Foraging for Beauty

The late summer heat turns the air into a sopping sponge, and elsewhere, the world is on fire.

I decided this season to try to find the cozy part of summer instead of just gritting my teeth until fall shows up sometime in late October. Rainy days have become my new favorite summer refuge.

Most evenings I stand in my front yard watching the colors ebb and flow and transform day into night. My brain has learned to filter out the traffic noise and hear the birdsong that exists around it. And I’m sure I am the subject of speculation... that one-legged woman on the corner who stands in her driveway, craning her neck to study the sky.

To be fair, I’d just lie in the grass if it weren’t for fire ants.

My cottage may be surrounded by a commercial district, but this patch of sky is still wild and untamed. And beauty can be foraged there.

The “silly” idea igniting a movement

On July 3rd, I shared a post on Facebook I expected nothing from. Instagram has been so insufferable of late, I have contemplated quitting there a few times a day since June. But I persist. I have simply been trying other platforms to open up more paths of sharing stories and wonder.

For years, I had a silly little idea in my head. It had been slowly growing out of the soil of things we’ve explored here. What if we could create a whimsical form of scouting for adults? Celebration badges for ordinary moments. Did you do something scared? You get an I did it scared badge. Placed on story sashes that tell the stories we are honoring as meaningful. Local troops with mushroom berets. Because mycelium is the network that allows the trees to talk to one another in the forest. Whimsical times of making things. All undergirded by a structure that makes gathering easy and delightful.

It and follow-on posts have now been seen over 3 million times. People started organizing to find one another in the comment section and all of a sudden I was building the plane while flying the plane. July evaporated into full world-building mode. And now we have over 50 independent troops around the world, 6,000 in our online clubhouse, and it is only growing.

Introducing the Frolic and Forage Society. I built our clubhouse in an adjacent Substack to this one. It’s completely free, unless someone wants to and is able to support financially as a subscriber.

So if mushroom berets, celebration badges, creative adventures, and finding more reasons to gather and make things together sound interesting, come explore the Frolic & Forage Clubhouse here.

Making More Space for Wonder

I am honestly humbled to be stewarding what is happening with Frolic. And it has clarified more than I could have imagined about what it means to make wonder a habit.

The Wonder Habit® has never only been one thing. It’s been art challenges, prompts, and essays. Together we’ve painted and sketched, explored questions, and found tiny moments of beauty in ordinary places.

From day one, we’ve been experimenting with what making wonder a habit might look like. Apparently, it can look like putting on a mushroom beret and gathering with people who were strangers a few weeks ago.

Frolic needs its own clubhouse. Giving it the space it asks for has given me space to dream about what we can make room for here.

And one of the things I want to make more room for in this season is writing.

I want to take you with me as we trace ocean shores and find forests with leaves spun with gold. To share things I’m making and learning as we plumb the depths of what it means to navigate pain, loss, and joy, and stay human in an age of algorithms.

To weave words into stories written from the posture of a neck craned to study a sunset as it leaks its way across the sky.

I’m also opening up more of the stories and essays I’ve written here over the years. If you’re newer to The Wonder Habit, or simply want to wander back through some old favorites, you can explore them here ⬇️.

📖 Collected Essays

I am so incredibly grateful for YOU being here and making The Wonder Habit® what it is today. It would not be here without you. And I am excited for a new season of becoming together.

All my love,

P.S. If you’re part of Prompt & Ponder, I want you to know that your paid subscription makes more possible than what arrives in your inbox each week.

Prompt & Ponder is our paid subscription, where I offer a gentle weekly letter of encouragement with thoughtful questions and creative invitations designed to help you slow down, reflect, and make more room for wonder.

But your subscription also supports my larger body of work. It gives me the ability to keep writing, creating, and building The Wonder Habit® and its projects like The Frolic & Forage Society.

The evening thunder is rumbling in the distance as I write. It is low and fierce and the dark clouds promise some much-needed rain.

It is difficult to believe I am starting to plan seed starting indoors for the fall garden. I live in Florida where it is too hot to plant outdoors so I am setting up a plant nursery under the skylight in my g…

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My friend,

I sat on the couch cradling a hot cup of tea as I watched the winds whip wild and the rain come down, all while the light faded into the night. There is something so profoundly peaceful in knowing you are safe sit and sip even in the middle of the storm.

