Sometimes I wonder if anyone ever scrolls to the bottom of an email like this. You’d think people have better things to do, but then again, I’ve been known to read cereal boxes, shampoo bottles, and the back of spice jars just because they were in front of me. Maybe this is that kind of moment for ya. I’m sitting with a cup of tea, watching the steam twist and fade before it reaches the kitchen light. It’s strange how many small things go unnoticed in the middle of daily routines. The sound of a ceiling fan wobbling just slightly. The way the air smells different after it rains, almost like the ground itself is breathing. This week, I noticed a tree near my place had grown tiny, stubborn shoots from the base. They looked like they’d decided to become trees of their own, no matter what the original trunk thought about it. It made me think about how we grow in unexpected directions, even when things seems to have a set plan for us. Some days that’s exciting. Other days, it feels like too much work just to keep standing. I’ve been spending a little more time walking without a destination. It’s good how the mind clears when you’re not rushing anywhere in particular. I passed an elderly man feeding crumbs to a group of crows. He didn’t look at me, and I didn’t look at him for long, but the scene stayed in my head. Maybe because it felt like a quiet agreement between species—no fuss, no big meaning, just a habit they both liked.

Speaking of habits, I’ve been trying to notice the difference between the ones I chose and the ones that just happened to me. Drinking water in the morning was a choice. Checking my mobile before bed? That one sort of snuck in when I wasn’t paying attention. It’s funny how certain patterns can run your zindagi without ever asking permission. Anyway, if you’ve made it this far, I guess you and I share an interest in wandering thoughts. That’s nice. Most people rush through messages, scanning for the part they think matters most. But maybe this part matters too. The quiet part. The part without urgency. The part that’s just. I could keep going about the small details of the day, like the sound of a neighbor practicing guitar, or the way the last bit of sunlight falls in an uneven rectangle across the floor. But maybe I’ll keep that for another time. Or maybe you’ll go notice your own rectangle of light, and that’ll be better than reading mine. Either way, thanks for keeping me company at the bottom of the page.

You aren’t meant to read the following. You certainly can, it’s in your inbox and it’s yours to ignore or pore over, whichever’s your thing—but this tiny-print section is merely to see if I can acquire this email to stay in the primary tab. (Just using the title of said sad tab can send it there, apparently.) It’s a struggle lately, figuring out which words the ol’ gmail bots are sniffing for, to put these much-loved emails in that collection of unloved, low-priority, too-commercial messages. I don’t want these ending up there where you have permission to ignore them. I don’t want to be among the silly billies you signed up for just to acquire fifteen percent on the jeans you didn’t end up buying after. I’m totally babbling. I don’t know if it’ll make an iota of difference but my biz lives or dies by how many people them, and that depends on where I end up. I don’t want to be in Unread Jail. I’m not built for prison. I’m a delicate sleeper, for one. I have to take sleep aids, which I will not specify because that will probably land me in the trash folder. Are you actually reading this? I know you probably want to see what I’m doing in this mysterious box. Usually, I put it in a light color that makes it easy to miss, which is what I want. Someone said I should put it in black so it’s readable, because they wanted to read it. Maybe they knew there were tidbits about my college in this section. Wanna know one of those interesting people who was there at the same time, whom I met because I hung out with people who came talking about how much they lifted at the gym? Mike White, that’s who. Most recently, he made White Lotus, which I just realized has his last word in the title. Genius. Or accident. Who knows? As for this weird paragraph, if you’re reading to see what tricks I’m up to in my emails, I’ll tell you, it doesn’t work every time. The algo has started to hate me? I don’t know what’s happening. I still stand by email day long. I like social fine but it’s rented land, and you don’t want to build your whole platform on that. You want to build it on land you own, which is your subscriber list. The percentage of people who see and interact with any post on Insta, for instance, is minuscule compared with that of your email subscribers who will see a message that goes to their inbox. So there’s that. Still. WTF with this p---o tab stuff? I don’t it. Do me a favor and move this to primary? If you’re reading this, that is. And this went to a different folder. The following is more gobbledygook, trust me not worth reading. It’s a copy-paste and there’s nothing fun or smart within, trust me. And when I say we, I mean me. OK, the blablabla.