Since I first launched Wiley Canning Company in July 2020, I’ve written a weekly newsletter. It celebrates our accomplishments each week, previews what’s to come, and shares company announcements.

Nearly one year into writing this newsletter, I created a segment called, Thin Slices. It has become my favorite way to connect with you.

Thin Slices, named after one of my all-time favorite articles by Cup of Jo, intends to highlight fleeting moments, or thin slices, of joy, patience, heartache, and more that grow our hearts and minds. It is personal at times, witty at times, and simple it times. It is always written openly and honestly.

An archive of Thin Slices is below. It is organized by date and ordered from our newest newsletter to our oldest. It is updated weekly for you to read and enjoy.

Jump in below!

Week of December 25, 2023:

Happiest New Year, my friends.

The Wiley community has brightened my life in countless ways, and I am so very thankful for each and every one of you.

As you enter a new year ahead, I want to remind you that who you already are, and what you already do, is more than enough.

In this vein, I wish you continuation. In place of beginning, ending, or changing a current habit, what might you simply continue?

What is going well that you can continue?

What currently feels aligned that you can continue?

What has made you feel proud that you can continue?

What has felt protective that you can continue?

This week, I’m wishing you thin slices of worthiness. You are already enough. What you do is already enough. I cherish your presence here.

Week of December 18, 2023:

Before our dinner in L.A., I listened to Daphne Javitch of Doing Well discuss the following idea:

In times of discomfort, uncertainty, or grief, one of the most healing things we can do is be together with those we love. I felt this very deeply the night we gathered in L.A., as such warm, grounding, and fun humans attended and because it was at the home of my close friend and colleague, Elise Joseph, where I have always felt so welcomed and protected, as I know others have, too.

Presence heals.

My friends, your presence alone is always enough.

If I can send you into this holiday weekend with one piece of encouragement, it is this: your presence alone is enough. Simply being present for those you love is a fortune. No matter what you say or do not say, no matter what you cook or do not cook, no matter what you wrap or do not wrap, you—your presence in the room, on the call, or in the text thread—is enough.

I am wishing you a nurturing, happy, and safe holiday. I am deeply grateful for each and every one of you.

Week of December 11, 2023:

This weekend, after a filled-to-the-brim week, I plan to focus on what I refer to as my macro health habits. I will aim to get eight hours of sleep each night this weekend, and I will hydrate with still water throughout the day.

Oftentimes, we can become quite granular when considering our health habits. However, sometimes what we need most is a solid night of sleep or glasses of cool water throughout the day.

Easy.

This week, as I know it is a part of a filled-to-the-brim time of year, I am wishing you full nights of rest and hydrating days.

Week of November 06, 2023:

How often do you pause to acknowledge your internal growth?

We often pause to celebrate external accomplishments: a new home, a new client, or a well-earned recognition. Of course, our internal curiosity and drive contribute to the external milestones we seek and achieve. But, how often do we pause to recognize the milestones that are driven internally and achieved internally, invisible to the public eye? Milestones that are not directly accompanied by a set of new house keys, increased revenue, or a fancy certificate?

Yesterday, I published a graphic with a clear typo on Instagram. (It has since been updated.) I looked at this graphic no fewer than 25 times before publishing it, and I missed this typo all 25 times. For a good five minutes, I felt embarrassed, silly, and even…ashamed. How could I have missed this? Then, I said to myself, “You know what? This is not a big deal. At all.”

With a healthy dose of humor, I thought, “How dare you be human, Chelsea? Move along.”

This experience struck me because it cast a spotlight on tremendous internal growth. Less than a year ago, when I found a typo in The Wiley Canning Company Cookbook during my final rounds of editing, I felt embarrassed, silly, and ashamed for hours, sometimes days. On top of this, I also lived in fear that I had not caught every typo, and I would go on to publish an imperfect book. A year ago, I truthfully couldn’t show myself self-forgiveness for hours. Today, I can show myself self-forgiveness within five minutes. This is absolutely worth celebrating. This internal growth deserves acknowledgement, for certain.

This week, I wish you thin slices of self-recognition. How have you grown internally this year? How can you honor this?

Week of October 30, 2023:

The morning of our dinner in Charleston, I listened to two five-minute podcasts by Radio Headspace about the power of community. It felt apropos to reconnect with the undeniable benefits of togetherness—of knowing we belong—before enjoying our dinner. Each episode is listed below.

The Power of Community: Part I

The Power of Community: Part II

If you are interested in ways to strengthen your sense of community, in simple ways, I highly recommend listening to each episode above.

This week, I’m wishing you thin slices of belonging.

Week of October 23, 2023:

While in Charleston this week, I was in conversation with Zachary, my close friend and colleague, about the value of art and science in relation to one another. Our discussion reminded me of one of my all-time favorite monologues by Ethan Hawke, one I’ve shared here long ago.

Ethan says, “Do you think human creativity matters? Well…hmm. Most people don’t spend a lot of time thinking about poetry. Right? They have a life to live, and they’re not really that concerned with Allen Ginsberg’s poems or anybody’s poems, until their father dies. They go to a funeral. You lose a child. Somebody breaks your heart; they don’t love you anymore. And all of a sudden, you’re desperate for making sense out of this life, and, ‘Has anybody ever felt this bad before? How did they come out of this cloud?’

