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This is Life Is So Beautiful, a weekly publication from Hugh Hollowell. If you missed last week's edition — about how I'm trying to own the soundtrack of my life — you can catch up right here. And if my writing or hopeful links to beautiful things has touched you in some meaningful way, I hope you will consider supporting this work by buying me a cup of coffee or joining our membership team.
Hey y'all.
                  
The weather has been brutal here this year. We had an extremely dry spring (spring is usually our wettest time of year) followed by an extremely wet June where it rained hard nearly every day (we got more than half of a year’s worth of rain in a month) followed by a rainless July, accompanied by 110 degree heat indexes and 90% humidity. 
  
Climate change is hitting us hard here in the deep south. It’s been exhausting. The yard has always been my retreat from the horrors of the world, but the only time it’s been remotely comfortable has been very early in the morning. Early last week, it was still 90 degrees at 9PM. 
  
Too hot to work in the yard. Too hot to work in my woodshop. Too hot to do my mental health walks. Just too damn hot. 
  
I’ve been miserable. 
  
Which is why when I needed to go north this past weekend for a denominational meeting, I did not resist at all. It was held at a retreat center in the mountains in Southwestern Pennsylvania, a place filled with streams and laurel trees. I woke up my first morning there and walked out on the porch of the cabin I was staying at, and it was almost chilly. 
  
Cup of coffee in hand, I strolled around the campus, walked past a magnificent native plant pollinator boarder, awash in insects, and ended up sitting by a waterfall, listening to the roar of the water and the morning bird chorus. I was so caught up in it that I lost track of time and almost missed breakfast. And when there was a brief rain shower, I sat on the covered porch and practically beamed, trying to soak up the feel of the cool breeze and the smell of damp soil. 
  
While on the porch, waiting out the shower, another attendee I did not know and I were doing the sort of small talk you do at events where you meet people new to you: Where are you from, what brings you here, what do you do for a living? 
  
At most Christian events, I just leave it that I’m a pastor, but this guy asked deeper questions, and the rest of my life is complicated, so I said that in addition to being a pastor, I’m a writer. 
  
“What do you write about?”
  
This is always tricky. I make about half of my income from writing in one way or another, but the subjects are all over the place in ways that are not easy to sum up. After much hemming and hawing, I said something like, “I write about how to stay human in a dehumanizing world. Broadly, think of it as spiritual writing for non-religious people.”
  
I thought about that conversation a lot on the airplane ride home last night. How do we keep going? How do we find our way? What practices do we need to learn to get there? How can we bring others with us? 
  
At the end of the day, those are the things that hold my thoughts. And a quick survey of back issues show that is pretty much the throughline in my writing this letter for the last 11 years.
  
I guess I’m going to have to figure out some practices that don’t involve being outside. 
     
  
Five Beautiful Things

                  
In March of 1973, the essayist and author E. B. White got a letter full of despair from a reader. Check out his inspiring, succinct reply. I needed this. 
  
I stumbled across this thread asking for “a beautiful fact that sounds too good to be true but is 100% real and could brighten someone's day?”  I spent more than an hour reading the more than 2,000 comments. 
  
We just redid our living room – my favorite room in our house. It’s the room in our house that “works” the best. We acquired a new couch, chair, and ottoman from some friends who were upgrading, and took some time to rearrange the traffic pattern a bit. I loved this essay (and accompanying beautiful photos) about how to make a room “feel alive”.
  
This video of how Blackwing pencils are made is near documentary, with beautiful cinemaphotography and soundtrack, and is damned interesting on top of that. I was amazed how much handwork goes into making a pencil. 
  
While watching the Blackwing video, I was reminded of this vintage Mr. Rogers episode about how crayons are made. That whole episode is worth a watch -- just a few minutes after the crayon factory tour, he is drawing, and says he likes to draw, but he is not very good at it. And then he says that doesn’t really matter, because “it’s the fun of doing it that’s important”.      
  
In Case You Missed It
                  
The most clicked link last issue was to this poem asking you to use AI (with tongue in cheek).
  
  
I was on a local podcast talking about politics and religion, so if you want to hear a southern pastor call Christian Nationalists idolators, this one is for you.   
Members Only
                  
I’ve been working on a new project we are calling a Peace Lab – a 5 day experience for teens where they can learn the tools of nonviolent social change. We ran our first lab week before last with 11 teens age 13-19. If you were a paying member, you would have gotten a note from me, giving you an overview of that week and where we think we will be going with this.       

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Food Is Love is a collection of essays I wrote about how memory, food, and love are all intertwined. I believe that food is an expression of love, and sometimes the only way people who loved us were capable of showing it. Learn more here. 
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HH 

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