The Midnight Nail Polish Philosophy
And other acts of rebellion against timing
Not this morning when I had time. Not yesterday, when it would have made sense to do. Right now, sitting cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by half-packed suitcases, waiting for “Throw In The Towel” pink to dry before I can fold the last of our clothes.
And if you've ever done something beautiful at the exact wrong time, like buying flowers on a random Tuesday, watching your show when the dishes need doing, or taking a walk instead of answering that email, you know exactly why this felt necessary.
There's something defiant, maybe even sacred, about choosing beauty when the world says “hurry.” Or doing something gentle when the moment calls for efficiency. Being human, not optimized, not impressive, not even particularly responsible.
Just… human.
As I waited for my nails to dry, I watched a 47-minute YouTube video about how Sweden basically shuts down for all of July. I am now fully on board with this idea. I'm not sure how we'll pull it off, but next year, I want in.
The past few months have been brutal for all of us. Not in a poetic way, just genuinely, relentlessly hard. But oddly, they've clarified something for me.
I don't want to live my whole life doing things at the “right” time if it means missing the good parts, the soft, slightly messy, deeply human parts that sustain us through everything else.
I didn't have painted nails at the beach.
I had salt in my hair and no itinerary.
I slept in and had strawberry cake for breakfast.
I laughed too loudly and packed too late.
And honestly? I believe that's the point.
You can plan to rest and still end up painting your nails at midnight. Sometimes the most nurturing thing you can do is give yourself permission to exist out of order, at the wrong time, imperfectly.
This isn't about productivity hacks. This is about recognizing that our obsession with optimal timing is stealing our ability to be present in our own lives.
Small rebellions that felt necessary this week:
Painting nails while packing (obviously)
Watching Swedish work culture videos instead of sleeping
Going to the beach with messy hair and zero preparation
Spontaneous beach trip BEFORE packing
Choosing presence over productivity, repeatedly
Things that will outlast every to-do list:
Laughing until you cry
Someone discovering something for the first time
The exact texture of sand under tired feet
Permission to be delightfully behind schedule
Stories told instead of emojis sent
I just read an article in Texas Monthly, and I'm struggling to find words for the weight of it. My heart is broken for the mother, for the families, for Texas, and everyone affected.
Lately, I feel so overwhelmed by everything. The floods, the grief, the way the world seems to be unraveling in real time. There are no right words for any of it. “Sending love” feels pathetically inadequate when people have lost everything.
To be honest, most days I don't know what to say. I don't have words of encouragement or a roadmap for where we go from here. I just know I care deeply, and I refuse to look away even when it feels hopeless.
I'll be donating to the Texas Hill Country Community Foundation's relief fund. If you're able to help, every contribution matters.
There's no transition that will feel right here, so as I continue with this newsletter, please know I never stop thinking about what's happening. But I also believe, maybe stubbornly, that we can't give up on hope, light, and the small joys that make us human.
Because if we lose hope, we won't build a better world for our kids.
While everything I write about, design, creativity, and finding beauty in small moments may feel insufficient against the enormity of what's happening, I also know that hope, light, and joy matter too. Creating spaces where people feel held and understood is also important work.
That sometimes the most radical thing we can do is refuse to let the darkness win.
We hold it all: the grief and the beauty, the despair and the midnight nail polish, the tragedy and the small rebellions that remind us we're still here, still human, still capable of joy.
“In a world that demands constant optimization, maybe the most radical thing we can do is something that serves no purpose except bringing us a moment of beauty.”
🔎 The Overlooked
The Subtle Stuff That Changes Everything
🛁 The Towel-Hanging Revelation: Turns out, hanging towels vertically instead of folded makes your bathroom feel more like a spa and less like a shared dorm.
Bonus: They dry better and wrinkle less. Zero cost, major serotonin.
🗑️ The pantry system that ended my snack-hunting chaos: Two-Tray Rule: ONE tray labeled “Open,” ONE labeled “Backup.” Cuts rummaging time by 40% and you always know when you're running low.
🧈 The butter dish discovery: Marble keeps butter at a perfect spreading temperature while ceramic either holds it too cold or lets it get too soft. Physics is beautiful when it makes toast easier.
⚡ New Obsessions
Tulip Shades > Boob Lights: We’ve suffered long enough! Replacing those flush-mount ceiling domes with a simple tulip glass shade instantly softens the light and your mood. Feels vintage, costs $40, and improves everything.
The playlist powering my 47-tab research spirals: Curated specifically for midnight rabbit holes and 2 am discoveries. It's become the soundtrack to all my best finds.
Japanese pull-saw that fits in a junk drawer: Makes my circular saw jealous. Perfect for small DIY projects and gives you that satisfying feeling of fixing things yourself.
💌 The Heart of It
On Tuesday, I'm sharing something I've never written about before:
We've been going to 30A since I was in middle school, back when my mom found it in a tucked-away mention in Southern Living. I also spent a summer there in college, working double shifts, $50 in my account, and figuring out which grocery stores wouldn't bankrupt me.
On Tuesday, I'm finally sharing the guide I wish someone had handed me back then. The things you only learn by doing it wrong several times.
Where to eat (and keep going back)
What to do & Where to shop
Rental spots that still feel affordable
Beach access tips that save time, money, and stress
What's worth packing vs. what to grab once you're there
The personality of each town
Plus, my biggest secret: The 30A neighborhood everyone overlooks that gives you beachfront luxury at half the price. I've been keeping this one to myself for years, but it's time.
If this guide feels like something you’ve been waiting for…
Get it Tuesday morning (15th July), along with everything I only share with subscribers. After that, it’s going in the vault.
Thanks for being here while we figure out midnight nail polish, Swedish work culture, and how to hold grief and hope in the same breath.
ILYYYYY,
Peyton.