Or the inverse—something great. You meet somebody and your heart explodes. You love them so much; you can’t even see straight. You know? You’re dizzy. ‘Did anybody feel like this before? What is happening to me?’ And that’s when art’s not a luxury. It’s actually sustenance. We need it.”

What do you think?

You can view his full talk here.

Week of October 16, 2023:

As a working parent, flexibility—the need to make small, unexpected shifts day to day—is key to the flow of my life.

When I resist the unexpected, I suffer. If I lean into it and stay aligned and centered, I feel calmer and more myself. The latter takes a lot of work and attention, but it ultimately creates healthier outcomes for me.

This week in particular was full of unexpected needs. We are out of our normal childcare routine, and this typically causes our needs to shift day to day (even hour to hour). As we’ve navigated this week as a family, I am reminded of one of my favorite quotes by Daniel Kahneman:

“Whenever we are surprised by something, even if we admit that we made a mistake, we say, ‘Oh, I’ll never make that mistake again.’ But, in fact, what you should learn when you make a mistake because you did not anticipate something is that the world is difficult to anticipate. That’s the correct lesson to learn from surprises: that the world is surprising.”

Life is surprising. Life is full of the unexpected. Life requires flexibility.

I have also said the following to myself this week:

“My plans need to change today, and I am able to change them. All that is needed is a simple shift, not a major change to your lifestyle or system. Take care of the unexpected today, and pick right back up where you left off.”

We can often catastrophize when we feel surprised by something, but more often than not, what is needed is a simple pivot, not a major change.

When I first became a mother, weeks like this week would have caused me to seriously question if it was possible to be a working parent with a partner with a very demanding career. Of course, it is. Over the past nearly three years, it has been proven over and over again that the unexpected inevitably fuels my creativity and work. Being a mother, and all that comes with it, ultimately makes me a far more focused business owner. While, in the moment, unexpected changes of plans can feel frustrating, the overall picture of my life is far more meaningful, complex, and alive when I embrace the unexpected and use it to more strongly fuel my time spent working.

Finally, I will leave you with one of my favorite excerpts from Cheryl Strayed’s Tiny Beautiful Things:

“What didn’t I write because I was catching my children at the bottoms of slides and spotting them as they balanced along the tops of low brick walls and pushing them endlessly in swings? What did I write because I did?”

Week of October 02, 2023:

I:

I turned 33 years old on September 19. Birthdays feel very New Year’s Eve-esque to me: introspective, pride-filled, and full of potential. My birthday very strongly reminds me of the gift of time.

“I’m here. I’m healthy and energized. Thank God I am here.”

This year, on my birthday, I thought of Grandma Trudy, Wiley Canning Company’s namesake. As she aged, she responded to our “Happy birthday!” exclamations with, “Oh, why thank you. But, it’s just another day.”

“It’s just another day,” she would say year after year.

On my birthday this year, I shared this story with Carissa, my close friend. I told her how Grandma Trudy would say, “It’s just another day,” as she turned one year older. I told her how, if Grandma Trudy was alive today, I would lovingly say to her, “Grandma! I disagree. It’s not ‘just another day’. It is, miraculously, another day. It’s another day we get to be together. Thank God for this ‘another day’. Thank God we are here.”


Carissa and I laughed about this, and I felt a deep, nuanced sense of nostalgia as I envisioned having this argumentative conversation with my wonderful, witty grandmother.

II:

Three days passed, and I sat down to write the Wiley Weekly Newsletter.

In this particular week’s newsletter, I wrote about how Jared and I transitioned Sullivan to his toddler bed, a change that has some infamy associated with it within our parenting community. It’s a change that can stir up newfound hesitation and fear surrounding bedtime. In other words, it can throw everything off.

Because of this, Jared and I said to each other, “Let’s not make a big deal out of this.” We very casually walked Sullivan into his room one evening, acknowledged his bed had changed, and very deliberately decided to follow his lead. Very luckily, he climbed right in and said, “Look at my big bed!”

In truth, at the root of our casual approach was a very present anxiety. “This might not go well,” we thought, “so let’s remain casual.”

“It’s no big deal.”

“It’s…just another day.”

I went on to write, “I was reminded how this strategy can often work when we are approaching a big event. Any time I feel nervous about an upcoming event, I say to myself, ‘You know what? This is, really, no big deal. It’s so exciting, and I’m so proud, and at the end of the day, it’s no big deal. The sun will rise again in the morning.’”

III:

When Carissa read my newsletter that day, her jaw fell to the floor. She was stopped in her tracks by the similarity between the story about Grandma Trudy’s birthday and the story about Sullivan’s transition to a toddler bed, two objectively important (big!) moments in time. The very argument I would make against my grandmother’s response on her birthday is the same argument I was in favor of when transitioning Sullivan to his toddler bed. When I was in favor of this argument, it was because I felt anxiety, and I wanted to downplay the significance—the bigness—of the moment as a way to cope with that anxiety.

What if, unbeknownst to me, Grandma Trudy felt fearful about aging in her final years? And, as a way to cope with that fear, she thought, “Let’s remain casual.” 


“It’s no big deal.”

“It’s…just another day.”

What if we shared this way of coping?

What if I had just gotten to know Grandma Trudy even better, all of this time after her death?

If Grandma Trudy was alive today, I would, instead, lovingly say to her, “It is another day, Gram, another day of feeling the miraculousness, and the fear, of being alive. Can we experience these feelings together? Can we love each other through them?”