That’s what I hope this Sunday letter becomes for you. A safe place to sit and breathe eve…

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Our Mid-July-August Schedule

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From the Clover Patch

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Sashiko & the Art of Mending

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Thoughts on Weaving and Storytelling

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On Creating a Portal

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✨ Welcome to Summer Book Club✨

Y’all, I have to admit this book has so much beauty and wisdom wrapped up in it I think we might need to slow down our reading schedule to SAVOR the goodness in these pages.

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✨ Summer Book Club✨

Reading in community is such a delight. Below you will find our schedule and some prompts based on how I interact with books. I will be reading this largely alongside you so I’ll send out our optional questions for pondering on a weekly basis.

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From 2005 to 2020, I lived TV-free outside the reach of endless news cycles, relentless advertising, opinionated drivel, and the quicksand of bingeable streaming series. It was quiet bliss.

But then came the pandemic. The world felt like it was lurching off its axis and staying on top of the news felt like a survival necessity. My parents had just died and I was confined to my house because of being extremely medically vulnerable in a state whose policies favored political hubris over public health.

The black box hanging on my wall became, for a time, my window to the world outside my home. It was imperfect, but good God I needed to stream Harry Potter, Sister Act, and comfort shows on repeat to make the solitary confinement feel less solitary. This TV was quite talented. It played Spotify, became an endless babbling brook, and looked like art in a frame when I wasn’t watching it.

What I didn’t see because it crept over so slowly was the hold it was taking over my attention. Netflix autostreamed and “just one more episode” became “what’s the newest series?” The headlines got louder and the YouTube videos longer. My time and focus were being sucked into a virtual black hole on my wall.

Six years later, between the TV and my phone, my attention started feeling like it stopped belonging to me. And I utterly refuse to cede my attentional agency to an algorithm controlled by billionaires.

So many times I thought of ripping the TV off the wall entirely. But it has some genuinely lovely uses when kept in its place. After all, the issue really isn’t the TV—it’s my relationship with it.

Yesterday I hung a rod with a handmade quilt draped over it that tucked the TV behind a kaleidoscope of patchwork colors. I disconnected the cords and put them in a basket with the remote up on a shelf. I’m not anti-TV—I love a good movie night, maybe a little too much. But…

I want my intention to determine my attention.

I don’t have to live inside an algorithm. Neither do you. I’m the boss of my focus and my time, and I’m fully committed to putting as much friction as necessary between impulse and action to keep it that way.

For the next 90 days, I'm conducting a simple experiment: less television when I could be reading, less scrolling when I should be sleeping, and less consumption simply because I'm bored.

I’m calling it My Summer of Less. I really look forward to documenting what I learn through the experience here, as well as sharing some deep-dive essays from my research around the insights it surfaces.

More of what matters, less of everything else.

I can tell you this much already… The quilt covering my TV made the living side of my house instantly calmer, and me with it. I slept better than I have in eons.

What's competing for your attention right now? What do you want more of this summer? And what's one small piece of friction you could add between impulse and action to help make that happen?

📔 In case you missed it…

✨ Our summer book club starts this week!

We are doing something new with our paid subscriber community—our first-ever book club! In the month of June, we will be reading Sue Monk Kidd’s newest book, Writing, Creativity, and the Soul together as a community. If you are able, I’d love for you to join us!

Each week I’ll send my reflections from our reading during the week along with some discussion questions. Then at the end of the month, we’ll gather on Zoom to connect live.

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I’m so excited. If all goes well, we might add this as a regular rotating feature!

It is a joy to kick off summer here with you.

I’m so grateful for you being here. For your comments and support and restacks… and all the ways you are pivotal in building this community together.

Love from the bottom of my heart,

P.S. Let me know if you try your own version of a Summer of Less. Or if you have questions about it. I’m also sharing video thoughts on the journey over on Instagram if you are there.

I am so excited to spend this summer with you!

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I always love a “Give Jesus a chance. He died for the opportunity” license plate frame on a large SUV as it barrels down, practically pushing my car out of its way so it can take my place. Congratulations, you gained 3 whole feet.

