here’s a little sunshine to carry us through January and 2026!

All my best,
Lou Blaser

Lou Blaser writes We’re All Getting Older, a weekly essay series about change, meaning, and the lives we’re unfolding. She also maintains The Filtered, a digital library for reading, learning, and thinking better.

WAGO is a continuing conversation about who we are becoming and the lives we are unfolding as we get older.

This project has evolved quite a bit since I started it in 2023. Initially, it was all about the midlife experience — what to make out of this time in our lives and how to live with intention and joy.

I figured that by exploring these things, I’d find answers for myself, which would hopefully resonate with you. Funny thing was, while I did find answers, I also came up with more questions. Writing here was like acquiring a powerful telescope. There’s more and more to see.

There came a point when even I had a hard time describing what this was about! WAGO was going through a “growth spurt”, and it kept outgrowing the words I was using to pin it down.

Finally, sometime in the Fall last year, I landed on a way to describe what we’re doing here: “Conversations about who we are becoming as we get older.”

Between the weekly letters, the profiled stories, and the neighborhood chats, we’re asking and taking note of what makes life interesting and meaningful — and slowly but surely, unfolding the parts that truly matter as we get older.

This is how I describe WAGO these days. I think it gives us the breathing room we need to continue growing, right?

The start of 2026 found me circling around three topics that, for different reasons, are pulling on my curiosity. These will likely form the spine of my inquiries this year.

Ambition vs Enoughness:

For many of us, our younger years were about striving. I continue to be ambitious in midlife — just about different things. But some questions keep bouncing around in my head: What does it mean to feel like what we have, who we are, what we’ve done, is enough? And if enough doesn’t mean the end of growth, what does it mean instead? This year, I’d like to sit with what satisfaction looks like and how ambition shows up when it’s lost its sharp edges.

Creative Life:

My curiosity about this started with a run of episodes on the Sustainable Ambition podcast1 exploring creativity in work and life. Something in those conversations stuck with me. I began wondering what a creative life actually looks like — especially for those of us who never claimed that identity out loud. Is creativity a skill? A temperament? A way of moving through the day? I’m not sure yet, but we’re going to see where these questions lead us.

Hope and Resilient Thinking:

I read these words from musician Nick Cave2 in late 2023:

“Unlike cynicism, hopefulness is hard-earned, makes demands upon us, and can often feel like the most indefensible and lonely place on Earth. Hopefulness is not a neutral position, either. It is adversarial. It is the warrior emotion that can lay waste to cynicism.”

His words come back to me, especially on the mornings when my chest feels heavy. I’m curious about how we hold both fear and possibility at the same time. How do we keep going, especially when the ground feels wobbly?

Okay. So, this is by no means a syllabus, and I’m not limiting myself to these themes for twelve months!

I’ll still follow sparks, and write about whatever shows up. But since I’ll be reading and thinking a lot about these three areas, they will likely seep into the work, the way anything we’re curious about inevitably does.

What to expect in 2026:

Some of you may know that I started a second Substack project a few months ago. Although The Filtered has a different purpose and vibe, I initially thought splitting my attention might mean I’d want to write less here.

But surprise, surprise. It’s done the exact opposite! As they say, writing begets more writing.

I’ll keep the weekly Sunday publishing cadence for WAGO. With the reflection essays, the monthly profiles will remain, as well as the occasional neighborhood chats.

I’m also thinking of holding some Zoom chats sometime during the year. This is something I’ve long wanted to do, but have been a bit gun-shy. Perhaps this year, I’ll be brave enough! 😉

Your support of this work

Most everything I publish here is free, and I expect this will remain the same this year. I’m still figuring out what — if anything — belongs behind a paywall, and none of my past attempts felt quite right.

I’m deeply grateful to those who’ve chosen a paid subscription anyway. No one gets rich doing this 😊 but your support genuinely fuels the work and keeps this little neighborhood going.

If you can and would like to support WAGO, I would be so grateful.

Subscribe now

I’m excited to be walking this next stretch with you. Thank you so much for being part of WAGO.

Here’s wishing you all the best for the new year.

Warmly,
Lou Blaser

This is the last WAGO letter I’m sending out in 2025, so I thought we’d end the year with a little community get-together in chat form.