I thanked Carissa for helping me better understand my grandmother. It is a gift to better understand those we love long after we lose them. When we better understand those we love, we better understand ourselves. Today is simultaneously just another day, and it is, miraculously, another day indeed.

Week of September 11, 2023:

How are you this week?

I flew home to Nashville from California yesterday, where Jared and I celebrated our ninth wedding anniversary. We explored Carmel and Big Sur for three days, completely in awe of the Ireland-like coastline, abundant wildlife, and towering redwoods. As we fell asleep without setting an alarm clock, enjoyed sparkling rosé at lunchtime, and talked over two-hour dinners each night, I was struck by how loving our trip felt toward Sullivan, even though Sullivan was not with us.

When Sullivan was a newborn, one of the best pieces of advice I received was, “Taking care of Sullivan means taking care of yourself. A healthy mother is one of the very best gifts we can give a baby.”

This advice gave me permission to begin building a support system, permission new mothers truly need. This idea made me think further about not only my personal health, but also the health of my marriage and home. Care can often be experienced indirectly.

I thought, “Taking care of Sullivan means taking care of my relationship with his dad…my marriage.”

“Taking care of Sullivan means taking care of my home.”

When we care for someone, or something, we give it our attention, energy, and love. That attention, energy, and love can then be felt, indirectly, by others with whom we share that someone, or something.

I believe this idea is also true professionally.

Taking care of Wiley Canning Company means taking care of myself.

Taking care of your business begins with taking care of yourself.

Taking care of Wiley Canning Company means taking care of the people who support it.

Taking care of your business includes taking care of your team members and customers.

Taking care of Wiley Ccaning Company means taking care of my kitchen and studio.

Taking care of your business can look like taking care of your home office.

What do you think?

This week, I wish you thin slices of care.

Week of September 04, 2023:

When I became a mother, my awareness of time greatly intensified.

“Sullivan eats every two hours.”

“I have childcare from 8:00—10:00am.”

“I have 20 minutes before I need to leave for my follow-up appointment with my OBGYN.”

“What time will you be home?”

“How long do I have?”

I am more aware of time, and the passing of time, than ever before, and this awareness can lead to feelings of hurriedness, at best, and anxiety, at worst.

Lately, I am actively attempting to more healthily experience time. The way I am doing this is not by trying to be less schedule-oriented. It is by adding experiences to my week that allow me to be unaware of time. In other words, it is by adding experiences to my week that allow me to lose track of time.

What are you doing when you lose track of time?

I lose track of time when I’m behind my camera, photographing the details of fresh cauliflower or golden grapes. I lose track of time when I’m writing, desperate to create sentences that come close to representing what it is I feel internally. I lose track of time when I’m swimming in Percy Priest Lake with Jared and Sullivan. I lose track of time when I’m sharing dinner with close girlfriends.

Hungarian-American psychologist and writer, Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi, describes this as entering our flow state. In his book, Flow, he describes the importance of being fully involved in a moment, so involved that we lose track of time. He goes on to say how this state is critical to our peace, productivity, and ultimate enjoyment of life.

If you, like me, value your routine and schedule and feel too beholden to it from time to time, join me in asking, “What can I do this week to lose track of time?”

“How can I be fully involved in a moment?”

“How can I flow?”

This week, I wish you thin slices of flow. May you lose track of time today, tomorrow, or one day this week.

Week of July 31, 2023:

Someone I have long admired shared this morning that her beloved dog passed away on Tuesday after nearly eleven years of life. My heart sank into my stomach as I read her words, and I immediately felt the weight of the promised reality of death.

She wrote, “If you have a story about [my dog] you’d like to share, I would love to hear it.”

This, an intentional turning of attention to the past, is a beautiful way to cope with the present, when the present includes tremendous grief.

This is a beautiful way to accept the present, when the present includes a longing we cannot ignore.

This is a beautiful way to honor the present, when the present includes joyous, tender, challenging, and undeniably-worth-it memories, now, of a dog…a job, a season of life, a person…who left us, or changed, before we were ready.

Before I founded Wiley Canning Company, I worked at Elizabeth Suzann, a leading direct-to-consumer clothing brand that truly paved the way for individual makers and entrepreneurs. In 2020, Elizabeth Suzann as we knew it changed due to the horror of COVID-19, and within a matter of days, my working relationship with Elizabeth herself and fellow team members changed forever. It would never go back to the way it was.

One way I coped with this was by talking about Elizabeth Suzann. I would recount empowering performance reviews and hilarious, inspiring memories of huge, weekend-long photoshoots. I would swipe through candid iPhone photos of lunch breaks outdoors with teammates. I would acknowledge that I met many of my closest friends of all time because of Elizabeth Suzann. I wanted, and needed, to talk about my job. I wanted, and needed, to recount conversations and moments. I wanted, and needed, to feel a deep gratitude for the humans I met throughout my time there.

The same phenomenon happened after I birthed my son. My life as I knew it had changed forever. It would never go back to the way it was. One way I coped with this was by talking about my life before I gave birth. I would imagine a romantic vacation with Jared, when alcohol intake and wake windows were two things I didn’t track. I would replay, in detail, a strong, powerful run I had through the hilly woods before I was unable to climb a single stair without the searing pain of a vaginal birth’s aftermath. I would acknowledge that I was deeply in love with the father of my child precisely because we created so many joyous, tender, challenging, and undeniably-worth-it memories before becoming parents. I wanted, and needed, to talk about my life before giving birth, to imagine myself drinking an Aperol spritz in a string bikini on the Italian coast with my husband. I wanted, and needed, to remember my inherent strength as I was physically healing. I wanted, and needed, to feel a deep gratitude for the partnership I created to serve as a steady foundation for a growing family.