As I sat there, NPR replayed Terry Gross’s 2016 interview with Stephen Colbert. (I already miss his opening monologues.) They were talking about his first years in the Ed Sullivan Theater. Stephen explained that, at first, he thought he needed Broadway energy to fill the space: high kicks and all. It was, after all, a literal Broadway stage.

But then, as he settled into the role, he began to realize that he didn’t need main-character high-kick energy to fill a gigantic space. Authentic presence was just as powerful, maybe more.

I turned the radio off, sat in traffic, and cried. Perhaps I’ve just been trying too hard here. Dandelions fill fields just by being themselves and letting the wind carry their seeds.

I’ve been quieter because things have been rearranging beneath the surface. In some ways, I think I’ve been trying to figure out the right high-kick routine to keep this space growing, when everything in me simply wants to write you letters and stories. Hot takes and hopeful rants about living with wonder in an age of algorithms. Messy confessions from the middle of my gloriously imperfect humanity. Big observations after leaving decades of leadership inside high-control religious ecosystems and living with chronic pain. Musings on creativity while currently in a creative rut.

I know some of you came initially for creative prompts and challenges. They have always been a part of the vision for this space, and they were the part that took off—in stunning ways. I am so grateful for that.

But this writer has ink in her marrow. And deep determination in her soul to use her words and time on this earth to create a space where wonder is a path back to ourselves and one another in a distracted, divided, and disconnected world.

We’ve never needed wonder more—not as a glowing aesthetic, but as a way of remaining human inside systems designed to fracture our attention and optimize our worth.

We need voices that name our griefs and guide us back to the joy that lives alongside them.

We need friends who offer strength when we cannot fathom taking even one more step. I hope I can be that here for you.

As for the proverbial elephant in the room… I hear from many places, “Now don’t be political. You’ll lose people.” Here’s the deal. You will probably never see me with a decision board breaking down election odds unless I was drawing on it. Not my lane. I’m going to leave government and political analysis to the pros like , , and .

But wonder is political. Creativity is political. Living in a disabled, female body in the state of Florida in 2026 is very political. Medical access is political.

You might occasionally see my spicy side because I am all in for team human decency, and I’m done tiptoeing. I firmly believe Christian nationalism undermines both the love of Christ and democratic freedom. I don’t say that as an outsider. I say that as someone who spent almost 20 years of her professional life inside those systems before leaving in 2013.

The gold SUV with a platitude plate frame sped between lanes ahead of me. I let out the deep breath-breath-sigh that settles your nervous system.

And I kept thinking: Wonder and whimsy change things, because they change us.

We may be living through a time of profound uncertainty. But that doesn’t mean we have to navigate it alone.

I’m exhausted by internet gurus and living in a culture where visibility is mistaken for expertise. Maybe you are too.

I’m not entirely sure what the road ahead will look like. But I know I want it to be curious, alive, and filled with honest stories and audacious hope, belly laughs, and, yes, creative community. Things that celebrate what is good and kind, without looking away from the things that are not.

And I believe down to my mitochondria that love will outlast all of this.

We will find our way forward together.

I am so glad you’re here.

All my love,

Here are some of the things I’m pondering about the word consistency.

You might call these my notes before I write a longer essay…

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This week felt like it blew in creative fits and squalls. I was either living inside my thoughts or chasing them like a Texas tumbleweed in a spring storm.

I’ve been thinking a lot about consistency this week. Maybe it’s because we are nearing the end of our 100-Day Project. Perhaps it’s because I’m working on a longform writing project that is both feeding my soul and demanding I feed my soul more so I have what I need to write.

I can’t give what I do not have. The words that hold weight are the words that become real in me.

I am constantly fighting my way through the noise of this season. It is a difficult thing to maintain focus when the very system you escaped is now shaping public life around you in profound ways that keep every last nerve cell you have on perpetual high alert.

So I’ve been thinking of consistency. A lot. Primarily my lack of it.

Our Week 13-15 Prompts ⬇️

Because May is so busy leading into summer, I went ahead and added the rest of the 100 Days of Wonder prompts so you have them when you are ready.

This is what has caught my imagination ⬇️

What if the consistency of repetition matters far less than the consistency of the kind of substance that makes up the soul and story of our creative work?