And instead of simply asking about your holiday plans or new year goals (yawn), I figured we could do something for each other and maybe a bit “kinder”.

It’s been a strange year for many of us. Uncertain in big ways. Tiring too, for all kinds of reasons. I know a lot of people are heading into the new year feeling a little worn and unsure of what’s ahead.

So I thought we could offer each other a small lift.

If someone in this neighborhood was feeling a little discouraged heading into the new year, what might you tell them? Perhaps offer something small and encouraging?

See you in the comments!

Leave a comment

P.S.
Wishing you the merriest holidays, with lots of laughter and hugs from the people who matter most to you. I’ll see you next year!

Lots of love,
Lou 🎄🧑🏼‍🎄

“We do not learn from experience,” said American philosopher John Dewey. “We learn from reflecting on experience.”

For the past two years, I’ve shared my lessons learned with the WAGO readers.1 Twice in a row counts for an annual tradition now, right? 😉

Writing these helps me understand the year I just lived, and I share them here, in case they nudge a thought or two for you as you look back on yours.

This year’s reflections are a little looser than the past ones — just the mood I’m in, I suppose. But format notwithstanding, here are the key takeaways from my 2025.

• Most problems are solvable. But the solution may not be what you think or how you’d like them to be. And insisting that a problem be solved the way you want it to be solved — and only that way — becomes the obstacle to it being solved.

• It’s easy to say, “I know what my values are.” It’s much harder to consistently live up to those values, especially when you have to stand up for them, when you have to stick to what you believe in front of family and friends… when sticking to your values could mean you are ostracized or become “other”. But at the end of the day — or in the middle of the night, when you’re staring at yourself in the mirror at 3 am — knowing you upheld your values feels quite peaceful and angst-free.

• You can come up with as many well-thought-out plans as you want. But sometimes (often?), things outside your control can change the rules of the game without warning. And the best thing you can do is to recognize, as swiftly as you can, that your plans are no longer viable. Spend as little time as you can whining and complaining about the unfairness of it all. Switch to “okay, it is what it is; what now?” thinking as soon as possible.

• There are so many people who, when given the chance, will embrace their foulest side and proudly share it with the world. (This is an unfortunate realization I’ve reached this year.)

• It doesn’t matter how old you get, the 13-year-old in you will always show up when she feels scared and vulnerable. She will always be with you, and it’s time to stop fighting with her (or worse, hating her). She’s the part of you who felt the early stings of rejection and humiliation, and it’s your job now to reassure her that both of you are safe.

• Marcus Aurelius wrote Meditations for himself. It was his journal, and he repeated himself often in those pages. He reminded himself of the same lessons he needed to learn, over and over. What a relief this is to see; there’s no need to feel frustrated with yourself. There simply are lessons that will take a while to learn. There are even lessons that you may have to keep (re)learning throughout your lifetime. There’s nothing wrong with you.

• Listen to your own drumbeat and pace your life accordingly. No need to follow other people’s standards of “slow living”. What’s important is that you choose what sets your pace, and as long as you can hear yourself above the noise, that is good enough.

How did your 2025 go?

Well, there you have it. Those are my key takeaways from 2025. I’d love to hear yours as well. What’s a key takeaway for you this year?

Leave a comment

🏷 Thinking Life

💭 not Socrates, but close enough

“Because life isn’t simply made of the things we do, but the things we don’t do too.” — Matt Haig, The Midnight Library

💬 last word

I had such a hard time choosing a song for this. I think I spent half as long looking for it as I did writing the piece. 🤦🏻‍♀️

Sometimes, the only answer is an ’80s banger.

All my best,
Lou Blaser

A quarterly(ish) neighborhood round-up of what’s happening around WAGO (short for We’re All Getting Older). Imagine the corkboard by the coffee shop door: part news, part celebration, part “hey, look what someone made!”

🏘 news from around the neighborhood

• has published a guided journal called The Buddha Way: A 52-Week Guided Journal for Practicing Peace and Wisdom in Everyday Life. The reflections are based on mindfulness, compassion, and inner peace. It may just be the perfect holiday gift for your loved ones this year.