We’re often told, “Being present is best.”

“Longing for the past won’t make a difference.”

“The only way forward is through.”

And, while there is, of course, truth underlying these sentiments, sometimes what we need most is to turn our attention to our past to better understand, accept, and honor our present. Sometimes, what we need most is to long, to move forward by turning backward.

There is absolutely nothing wrong with walking—very slowly, joyfully, or tearfully—down Memory Lane to end up right back in the present with newfound clarity and peace.

If you, too, would love to hear a story about a dog…a job, a season of life, a person…who left, or changed, before you were ready, I hope you ask to hear it. Whether someone else tells it to you or you tell it to yourself, a story is there to lean on, feel, and remind you that every past moment has formed the complex, compassionate, and worthy human you now are, a human who may be grieving, celebrating, or finding themselves approaching newfound clarity and peace.

Week of July 17, 2023:

Last week, I had an upcoming commitment I was resisting. I felt a lack of patience and excitement heading into this event, but I was committed. I genuinely wanted to enjoy this event ahead of me, but I was far from this reality. I needed to significantly change my mindset in order to enjoy it to any degree.

I asked myself, “What might happen if I aggressively focus on the best parts of this event? What might happen if I go out of my way to see and verbalize all that goes well and wonderfully?”

Voilà.

This worked! As the event began, I made it my mission to identify every upside I could. I called out any touching moment I noticed. I retroactively thanked others for their meaningful actions. At first, it was as though this behavior was tricking my brain, and then, I experienced true, honest enjoyment of this event and wanted it to continue.

This experience reminds me so much of my belief that mood follows action. I was feeling low about this event, so I decided to actively and fervently identify its upsides, and soon, I realized I was in a vibrant, enthusiastic mood.

Remember, we mustn’t wait for the right mood to strike before we take action. We must begin the action, and our mood will follow. In a scenario such as this, we mustn’t wait for gratitude and excitement to fill our bodies. We must seek it out, sometimes aggressively, in order to be reminded of the richness and goodness of our reality.

Week of July 03, 2023:

As we paused to celebrate Independence Day this week, there was a single mantra that came to mind. If I practice only one mantra as an American, let it be this.

“No idea is above scrutiny, and no people are beneath dignity.” — Maajid Nawaz

I first read this quote in Maajid Nawaz’s book, one he co-authored with Sam Harris, entitled Islam and The Future of Tolerance. This will be a mantra I practice as I move forward as an American, especially as move toward an election year.

Additionally, below are two sources of wisdom that have recently touched me.

Deeyah Kahn reminds us our outer dialogue begins with our inner dialogue. How we speak to ourselves is reflected in how we speak to others.

Megan Phelps-Roper reminds us of the importance of resisting the assumption of ill intent when experiencing a disagreement. The beliefs we hold about the world around us are formed throughout years and years of experience and conviction. She encourages us to lead with curiosity and follow up with curiosity.

Week of June 19, 2023:

Seth Godin, one of my all-time favorite authors and leaders, recently shared an idea that struck me quite deeply.

In any given environment, we need both stability and significance. Teachers, for example, feel stability by adhering to an established curriculum. Stability alone (an established curriculum alone), however, does not allow a teacher to grow and shine longterm. Teachers also need significance, or an ability to put their own touch on their lessons and classrooms, an ability that may have driven them to become teachers in the first place. Teaching style, or classroom feng shui and decoration, generates individuality between and among teachers. The combination of stability and significance is what gives rise to growth and shine longterm.

I think about this often as a mother. I wish to create consistent structure for my son, Sullivan, and I hope to allow him the space to be a self-expressed individual. Each morning, part of Sullivan’s routine is getting dressed…stability. When it’s time to get dressed, he is able to choose his outfit…significance.

Furthermore, I believe the more stability we have, the more significance we can pursue. In other words, the more routine we are, the more freedom we have, as counterintuitive as this may seem at first. We can more easily be flexible, spontaneous, and expressive when we have a routine to which we can return any time for stability, safety, and regulation.

This week, I’m curious. In what ways does your creative practice provide stability? In what ways does it provide significance?

Week of June 12, 2023:

In June 2022, I wrote about the importance of taking short breaks throughout the day to ground ourselves. From time to time, we might feel as though we need to change our entire system when we feel overwhelmed. While our system, or routine, may need adjusted every once in awhile (mine did this past month!), it is also true a short break, or moment away, can bring us the perspective we need.

Below is the full essay I wrote about the importance of taking twenty. This essay is part of The Wiley Subscription, but today, I have shared it below with no paywall. When we feel overwhelmed, foggy, or not quite ourselves, there is so much power in taking twenty minutes to reset.

Written on June 20, 2022:

I haven’t shared much publicly about my postpartum experience. I plan to do so, and I trust I’ll know when the time is right.

Today, I will tell you I crashed into some very low valleys after I gave birth to Sullivan, my son. When I was in a valley, my physical urge was to run away. Rather, it was to drive away. I wanted to get in my car and drive toward Chattanooga, Tennessee—a city two hours southeast of Nashville. I didn’t want to stay away forever. I fantasized about a day or two of silence, a day or two of uninterrupted sleep, a day or two to cry my eyes out with no one asking, “What’s wrong?”, because I couldn’t answer that question as hard as I tried. I didn’t have the words. I still don’t today.

