Stories beget stories
And a weekly roundup
Something beautiful is unfolding in my inbox. Something unexpected and extraordinary: your replies.
Not quick reactions, but long, vulnerable stories. Questions. Missives from the heart.
It tells me you don’t just want to read—you want to reflect, respond, and relate.
Every week, someone writes back.
Not with a heart emoji, or a polite “Loved this!”—but with five, sometimes eight, paragraphs about their mother’s dementia.
Memories of a child who no longer speaks to them.
Confessions of a marriage that died so slowly they almost missed it.
“I could meditate on that for a long time,” one reader writes, reflecting on how grief spirals rather than marches forward.
From Kolkata, a reader thanks me for my honesty, says my words “resonate on so many levels.” In Croatia, another crafts a full essay in response to mine, sparked by a reflection on what it means to know anything at all.
These aren’t public comments on a blog post. They’re private letters. Sent across continents. Offered to someone they’ve never met, but trust enough to be real with.
“How do you write about the complexities of human relationships so that neither love nor loss dominates, but both sit side by side?” a stranger-turned-friend asks.
Another shares the memory of childhood dreams she “bottled like perfume, carrying them through decades for safekeeping.”
Sometimes I find myself pausing in the middle of my day, thinking of something a reader shared weeks ago, carrying their story alongside my own.
You aren’t “engaging” the way algorithms measure. You are sharing bits and pieces of yourself. Remembering. Bearing witness alongside me. And I feel humbled and honored to participate in these rich dialogues.
At a time when curated performances dominate, these emails feel like artifacts from another era—when people wrote letters not to impress, but simply to be understood.
This is why I end every essay with the same invitation: Just hit reply. I read every message. I respond to each one.
Because even when I can’t fix anything, even when all I do is listen—that, sometimes, is the greatest gift. The same gift you give me, again and again.
It feels like we are discovering some ancient magic in this digital age—not just saying “Me too,” but “I see you. I hear you. Your story matters. And here’s mine.”
And in that exchange, something as ordinary as an email becomes sacred.
In Case You Missed It
If you haven’t had a chance to read last week’s essay on my marriage, here it is again. It elicited so many thoughtful, sensitive and empathetic responses. You didn’t just react to my story, but reached into your own lives and measured what matters.
Some wrote about loss. Others about longing. Some wrote from a place of gratitude—and still found resonance.
The Daily Feed
I’ve been sharing small vignettes from my life here in my Daily Feed. If anything resonates, feel free to comment on the individual microblog or simply reply to this email. I love hearing from you and read and respond to each one!
Fri, Apr 25
A Milestone Moment
This moment—this tangible manuscript—is ours as much as it is mine. Thank you for walking beside me.
Sat, Apr 26
Kindness is a Choice
I wasn’t born kind and kindness as a kid was merely a form of compliance. Now I choose it everyday.
Sun, Apr 27
Finger Paint
Joyful fingerpaintings to brighten your day and give courage to your creative spirit. Bonus: video!
Mon, Apr 28
How Will You Tend To Yourself Today?
People ask me how to start a ripple. Well, the answer is both simple and complicated: you don't start with the world. You start with yourself.
Tue, Apr 29
A Meaningful Gift
This is a $4 wood alphabet from Michael’s painted with acrylics as a keepsake for one of my daughter’s teachers.
A Gathering Awaits
These small exchanges—unrushed, unfiltered, deeply human—are the heart of what we explore in The Ripple Room.
Our next gathering is on the horizon, and the theme for May is: Small Delights, Everyday Joy.
No prompts. No pressure. Just a shared space to create, connect, and come home to yourself.
Mansi, I hope you’ll join us on Friday, May 16 at 10 a.m. Pacific Time.
Suggested ticket price: $10 (min $7)
Before you go…
If today’s email made you think about slowing down, notice more, to make something with your hands—you might enjoy revisiting the No Phone, Just Art 5-minute challenge I hosted in February. It has prompts, examples, shares from participants and a downloadable companion guide.
I’m hoping to host another week-long challenge next month—a chance to break free from our digital dependencies and birth something new: a poem, a painting, a quiet act of presence. Alone, but in community.
Will you participate?
I’d love to hear your thoughts on this idea, this new rhythm, or anything else you want to share—as always, just hit reply or leave a comment.
Until next week,
XOXO
Mansi.
It’s because you inspire us to be vulnerable and to share. You also make it a safe place to do so.