Mood Ring is a newsletter on life, love, writing, and desserts. Sent every Tuesday.
If this is your first Mood Ring letter, welcome! 💗
Hi friends,
Lately I’ve been writing notes to myself, little reminders. Set up that appointment and remember you have a choice about what’s important, where your focus will go and bake snickerdoodles on wednesday and don’t forget to shop for gifts. I’m not sure I need that last note, seeing as my inbox is full of holiday gift guides (plus, one lovely letter against the gift guide). The more thought-out, whimsical, and interesting ones are from my favorite newsletters and the others trying to be a one-size-fits-all are from sites where I signed up for 10% off my first order (or was it free shipping on my first order or you must hand over your email or else you won’t be able to complete this impulse buy, maybe it was that). My inbox claims to have a gift guide for any type of person in my life: “gifts for book lovers,” “perfect gifts for kids,” “best gifts for your artist friend,” “the best gifts for mom (spoiler: the answer is candles),” and my favorite “gifts for writers,” which would likely result in me getting stuff for myself if I’m being honest.
Not that I love being told to buy, buy, buy every other scroll, but some guides are cute and fun, and I do understand the desire to find the perfect gift for someone. I once gave someone a secret santa gift that they had just wishlisted the day before, and I feel like I’ll never really top that one. For me, it’s wanting to show the other person I see and hear them. The art of giving gifts is the art of noticing and observation.
But even if you know someone deeply, finding the right gift can feel elusive. And when guides waltz in with easy labels—gifts for the music lover, foodie, book lover, teacher, chef, traveler, etc—they offer an enticing solution to the search, while reducing people down to individual components of their full selves.
Labels often feel like boxes two sizes too small. There’s no way they can contain the multitudes of layers in a person, and I don’t think we expect them to. We take them on all the time—in character-limited social bios, when we’re talking about ourselves in front of people, when we’re telling ourselves what kind of people we are. Sometimes I find myself missing the days pre-graduation when I could say, “I’m a student.” It felt so much more palatable than “I’m trying to be a writer” or “I’m a writer” or the gift-guide-less: “I’m still figuring out what I am.” Palatability measured by whether someone’s eyes glaze over when you attach a word to yourself. And yet, despite label limitations and complicated people-pleasing, it’s still endlessly fun to browse gift guides, take personality tests to find your enneagram type, to answer questions and find out what season you are or what character you would be from your favorite fandom, and even to take a peek at what the stars say by looking up your natal chart.
In an effort to deal with feeling like a chaotic mess inside, I’ve always felt drawn to pinning myself down within self-contained, easy boxes. Winding rapids pretending to be still water. Acceptance and love, I thought, would only come if I made myself palatable and uncomplicated. I created cages, like fitting myself into the unfitting straight box for over twenty years, and in other ways, I wrapped words around me like they were a safety blanket.
I remember buying a personality book at a book fair when I was a child, and consuming the tests like they were fresh cookies out of the oven. I vividly recall checking off a box that said “wallflower” right next to the unchecked “social butterfly,” and I suppose that’s when the introverted part of me decided to stick around. I loved those personality books. Understanding myself with lane bumpers keeping me in check felt safe then, and honestly, they still do. It would be nice if I could properly explain the inner workings of my mind by saying I’m an enneagram type four, or I’m an INFP, or I’m a leo sun and pisces moon, or I’m an ox, or I love rain, or fall and winter are my favorite seasons, or I’m a quiet person, or I’m a writer.
These labels all together sort of seem like they are forming a partial sketch of me, but alone, they feel hollow and a bit stagnant.
Even though last week I wrote about my fear of being seen, I do, at the end of the day, want to be known in full, accepting my own truths and sharing them with the people I trust. And a lot of the time, I feel like the only way I can properly convey parts of myself is through writing. Any time I’m not penning down my thoughts, I’m simply a jumble of misordered words, a freshly shaken scrabble bag.
Being seen, while scary to me, is something truly special and when it comes to the holiday season, that magic is amplified when you receive an ideal gift, just for you. If giving gifts is the art of noticing, whether that’s noticing your friend is a music lover or noticing your mom is always struggling to get warm, I think something that gift guides ultimately leave out is the added ingredient of time. Setting aside time and space in our lives for the people we love is making room for noticing. It’s being there when your friend is trying a new, exciting hobby, it’s being there through the hard times, it’s taking trips and experiencing life together, it’s being there when they break their soap dish in the kitchen and now you can write a note in your phone that they need a new one. When it comes to knowing our people and buying for them, the first step is being together. The second step is showing them you were paying attention.
With love,
Alyssa
Thank you for reading! I love hearing from you, so feel free to leave a comment or write me anytime at alysrochwrites@gmail.com.
Mood Reads
The Objective newsletter shares outlets and journalists producing incredible reporting on trans people and the ways they are politically and socially treated.
Noted’s Thanksgiving edition addresses the question, “Was there actually a Thanksgiving in 1621?” in their recent post: A Notebook from the First “Thanksgiving”
“Maybe I shouldn’t be saying any of this and letting you believe I’m a domestic goddess—though I’m pretty sure no one was operating under such illusions. I’m a domestic human, no more and no less,” writes Alicia Kennedy on what she’s making this Thursday. Fair warning, this read will make you very hungry.
At Joan Didion’s estate sale, Erin Somers wonders, why bid on someone’s dusty old stuff? “I know that nothing of a writer’s essence clings to her possessions after death. I know genius is not transferable via luxury goods. And yet.”
Oliver Burkeman restates that everyone is (still) winging it. “It seems to come as an immense relief to many people to be reminded that it's not just them – that the reason they always feel like they're making things up as they go along is because everyone is always making things up as they go along.”
I’m Reading
I’m still reading Rebel by Beverly Jenkins and loving Drake and Val.
I’m Baking
Many letters ago, I wrote about having digestive problems that popped up early last September, and now that I’m getting a handle on it (thanks to my doctor and, soon, a new allergy specialist I’ll be seeing in December), I’ve started baking again because the holidays don’t feel quite like the holidays until I’m making dessert.
This week I made delicious, super soft pumpkin cookies. The texture was as if you were eating the top of a muffin and they were delightfully pumpkiny. Next up are snickerdoodles.
Finding your way through the holidays can be complicated for so many reasons. Sometimes it’s not what we expect (or exactly what we expected). No matter what the holidays bring, I hope yours is a happy one. Have a lovely week and I’ll see you next Tuesday! And if you enjoyed this letter, consider forwarding it to a friend.