But, I didn’t drive away. I didn’t drive away because valleys only exist where there are also tall peaks. We cannot crash if we do not have a high peak from which to fall. And, my high peaks carried me. They carried me until I found my new rhythm as a mother, until I fully grieved the closing of my pre-motherhood chapter and began wearing my identity of “Mom” like a second skin.

As I climbed and crashed and grieved and overcame, I learned a lesson I still apply today: when I feel an urge to drive away, I might just need twenty minutes. I am always amazed by what a shower, a glass of water, or an iced coffee can do for me.

Today, I often tell myself, “Take twenty.”

If you, like me, feel an urge to run or drive or hide or get away, remember you can always take twenty. Take twenty minutes to enjoy a steamy shower, drink a glass of water in a room by yourself, or make an iced coffee with your favorite cream or sweetener. Trust this will carry you.

More importantly, trust there is always a way to climb out of a low valley. We still might be learning to read our new map, collect our new tools, and listen to our very new needs and instincts.

Take twenty, baby.

Week of May 22, 2023:

Recently, I had a very specific vision in mind for a photograph. When I had an opportunity to bring this photograph to life, I realized its creation process would, realistically, feel quite stressful, awkward, and rushed. I began to investigate this tension.

A photograph is an end result.

The creation of a photograph is a process. It is what will require the majority of our emotional, intellectual, and physical energy.

Oftentimes, I become too married to my vision for an end result that I fail to ask, “Will I enjoy the process that leads to this end result?”

If the answer is “yes”, can this, then, relieve any amount of pressure on the end result?

If the answer is “no”, does the existence of the end result outweigh the tension it requires to come to life? How can I amend its process to become more enjoyable if I am indeed committed to the end result?

I believe the answers to these questions exist on a sliding scale. They are circumstantial, nuanced, and rather personal. What is more, they are worthy of our careful inquisition.

One reason I now cherish The Wiley Canning Company Cookbook is because I enjoyed writing it. I loved carefully curating a scene of Canned Pears among fresh Bartlett pears in warm sunlight. I wanted to read, and re-read, it over and over again as we copyedited. The process was as rewarding as the end result.

Moreover, it is critical to ask these questions when thinking about social media and the way we interact with it.

Will the dopamine rush I experience when I post this photograph feel aligned, or misaligned, with the way I feel as I create it? Will I enjoy making this reel, or will I enjoy the notifications it brings forth? Am I more committed to the external validation I might experience when posting this photograph or the internal fulfillment I might experience when prioritizing its creation process?

This week, I wish us thin slices of personal honor. I hope we prioritize the process more than, or in equal measure to, the end result we envision.

Week of May 08, 2023:

What is the difference between connection and intimacy? Achievement and excellence? Creativity and curiosity?

Two close friends, Elise Joseph and Liz Pape, and I recently spent three nights near Joshua Tree National Park, a desert slightly larger than the state of Rhode Island, on a creative retreat. Throughout our final night together, Elise led Liz, and me, through a Values Deck, an exercise that helped us identify the values that matter most in our current seasons of life.

We each began with fifty-two values, and we slowly narrowed them down five. This exercise was incredibly illuminating, and it allowed us to discuss how we simply define many of the values we hear and pursue today.

If you are entering a new season of life, feel a pull to center yourself in your current season of life, or are on the brink of a larger decision or change, I highly recommended exploring a Values Deck.

What values might stand out to you? How might this exercise bring you clarity? What might you learn about yourself?

Week of April 24, 2023:

I am currently listening to The Witch Trials of J.K. Rowling created and produced by The Free Press. Have you listened to this series? I would love to hear your takeaways.

I understand the takeaways from this series are complex. Nonetheless, there are several lines spoken by J.K. Rowling that stand out to me. Two of them are below.

“We should mistrust ourselves most when we are certain.”

“Unlike any other creature on this planet, human beings can learn and understand without having experienced. What is more, those who choose not to empathize enable real monsters, for without ever committing an act of outright evil ourselves, we collude with it through our own apathy.”

I find the wisdom within each of these statements very striking.

What about you?

Week of April 17, 2023:

Do you ever confuse preferences for virtues?

Recently, I was cleaning my bedroom, and internally, I said the phrase below.

“My love for cleaning does not make me a good person. It makes me someone who loves to clean.”

The reason this is striking is we often confuse a preference for a virtue. Cleanliness, for example, is often seen as better than messiness. But, to perceive something as better than is to assign it moral value.

I don’t believe the act of cleaning is an act of goodness. The act of cleaning is simply a preparation for a preferred state of living. Some of us function better in tidy environments, and some of us function better in messy ones. In this case, I believe, one is not more ethical than the other. I am amazed when I hear cleanliness tied to goodness, and I am especially amazed by how often I hear this.

The same is true for a variety of preferences. Let’s examine a charismatic nature compared to a reserved one. If someone is charismatic, their charisma does not make them a good person. It makes them someone who is charismatic. Culturally, we often perceive charisma as a more attractive trait than reservation. Why is this? Where is the line between a preference and a virtue?

Cussing.

Meditating.

Drinking.

Etc.

When I think of virtues, I think of the following and more: kindness, presence, and openheartedness.

How safe does someone feel in my company?

How quickly do I forgive?

