He Wrote It On A Newspaper Margin
Art, love, and what actually lasts
A few years ago, I sat next to a stranger on a flight from Atlanta to San Antonio. He had a newspaper instead of an iPhone, and I made the weird choice not to pull out my headphones.
The man in 4C had kind eyes and wore his wedding ring like a badge of honor.
We got to talking somewhere over Alabama, the way you do when you’re suspended at 30,000 feet with nowhere to be but present. He was heading home to San Antonio. A Doctor, now retired. Two kids, three grandkids who were, in his words, “the whole point of living.”
He asked about my life. I deflected with something about work, about design, about “my plans.” Then he asked the question that made me pause:
Are you happy?
Not fine. Not busy. Happy.
I gave him the honest answer, the kind you only give strangers on planes or therapists you’ve paid. And then he leaned in like he was about to tell me something important.
“Fifty years,” he said. “Fifty years with my best friend, and I’ll tell you the only thing that matters.”
He pulled out the newspaper from the seat pocket, flipped to a blank margin, and wrote in careful block letters:
Time. Talk. Touch. Trust. Thanks.
“All five,” he said, underlining all. “Not four. Not three. All of them. Every single day.”
I was engaged when I landed…
A few months later, I wasn’t…
That’s its own story, but I still have that newspaper margin.
A few years later, I married my person. The one who gives me time even when he’s tired. Who talks to me, really talks, not just at me. Who reaches for my hand in the grocery store. Who I trust with the messy, imperfect parts of myself.
All five. Every single day. Just like the man in 4C said.
I never got that man’s name. But I think of him every time I choose love that checks all the boxes.
I’m telling you this because this past year has been heartbreaking in ways that feel too big to carry. The news. The violence. The endless scroll of what’s breaking. It’s hard to live in a world you don’t recognize, where cruelty seems louder than kindness.
It’s easy to believe that good people are losing.
But here’s what I know, what that stranger on a plane taught me without even trying:
They’re not.
Good people exist everywhere. They stay. They show up. They choose connection when isolation is easier. They write wisdom on newspaper margins for people they’ll never see again because they believe in protecting what’s tender in all of us.
Love always wins. Not because it’s easy. Because people like him choose it.
And here’s the part that might sound naive, but absolutely isn’t:
It’s so easy to forget about all the good. So you build a life where forgetting is impossible. You surround yourself with evidence that it happened and will continue to. You keep newspaper margins in desk drawers. You remember the strangers who saw you. You choose to be that person for someone else.
Not someday. Not when everything is perfect.
Now.
Your grandmother’s brooches. Your kid’s art. That blurry photo from the trip that changed everything. The ticket stub from the concert that mattered.
Your actual, specific, irreplaceable life, the messy, beautiful one, deserves to be seen.
Because when you’re living in a world that feels like it’s burning, you need reminders. That you’ve been loved. That you’ve loved back. That your life has been specific, beautiful, and worth documenting.
The Good Stuff:
This is what I’m obsessing over right now
Valentines Finds: a Little whimsy because February deserves it
Siggi’s Icelandic Yogurt + Biscoff Cookies: the combo that has no business working but absolutely does. Thank you, @lorenzoskyfall, for this one.
Cosa Custom Love Letter Mug: your words, your handwriting, on something you hold every morning. It’s small, but it matters.
Lulu & Georgia’s New Collection: they’re dropping something called “It Was Nothing” soon, and I literally cannot wait. The name alone tells you it’s good.
Winter Survival Kit: A rechargeable light bulb for when the power flickers, a chimney sweep before it gets cold, and a living room tent.
Things that don’t cost much but mean everything. Things that make you remember: joy still exists in the small moments.
Last week, we talked about how to display memories. This week we’re talking about art.
I’ve spent years deep diving and overthinking this. How big should it be? Unique art or affordable art? Where to print oversized photographs? I found Etsy artists at 2 am. I tested framers. Tried different sources, different methods. And I’ve figured out things that genuinely changed how I approach filling my walls.
This week, my paid subscribers are getting everything I’ve learned: where to actually find artists, how to frame things beautifully for under $50, and the search tricks that have genuinely changed my walls. The whole system.
If you’ve been curious about this, you’re in the right place.