When I hear the word consistency, I immediately think of streaks. How many days did you read? How many times a week did you walk? Did you show up every day? And I’m not saying there is no value there.

We absolutely need to show up for ourselves and our creative dreams.

But what if it is less about flawless repetition and more about focused composition, less about activity and more about authenticity?

What might happen if we shifted the way we defined consistency in our creative practice from the quantity of our execution to the quality of what winds up being executed?

You don’t need to optimize everything. Your creativity isn’t a machine. It’s a work of heart.

I think there is something powerful waiting to be explored here. Keep an eye out because I plan to do just that.

Love from the bottom of my heart,

The Daily Prompts: May 17-June 01

From Penelope the Prompt Jar…

• DAY 85 | May 17: What role does rest play in your creative process?

• DAY 86 | May 18: What does consistency mean to you?

• DAY 87 | May 19: What do you give to others through your creativity?

• DAY 88 | May 20: How do you know when it is time to begin again?

• DAY 89 | May 21: Write about your relationship with blank pages.

• DAY 90 | May 22: What routine is most nourishing to you?

• DAY 91 | May 23: What is one small act of creative rebellion you can embrace today?

• DAY 92 | May 24: When did you last follow a spark into the unknown?

• DAY 93 | May 25: What does sustainable creativity look like to you?

• DAY 94 | May 26: What helps you stay open to the unknown?

• DAY 95 | May 27: What truth does your work keep returning to?

• DAY 96 | May 28: Write about someone who believed in your work.

• DAY 97 | May 29: What are 3 ways you can support yourself creatively?

• DAY 98 | May 30: What clears the way for beginnings?

• DAY 99 | May 31: Write about the power of repetition in your work.

• DAY 100 | June 01: When does your work feel like collaboration with something bigger than you?

All my love,

Welcome to our first video studio storytime chat.

I wish we could hang out in real life. So I’m hopping on camera to make it feel closer to that. Here’s the first of our studio storytimes!

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Thank you for being here. I am so incredibly grateful.

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This week has been a time of revisiting things. Revisiting loss. The kind that claws at the inside of your breast breast bone and kicks against your rib cage longing to break free. Revisiting love. The kind that seeps into your DNA and rearranges it so you can never be the same.

When things get hard, I lean harder on whimsy and wonder. I sometimes imagine them as Anne Shirley and Luna Lovegood wandering arm-in-arm in an enchanted forest where the trees tell stories and grow stars in their branches.

Whimsy isn’t abstract. It all but demands to be embodied in the real world. I think that’s why I love Anne Shirley so much. I was a 9 when Megan Follows made her debut in the beloved Anne of Green Gables. My mom almost didn’t let me watch it because she was afraid it would give me even more ideas than I already had.

Yes, I was the child who read under her blanket and got scolded for bringing Nancy Drew to the dinner table. The lake of shining waters and the depths of despair became permanent parts of my vocabulary. And I began to recite poetry out loud because I loved how the words felt when I said them. To be fair, my mama was pretty dang whimsical herself.

Our Week 12 Prompts ⬇️

If you are new, here are the links for the rest of the 100-day prompts so far: https://wonder.dmicheleperry.com/t/100-days-of-wonder-2026

More recently, I’ve thought of the powerful agency whimsy gives us as having 4 domains—like the 4 leaves of the clover. 🍀

• TEND: Embracing tiny ways to add care in my everyday, very ordinary life.

• ROOT: Connecting to what grounds, anchors, and nurtures me

• PLAY: Making and exploring all the corners of my creative practice without pressure.

• GROW: Developing my inner world. Leaning into writing, learning, and reflection.

Here are 4 images that share some main ways I whimsify my real-life world. I find it so helpful to have a starting place.

And every so often I still tilt my head to one side and think… what would Anne Shirley do in a situation like this?

I’m so incredibly grateful for you being here. For your comments and support and restacks… and all the ways you are pivotal in building this community together.

Love from the bottom of my heart,

Coming to our Prompt & Ponder members this week:

• Our first studio storytime video and coffee chat where I dive into more of my story and why I find whimsy so powerful.

• The audio version of me reading On grief, gardening, & what it means to come alive.

• A few hand selected visual reference images for creative inspiration.

• Our subscriber chat where we share what we’re working on!

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