How can I honor the individual humanity of someone outside of the larger demographic that describes them?

As you head into a new week, know you are good despite the cleanliness of your home and the effervescence of your personality. Know you are good no matter how much you love a well-placed cuss word. Know you are good no matter how much you meditate, or don’t. Know you are good no matter how much you abstain or partake in a delicious bottle (or two or three!) of Cabernet Sauvignon.

Know you are good.

To My Younger Self: 

If I could borrow you for an afternoon, I would tell you about three literary works. I would choose literature to keenly highlight how art can and will sustain you. I would promise you there is comfort in the collective experience of love, loss, joy, anguish, and every emotion that makes us wholly human and intimately connected. I would remind you to seek this collective experience. To create it. To share it. To become it. 

First, I would tell you about David Whyte’s essay entitled, Friendship. I would belabor the line, “Friendship not only helps us see ourselves through another’s eyes, but can be sustained over the years only with someone who has repeatedly forgiven us for our trespasses as we must find it in ourselves to forgive them in turn.” The process of forgiveness, of a friend or family member, is deeply painful and can hinge on impossible, but it is the only true path to peace. More so, forgiveness of oneself is the ultimate feat, and it is also the ultimate act of self-care and unfailing love.

Next, I would encourage you to visit, and revisit, Wild Geese by Mary Oliver, a poem through which she tells us we “do not have to be good.” You do not have to be good, for crying out loud. You do you not have to be good, but you have to be kind. You have to use protection. You have to tell the truth. You must know the difference between empathy and compassion, and you must lean on each when the light of your life or a complete stranger needs one from you. You must know the difference between adoration and desire because you will adore the absolute hell out of life, but you must desire far less than you adore. You must know the difference between curiosity and nosiness. Curiosity will both carry and anchor you; it is as important as love. Nosiness will lead to hurtful gossip and distracting drama that was never your business anyway; it is as important as a pop quiz in seventh grade.

Finally, I would implore you to read Invitation by Kate Baer, a poem through which she reminds us we can “let our life rest on what is already good.” And your life, my dear, will be so damn good. You will not lose a parent before you become one. You will find yourself surrounded by women as strong as wolves and tender as a lily in bloom. You will begin writing young, a practice that will lead you to the truest, most sacred version of yourself, one with which you will mother an extraordinary boy and nourish a lottery-won family. You must always find rest in the holy goodness of your life. It is there, waiting to be honored, waiting to sustain you.

This week, I wish you thin slices of holy goodness.

Week of April 03, 2023:

Recently, I experienced the thought, “Maybe my favorite artists aren’t those who write the most compelling stories or create the most beautiful photographs. Maybe they are the people to whom I return to feel understood at any given time. Who most often allows me to feel this way?”

Perhaps this is why I often read Kate Baer’s first book of poetry, What Kind of Woman, or listen to Brandi Carlile’s five-year-old album, By the Way, I Forgive You. Last week, I found myself revisiting an Instagram post by Jedidiah Jenkins. The line below always stands out.

“The million-room-mansion of identity cannot overlap perfectly with anyone.”

Soon after I experienced this thought, I remembered a powerful speech by Jon Batiste. He says, “I believe this to my core: there is no ‘best musician’, ‘best artist’, ‘best dancer’, ‘best actor’. The creative arts are subjective, and they reach people at a point in their lives when they need it most.”

When we think about the work we create, and when we wonder who it might reach, I believe we can take great comfort in the idea that it will ultimately find those who need it most. It will ultimately unlock a room in the miliion-room-mansion of one’s identity. It will ultimately allow someone to feel deeply understood.

This is when our work becomes more than shared. This is when our work becomes sacred.

This week, I wish you thin slices of confidence in your creative work. Know that it will find those for whom it is meant.

Week of March 27, 2023:

This week, The Wiley Canning Company Cookbook was published, and a shooter armed with assault-style rifles massacred three children and three adults in Nashville, Tennessee. As I moved through the hours of my day each day, I leaned heavily on the ideas shared in Geography of Sorrow.

Francis Weller shares, “The work of the mature person is to carry grief in one hand and gratitude in the other and to be stretched large by them. How much sorrow can I hold? That’s how much gratitude I can give. Grief keeps the heart fluid and soft, which helps make compassion possible.”

I was also reminded of the most important word in the English language: and.

I was full of gratitude as my first book entered the world, and I was full of sorrow as I learned the names and faces of three nine-year-olds who were shot in killed at school.

I was so excited to celebrate at June with family, close friends, and the Wiley community on Monday evening, and I could not stop thinking of the mothers who lost children that morning.

I felt joy, and I felt sorrow.

While I have no wisdom to offer, I will share a short list of resources I turned to this week.

This playlist, Peaceful Meditation, nurtured me. Play it in your kitchen as you make dinner. Play it through your headphones for ten minutes once you crawl into bed. Allow yourself to feel. To feel gratitude and sorrow. To smile and weep.

This conversation, Gun Violence in America, is currently the most sound, logical, and productive one I’ve heard surrounding gun control. I listened to it after the mass shooting in Uvalde and again this week.

This article, Geography of Sorrow, mentioned above, dives into what it means to navigate loss and tragedy.

This week, I wish you thin slices of peace.

Week of March 06, 2023:

Recently, I shared an invaluable lesson I learned while writing The Wiley Canning Company Cookbook.

Mood follows action.

We mustn’t wait for the right mood to strike before we take action. We must begin the action, and our mood will follow.