• is about to be a first-time cozy mystery writer! Her first book, Drowning in Deception, is available now for pre-order. (Depending on when you read this, it may actually be out already.) And you know, age doesn’t matter around here, but just to say, she’s publishing this, her first novel, in her 60s!

• A toast and round of applause for who won the Pro-ageing Substack Writer 2025 award, from the Advantages of Age. 🍾

• Meanwhile, won the “Most Inspiring Life Story” award from the same host. 🥂

• ’s Terraphilia Book Club is reading Active Hope: How to Face the Mess We’re In With Unexpected Resilience and Creative Power this quarter.

• We can now order ’s wonderfully illustrated 2026 Postcard Calendars. (It’s an unbound calendar that becomes a postcard to send off to a friend when the month is done!) You can find out more about the calendars in this post, where she also talks about my favorite topic, “Begin Again. Again.”

• has renamed her Subtack to A Creative Midlife, and you can probably guess its focus. 😉

• has shared the 2026 reading plan for Beyond The Bookshelf, and you’ll want to read how he put it together. The reading plan is wonderful, but his thought process is inspired and inspiring!

• celebrates 37 years of wedded bliss and her essay, “Hallmark Movies? They’ve Got Nothing On Me” made me tear up and wish I were married too for that many years! 1

• has been writing her novel for almost three years now (working title: We Are All Witches Now), and ever since she talked about it with me on the podcast, I’ve been waiting for the day. So, I almost fell off my chair when she wrote this: When You’re Considering Quitting A Treasured Project. If you’ve ever thought of “giving up” on a dream project, have a read!

• started her second Substack, called Hope No One Reads This, “for anyone who wants to create but keeps getting caught in the tangle of vulnerability.”

• While we’re on the subject, I, too, started a second Substack! 😉 If you happen to like the idea of a newsletter with handpicked essays, curated for depth, clarity, and timeless-ness, I’d love for you to check out The Filtered. You can find a sample issue here and subscribe.

💬 last word

Warmest welcome to all the new subscribers who joined us since the first Town Bulletin in August. If you haven’t yet, please visit the Town Center and say Hi!

Putting this together has been fun, but I need to come up with a better way of gathering the neighborhood goss, I mean news in between issues. Please feel free to add your “news” in the comments section. This town bulletin is for you!

Alright, time to land this with the song…

And it takes all kinds of people
All kinds of people in this world
To make this world turn around
Make this world a better place…

Holding the clipboard this week,
Lou Blaser

P.S. As you know, this is a reader-supported publication, and your support is what makes this possible. If you’re feeling a wee bit generous today, you can upgrade to a paid subscription, or you can …

Buy Me a Latte

Conversations about who we are becoming as we get older.

Hello.

I’ve tried all sorts of ideas around here. A few gems, plenty of flops. 🤦🏻‍♀️ One I’m glad I’ve stuck with is the monthly In Profile series (“where we meet real people navigating life with intention and just enough craziness to make it interesting”).

Every guest answers the same ten questions. One of them is about fulfillment: what it looks like, what it feels like, and how their perspective has changed over time.

Fun fact: when it’s time to prep each profile, that’s the first answer I go to. I’m fascinated by how people describe something we all long for and yet never seem to define quite the same way.

What makes for a fulfilling life is obviously as personal as it gets.

But one thing I’ve noted across all the responses is that fulfillment seems less about chasing — and achieving — a dream and more about inhabiting our lives fully.

And what it takes to feel fulfilled? Well, that definitely changes over time!

I have this dream that one day, I’ll compile all these insightful answers into a coffee-table book. Hah.

In the meantime, I thought I’d bridge the gap by gathering this year’s answers into one post. And since we’re coming up on a stretch of days that tends to make us look at our lives a little more closely, it felt fitting to share these now.

So here are this year’s profiled guests on what makes for a fulfilling life. I hope you’ll find them as insightful as I do.

WHAT COMES TO MIND WHEN YOU HEAR THE PHRASE ‘FULFILLING LIFE’? HOW HAS YOUR PERSPECTIVE ABOUT THIS CHANGED AS YOU GOT OLDER?

