Greetings Reader!
This week, I’ve been thinking about what it means to live in a way that quietly affirms possibility. Not by teaching, not by persuading, but simply by being. By showing what’s possible through presence, rhythm, and truth.
A reader wrote to me after last week’s newsletter and said:
“Do you realize just how many people you're speaking to? How many people can relate? This is wonderful and I do hope you have thousands of people who are hearing this.”
That reflection stayed with me. It reminded me of something I wrote near the end of Eating Adverbs: that living adverbially isn’t just about solo thriving. It’s about resonance. It’s about becoming a mirror for someone else’s courage. A quiet kind of leadership that says, “You’re not alone. You’re not wrong. You’re not too late.”
TIME
A Life That's Finally Happening
One reader shared a story that beautifully traces the arc of time: from Later (running a booking agency), to Soon (beginning the transition into retirement), to Now (living the dream they once postponed). They described how songwriting and practicing now fill their days, how they cook without watching the clock, and how their music room has become a space of daily joy. And now, they’re building their own music career: “essentially a slightly paid retirement hobby.”
It’s a beautiful example of time unfolding with intention. Not all at once, but gradually. A life that was once deferred is now being lived.
Where in your life have you moved from Later, to Soon, to Now? What part of your rhythm is finally happening?
DEGREE
The Texture of Showing Up
Last week, I attended an industry conference - one I helped plan, which meant my schedule was packed from morning to midnight. It’s a performing arts conference, so after full days of professional development, meetings, and a trade show, the evenings were filled with showcase performances. From 9 a.m. to midnight, I was in motion. Present. Engaged.
And yet, on two mornings, I woke early enough to focus 100% on this book. I edited two chapters before the day began - fully immersed, fully committed, even in the midst of the noise.
That’s what I’ve been thinking about this week: the texture of showing up fully. Not just physically, but emotionally. Not just checking a box, but inhabiting the moment. Even when it’s inconvenient. Even when it’s hard.
Where in your life are you showing up fully—even when it would be easier not to? What’s asking for your complete presence?
MANNER
The Power of Small, Intentional Moves
I’ve been thinking about how often we move through life without choosing how we move. Autopilot is efficient, but it’s not always kind. It gets the job done, but it rarely asks how we feel while doing it.
There’s a moment I wrote about in Eating Adverbs—setting the table with intention, even when dining alone. Real silverware. A cloth napkin. A candle lit not for romance, but for presence. That act wasn’t about performance. It was about choosing to honor the moment. About moving through the evening deliberately, rather than just getting through it.
It’s easy to default. But when I choose deliberately, even in small ways, it shifts the emotional tone of the day.
Where might you be moving on autopilot? What’s one thing you could do deliberately today, just to feel more present?
PLACE
The Shelf That Holds More Than Books
This week, I spent time with one of my bookshelves, not to alphabetize or decorate, but to listen. Some books felt like companions. Others felt like obligations. A few whispered, “You’ve already lived what I came to teach.”
Letting go wasn’t about tidying. It was about clarity. About choosing what still resonates and releasing what doesn’t. But it wasn’t just about subtraction. What remains holds weight.
This shelf holds more than books.
- It holds questions.
- Threads of thought.
- Quiet provocations.
These are the voices shaping Eating Adverbs. Some are quoted directly. Others influence the atmosphere. And as I moved through the shelves, I found myself looking beyond the objects—into the emotional weight they carry, the versions of myself they reflect, and the ones I’m still becoming.
Is there a space in your life that holds more than it seems? What are you ready to see beyond its surface?
FREQUENCY
What I Keep Coming Back To
A reader wrote to me this week:
“Being alone is different from being lonely. Very different. And while I am blessed to have had my significant other in my life since 1975—yes, 50 years—I am ok with my ‘lone’ time. I cherish it.”
That word—cherish—stayed with me. It reminded me that some things, though rarely spoken, are always felt. That quiet time isn’t empty—it’s full of return.
Here are three things I keep on my "bookshelf," both literally and metaphorically. They don’t demand attention. But they return.
Song on Repeat
“
Me and the Ghost of Charlemagne” by Amy Speace. I’ve always been drawn to singer/songwriters who write songs about being singer/songwriters. There’s something beautifully
meta about it—like Jackson Browne’s “The Load-Out.” But this song by Amy Speace goes deeper. It’s a reflection on legacy, on what we leave behind when we’re gone. It’s haunting, tender, and true. I return to it when I need to remember why I write at all.
Book I Keep Returning To
The Tao of Pooh by Benjamin Hoff. This book is the clearest, kindest explanation of Taoism I’ve ever found. It uses the beloved characters of Winnie-the-Pooh to explore flow, simplicity, and presence. Pooh isn’t wise because he tries, he’s wise because he doesn’t. He listens. He notices. He moves with the current instead of against it. I return to this book when I need to soften, to recalibrate, to remember that effort isn’t always the answer.
Ritual
Setting the table with intention, even when dining alone. Real silverware. A cloth napkin. I don’t do it every day. But when I do, it changes the shape of the evening.
What do you rarely do that always brings you back to yourself? What quiet rhythm is asking to be kept?
A Rhythm That Doesn't Rush
This week’s adverbs weren’t loud. They didn’t demand attention. They asked for listening. For noticing. For choosing.
Fully. Deliberately. Beyond. Rarely.
Each one pointed to a kind of rhythm that doesn’t rush. A way of living that honors what’s quiet but true. A way of leading—not by volume, but by example.
I’m grateful for the stories you’ve shared. For the ways you show up. For the questions you’re still living into.
Let’s keep listening. Let’s keep choosing. Let’s keep returning.
NEW OFFERING!
Living Your Adverbial Life Coaching
Inspired by the themes of Eating Adverbs, I’m now offering one-on-one coaching for anyone ready to live more intentionally, creatively, and joyfully on their own terms.
Whether you’re navigating change, craving clarity, or simply want to reclaim joy in your solo experiences, these sessions are designed to help you thrive.
Coaching tiers include:
- The Soon Session: a single 60-minute spark
- The Adverbial Reset: three sessions for focused transformation
- Living Adverbially: a full-spectrum journey over three months
- A La Carte Support: flexible half-hour check-ins
Curious? Email me and let’s start with a free 20-minute discovery call. No pressure, just a chance to connect.
Let’s build your adverbial life—one intentional moment at a time.
See you next week!
Adverbially Yours,
Tommy
