Alt Rigor

2026-05-06


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I read the latest Neverworns by Liana Satenstein and mentally underlined the quote from Yohana Lebasi, “Rigor and a point of view are essential.” It was to answer Liana’s question, “What did you learn from Vogue?”, a magazine I’ve only read, but is something I’ve come to believe, and try to practice, as well. I only had a few moments of basking in the feeling of identifying with a chic stranger on the internet when my inner monologue interrupted – What rigor? Is rigor in the room with us? SHOW ME THE RIGOR.

When I think rigor, I think Vogue, the click-clacky heels Liana writes about, I think an intense focus and dedication to always showing up just so – in writing and life. And that, I do not often embody. Especially, as of late, in this newsletter. The Good Enough Weekly began with weekly essays that I spent all week working on, edited into the wee hours, and took notes for the following week in between making breakfast and brushing my teeth. That felt rigorous. The newsletter’s weekly publishing schedule was a personal mandate. A deadline to yank myself out of the isolating work of writing a novel manuscript. The essays weren’t perfect, but I experienced the generative momentum of a tight turnaround and loved it.

The problem, for this newsletter’s ego anyway, is that the momentum leaped from this space into others. Over the last three years, since starting The Good Enough Weekly, I’ve taken on new clients, got into other work (like grant writing), and have been working on a book proposal. Now—this is still on a part-time basis because I’m the parent at home managing four kids (two in school, two younger) while my husband works a ‘real’ job as I jokingly call it. All the jobs are real. And it is a blessing and curse to have this flexible, evolving, and demanding job that I do as a freelancer. 

Weekly essays stopped a while ago, and over this year most of the structured parts of this newsletter have fallen away. I’m still writing to you weekly, and love doing it, but rigor – it doesn’t feel rigorous in this space anymore. At least not in the click-clacky heels way. So, rather than let myself spiral, I thought about how rigor is not only the territory of professionals who work in offices with walls of glass. Rigor can be looked at over a lifetime and within daily life. A line in a journal every day for decades. Cooking the squash that’s a bit old and making it delicious. 

The reason I’m drawn to rigor, in thought, writing, creation, is because I want to keep digging. My ideal is to keep editing until a sentence drips with red ink, and has become a knife of meaning ready to pierce a reader’s heart. And there’s a rigor in not losing my head when I have to set the book proposal down to answer the doorbell.


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