Finding the balance between activity and stillness. Leaving room for whatever I might want to do in that moment, rather than filling my day with activities leftover from the previous day or a previous lifestyle. When I was young, I wanted everything I thought I’d never have — a good marriage, a business of my own, a writing life, financial security. I’ve had all of them by now, and what I want is less stuff, more downtime.

As I’ve matured, I find that different things now make me feel fulfilled. For example, when I turned 50, I woke up and made a list of things I wanted to experience — not do, but experience. […] Simply making this list was such a fulfilling experience. On this list was baking cookies with my kids, a sunset kiss with my husband, visiting the site of the ancient and modern-day Olympics in Greece, completing a Grief Companioning Course with Dr. Alan Wolfelt, and so much more.

I loved how this list made me realize how fortunate I am and continue to be. And that I have the power to name and then realize the things that bring me joy.

I believe a fulfilling life is one free of wants or desires. This doesn’t mean you can’t have them, but it does mean you have to be content with the here and now. That’s why billionaires are never happy; they always want more.

When you’re younger, you’ve got this timeline in your head about how your life is supposed to unfold, and when it doesn’t pan out that way, we panic, thrash about, and sink into deep sorrow. I’ve learned to drop all that like it’s hot. I’ve learned to really hone in on my values and understand how much they affect all of us. Expectations are like restrictions because you have this particular idea in your head of how life’s supposed to be, and these can prevent you from achieving a fulfilling life.

It means being able to brush up against inspiration and joy as much as possible. I know every day isn’t gonna be full throttle joy, so I try to find as much calm and peace in every day. Every day, I really try to talk to people who light me up and fill my soul. That’s what I want most of all — just that solid back and forth with good people.

MY life comes to mind. But the perspective that you can have a fulfilling life right now — today — is new. Living the dream is like courage. You have to do the scary thing before you’re brave enough for it. And if you do that enough times, you become courageous. You have to be obsessed with your life right now, in order for quantum mechanics (look, SCIENCE!) to start aligning your future with that reality. If you can fall in love with your life now, you WILL have a charmed future.

Peace, joy, happiness, and energy make for a fulfilling life. Spending time with like-minded people. Being outdoors. Exercising. I used to think a fulfilling life meant lots of $$$ and everything else was secondary.

It used to mean stuff on a list. Now it means the quality of relationships, choosing to spend time on things that fill me up instead of drain me, taking the time to appreciate and have gratitude for the little things, and not taking anything for granted. Finding joy and love and abundance every day, even when I don’t feel like it. Really, it’s about living intentionally.

What first comes to mind when I hear the phrase is how this has become such a thing, a conversation, a concept to reflect upon. I wonder if previous generations were thinking about their life being fulfilled.

For me, a fulfilling life means enjoying what you do, having great friendships and relationships, exploring countries and cultures, and appreciating beautiful moments. A fulfilling life for me also means spending as much time as possible outdoors in nature. My perspective on this has not changed as I have gotten older. What changed is that I became aware that this has always been what I consider a fulfilling life.

Expectations can disappoint. I believe the delta between expectations and reality is directly correlated to happiness and fulfillment. I have a few friends who grew up with affluence that they haven’t achieved in their adult life, and they seem dissatisfied. My family struggled in just about every way imaginable. I call it the “gift of deprivation.” I deeply appreciate everything I have — a loving husband, financial and emotional security, a crazy close relationship with my children, family vacations, the luxury to write and not need it to put food on my table. None of these things were guaranteed to me; most I thought not possible, so it’s all a wonderful surprise and deeply fulfilling.


To me, a fulfilling life needs human connection. That means tender conversations in the dark with my husband, and laughing with millennials during improv. I love the digital age and appreciate my online friends, whether it’s on Substack or with my writing friends over Zoom. […] A fulfilling life means walking my dogs, living within my means, and having a cozy and affordable roof over my head. I guess I appreciate the predictability of routine, because that means everyone is healthy and everything is okay.

• • •

Thank you to all the wonderful people who joined the In Profile series and opened up a window into their lives. I am inspired by you all. 🤗

✴️ I would love to hear your thoughts about this as well! What makes for a fulfilling life? And how have your thoughts changed as you've gotten older?

Oh, and to those who are celebrating the holiday, Happy Thanksgiving.

With love and gratitude,
Lou Blaser