I shared how, to complete my cookbook, I had to become comfortable recipe testing in a noisy home, writing in 20-minute spurts, and constantly reorienting myself as my priorities inevitably shifted each day. Instead of waiting to write until I was in the mood, I had to simply sit down and write. Once I heard the sound of my fingers navigating a keyboard, I wanted to write.

A second lesson I learned while writing my cookbook is one I now internally repeat when working, running, playing with Sullivan, or speaking with a loved one on the phone.

Do the best you can with the time you have.

Sometimes, I begin to talk myself out of sitting down to write because I have only 20 minutes.

Sometimes, I have only 30 minutes to complete a workout, so why bother?

Sometimes, I have only an hour with Sullivan before bedtime, and I attempt to make up for an entire day’s absence in this single hour.

Sometimes, I tell myself I have only 10 minutes, so it might not be the best time to call my great aunt who I love so much.

But, sometimes, what matters more than the time itself is how we perceive this time. What if we see this time as a gift, no matter its duration?

Writing for 20 minutes can open the door to an entire room of ideas. If you have 20 minutes to write, I urge you to open this door.

Moving your body for 30 minutes can enliven your mind and body for an entire day.

Having only an hour with your child before it’s bedtime allows you to choose one or two wonderful books and read them with charisma and cheer. It also allows you to remind your child of the village of people (and pets) who love them. “Grandma loved spending a full day with you! She loves you so much. I’m so glad we are able to end the day together.”

Speaking with your great aunt for 10 minutes will bring her joy for 10 hours…10 days! When she answers, say, “I have only ten minutes, but speaking with you is how I’d love to spend them.”

Do the best you can with the time you have.

Remember, individual bricks build a cathedral. Individual pockets of time build a life.

This week, I wish you newfound appreciation of the thin slices of your day.

Week of February 27, 2023:

In July 2019, I trained for my first Ironman 70.3. I learned so much throughout my training journey, so you might notice I often talk about this race. I often talk about this race because I often apply the lessons and mantras I gained along the way.

When I first registered, my mom introduced me to her friend, Kathryn, who regularly competes. Kathryn was instrumental in helping me prepare for this race, the longest one I had ever done. She told me where to buy the best skinsuit and goggles. She recommended healthy, energizing snacks and drinks to consume while training. She consistently shared her wisdom, rooted in her personal experience, and this allowed me to truly enjoy 70.3 miles of mental and physical effort.

The night before the race, she texted me a mantra I frequently repeat to this day.

She said, “Be strong, and be smart.”

Be strong, and be smart.

Her words, be strong, made immediate sense to me. I had to muster every ounce of mental and physical strength within me to accomplish this goal. However, her words, be smart, didn’t make immediate sense to me. I wondered, “Be smart about what, exactly?”

As I stood at the edge of the water on race day, with widened eyes and a racing heart, it became clear what Kathryn meant when she said, “Be smart.”

She was telling me to be safe. Be aware. Be proactive.

Because of her words, I located the safety kayaks in the lake before beginning my swim. While biking, I stayed as far away from moving traffic as I could. I drank Gatorade and water before I became obviously thirsty. I was smart during race day, and I believe the micro-decisions I made throughout the day enabled the experience to be full of inspiration and joy.

Today, I pass this mantra to you.

When you find yourself standing at the edge of the water, be strong, and be smart.

When you need to make a difficult decision for the health and longevity of your business, be strong, and be smart.

When you feel, deep in your bones, it’s time for a change in a relationship, be strong, and be smart.

When you sense you’ve outgrown a belief or habit that no longer serves you, be strong, and be smart.

Be strong, and be smart.

This week, I wish you thin slices of strength and safety.

Week of February 20, 2023:

The Paris Review recently shared the following quote by E. B. White:

“A writer who waits for ideal conditions under which to work will die without putting a word on paper.”

This quote reminds me of one of many lessons I learned while writing The Wiley Canning Company Cookbook.

As a working mother, the flow and senses of my day are often unpredictable. In order to complete my cookbook, I had to become comfortable recipe testing in a noisy home, writing in 20-minute spurts, and constantly reorienting myself as my priorities inevitably shifted each day. Instead of waiting to write, for example, until I was in the mood, I had to simply sit down and write. This reality taught me an invaluable lesson.

Mood follows action.

If I want to be in the mood to write, I must sit down, open my laptop, and begin writing. Once I hear the sound of my fingers navigating a keyboard, I want to write.

If I want to be in the mood to run, I must stretch my body, put on my sneakers, and turn on my favorite playlist. Once I feel the cushion of my sneakers beneath my feet and hear music through my headphones, I want to run.

The same can be true for countless daily actions: calling a friend, cooking a meal, reading a book…you name it. Begin the action, and your mood will follow.

Mood follows action.

This lesson has also been shared with me by Daphne Javitch of Doing Well. I highly recommend consuming her wisdom when possible.

This week, I wish you thin slices of action. How might it affect your mood?

Week of February 13, 2023:

As we approach our first event to celebrate The Wiley Canning Company Cookbook, there are three short written works that come to mind. I repeatedly returned to each as I wrote this book. They offered me solace, understanding, and bravery.

They are below.

Moonsong by Kate Baer

You are not an evergreen, unchanged by the pitiless snow. You are not a photo, a brand, a character written for sex or house or show. You do not have to choose one or the other: a dream or a dreamer, the bird or the birder. You may be a woman of commotion and quiet. Magic and brain.

