Extending my life-long journaling project
Dear reader,
I’ve been keeping a journal since I was eight years old. As a kid, I imagined that someone would find my notebooks in an archeological dig and publish the contents like the Dear America Diaries. Future children would learn what it was like to be a kid in America in the early 2000s because of my journals.
Those black and white Composition notebooks are brimming with the artifacts of my childhood, including:
diagrams of my plan for the staging of our annual at-home production of The Nutcracker
the key to my pictographic secret pen-pal code
crayon drawings of fantastical creatures and princesses
recipe cards carefully cut from the Taste of Home magazines that arrived in our mailbox each month
a lost tooth in a ziplock bag
a scrap of wallpaper from one of our many house projects
Drawings that my Grampsy sketched and mailed to me and my siblings when we moved away. Once a week, the phone would ring and it would be Grampsy, calling to tell us the story behind the picture. I transcribed a few of these stories into my journals.
As far back as I can remember, writing has been one of the primary ways that I work out my relationship to the world around me. I write about the things that catch my attention—the things I can’t shake until I’ve written them down and released them.
I’m not a disciplined writer with a cohesive project. I don’t write on a schedule or with a growth-strategy for Substack.
Most of my posts here began as private journal entries that I cleaned up to share with my real-life friends. If you’re reading this today, I just want to say thanks. Thanks for journeying with me virtually and in person (👀💛). Little Angela would be delighted.
Now that you’ve met my 8-year-old alter ego, let me tell you a little bit about the grown-up version of me.
In no particular order, these are a few of my favorite things…
Drinking grass-fed pasture-raised milk - because cows deserve to be happy too.
Listening to cozy murder mysteries on Audible while working on a literary puzzle. You can follow my reading rhythms on Goodreads where I commit the cardinal sin of counting audiobooks toward my annual reading goal.
Hiking - two years ago, I completed a personal challenge to climb the tallest mountains in Scotland (Ben Nevis), England (Scafell Pike), and Wales (Snowdon). I’m excited to head out to Arches in Utah later this month for some mid-winter adventures in the sunshine with my mom. If I ever run for political office, my platform will be introducing the right to roam in America.
Wearing cashmere - lately ThredUp has been fueling my cashmere addiction. Did you know you can use their database to search like-new cashmere in your size?? You’re welcome.
Caring for house plants - my monstera’s been sad lately, so I’ve moved it back to my bedroom where it will get less light. I’m hoping it will revive! I like to think I’m slowly converting my living room into a Studio Ghibli-style greenhouse, but I’m still in the early stages with just ~20 potted plants.
Burning woodwick candles - I don’t have a fireplace at my condo, so I make do as best I can.
Sipping a hot matcha latte - My favorite tea shop closed during the pandemic, but I’ve found a coffee shop I like that’s not too far from the school where I work. They make a mean matcha latte, but I am still missing one of my old favorites—blended matcha with coconut syrup.
Collecting icons - my latest acquisition is an icon of a blossoming cross by Ukrainian artist Ulyana Tomkevych. I’ve managed to collect a dozen icons since my conversion from Baptist to Anglican in 2014. Jesus’ mother Mary is featured in nearly half of my icons, so I guess you could say I have a thing for her. This Denise Levertov poem sums up my admiration for Mary. If you’re just starting an icon collection, I’d love for you to meet a few my favorite modern iconographers:
Writing letters with dip pens and fountain pens - I inherited a beautiful dip pen from my grandpa, and I use it for very important correspondence—which, of course, must also be wax-sealed.
Sharing a pint of ice cream over an episode of Poirot with some of my closest friends every Tuesday night.
Driving with the sunroof open, singing along to Taylor Swift - 1989 landed the top album slot on my 2025 Spotify Wrapped.
Besides dog bites and bee stings (Sound of Music anyone?), these are a few things that steal my joy:
Calling Xfinity to renegotiate my wifi bill. I’m convinced that wifi rates are a scam and that Xfinity customer support plagues the inhabitants of the Dante’s Inferno. But I am also Dutch, so you can bet that every year I mark my calendar to call again when my contract is up for renewal.
Using my Roku remote to manually tap out my email address and password on the rare occasion that I activate a streaming service for a month. There has to be a more efficient way to do this.
When Christians ridicule other Christians for speaking up about abuse. If you think I’m subtweeting the ACNA right now, you’re right. And if building a snake-shaped piñata for my upcoming Reputation-themed party in response to my denomination’s perpetual scandals is a coping mechanism, then yes I am relying heavily on my coping mechanisms to get me through this catastrophe.
As I enter 2026, I’m hoping for a year filled with raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens, with bright copper kettles and warm woolen mittens…
It might sound trite, but I want to allow myself space for joy. I tend to write about and meditate on what’s heavy and dark. When I look around me at the ICE raids and the church scandals, my world sometimes feels like a tragedy. Facing the darkness can feel like swimming in the sea of lament.
This year, I want to resist the darkness from a place of joy.
Cheers!
Angela