You can be a mother and a poet. A wife and a lover. You can dance on the graves you dug on Tuesday, pulling out the bones of yourself you began to miss. You can be the sun and the moon. The dance a victory song.

Jeffrey Eugenides, The Paris Review

“I think about the reader. I care about the reader. Not ‘audience’. Not ‘readership’. Just the reader. That one person, alone in a room, whose time I'm asking for.”

Jane Smiley

“Every first draft is perfect because all the first draft has to do is exist.”

This week, I wish you thin slices of understanding. Who sees you? Can you return to their poems? Songs? Touch?

Week of February 06, 2023:

This week, a piece of life-changing advice struck me and carried me.

Always, shortcuts are tempting. Rarely, they are the right choice.

My plate felt full and heavy this week. Family-related activities and tasks, as well as Wiley-related activities and tasks, caused me to feel overwhelmed and tired. I must admit there were several moments I considered shortcutting the task before me.

Do I need to pack snacks for our car ride? Maybe not.

Do I need to make five recipes before Thursday? Perhaps four will do!

Do I need to send this email before tomorrow? No one will notice if it’s late, right?

I was attempting to save my energy where I could. But, I was, ironically, expending energy considering potential shortcuts instead of completing the task itself. Realistically, fully seeing a task through does not require much more time or energy than shortcutting it. But, when we are in search of a respite, any amount of rest feels tempting. In spite of this, instead of pursuing shortcuts, I chose to fully complete each task. Now, I am on the other side of them, and I am so glad I remained committed. I can now rest, genuinely rest, in feelings of honesty and accomplishment.

If you find yourself tempted by shortcuts, please know I am with you. Join me in remaining committed to the fullness of our activities and tasks. Join me in remaining committed to the fullness of our lives. Rest feels the best when it rides the waves of honesty and accomplishment.

This week, I wish you thin slices of persistence. You can do it!

Week of January 23, 2023:

What does it mean to create work that matches your ambitions?

Ira Glass, host and executive producer of This American Life, recently prompted this question when he described his struggle to create something noteworthy.

He begins by sharing, “All of us who do creative work, we get into it because we have good taste. But, it’s like there is this gap. For the first couple years that you’re making stuff, what you’re making isn’t so good. It’s not that great. It’s trying to be good. It has ambition to be good, but it’s not that good.

But your taste, the thing that got you into the game, is still killer. And your taste is good enough that you can tell that what you’re making is kind of a disappointment to you. A lot of people never get past that phase. They quit.”

They quit.

End scene.

El fin.

He continues, “Everybody I know who does interesting, creative work went through years when they had really good taste, and they could tell that what they were making wasn’t as good as they wanted it to be. They knew it fell short. Everybody goes through that.

And if you are just starting out, or if you are still in this phase, you’ve got to know it’s normal, and the most important thing you can do is do a lot of work. Do a huge volume of work. Put yourself on a deadline so that every week or every month you know you’re going to finish one story. It is only by going through a volume of work that you’re going to catch up and close that gap. And the work you’re making will be as good as your ambitions.

I took longer to figure out how to do this than anyone I’ve ever met. It takes awhile. It’s going to take you a while. It’s normal to take a while. You just have to fight your way through that.”

If you find yourself in this gap, the messy middle between entering the game and not yet creating work that matches your truest ambitions, I strongly encourage you to stay the path. The time will come when the work you create will be noteworthy. The time will come when the work you’re creating will match the truest representation of your mind and most sincere voice of your heart.

This week, I wish you thin slices of courageous persistence.

Week of January 16, 2023:

When you’ve completed something difficult, do you pause to sincerely acknowledge it?

In today’s Wiley Weekly Newsletter, I mentioned the name of a dear friend, Tiana Gidley. Recently, over dinner, Tiana encouraged me to join her for yoga classes at our shared studio on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays…at 5:00am.

5:00am!

I decided to give them a try, and I committed to three 5:00am classes this week. This morning, after my third class, I thought to myself, “Wow. This is impressive. We practiced yoga at 5:00am three times this week. This is a big deal.”

This is a very difficult thing to do, and we did it. I allowed myself to feel proud. Impressed. Strong.

I am doing my best to speak to myself like I would speak to someone I love or admire when they complete something difficult.

For instance, Jared, my husband, who is an interventional cardiologist, recently placed a heart valve in a woman who was 23 weeks pregnant.

23 weeks pregnant!

After this case, one that took critical and careful planning, I said to him, “Wow. You are impressive. You placed a valve in a pregnant woman. This is a big deal."

“I hope you feel proud. Impressed. Strong.”

Furthermore, I was recently in the home of a friend, and I noticed myself admiring the sound of a piano playing throughout her home. After a couple of hours, I finally asked her, “What Spotify station are you playing?”

She responded, “Oh! That’s [my partner] Will playing! That’s not Spotify. Will is practicing. He practices four to five hours per day. He usually practices in the morning. What you hear is Will practicing.”

Gulp. This was live music, and it was coming from another room in the same home.

“Wow. He is impressive. He practices four to five hours per day? This is a big deal.”

“I hope he feels proud. Impressed. Strong.”

When someone we love or admire does something difficult, we very effortlessly pause to acknowledge it. This same effort toward ourselves is equally important. It is equally kind. It is equally loving.

What difficult thing have you done recently?

Well done.

This week, I wish you thin slices of personal acknowledgement.