All Creatures Perfectly Optimized

On perfectionism, optimization, and overalls.

Jun 11, 2026

It’s been a minute. My humble apologies for the absence, folks.

For those of you out there doing that Substack hustle, warming up that algorithm with your twice-a-day notes, and grinding out those regular posts, I say well done.

I’m over here slowly rising to my feet, giving you that sustained eye contact/slow clap combo which communicates beyond a shadow of a doubt, “I’m proud of you, son.”

And I am proud of you. I truly am. This place is full of cool folks who make me want to buy some slick sunglasses and maybe a pair of overalls and get to work.

At the very same time, life has been happening and overalls seem complicated, so I’m embracing Anne Lamott’s words about perfectionism from her book Bird by Bird: Some Instructions on Writing and Life (which I’m reading again and you should too).

She writes:

“I think perfectionism is based on the obsessive belief that if you run carefully enough, hitting each stepping-stone just right, you won’t have to die. The truth is that you will die anyway and that a lot of people who aren’t even looking at their feet are going to do a whole lot better than you, and have a lot more fun while they’re doing it.”

(Thanks, Anne, so good. Let’s grab coffee next time you’re in Nashville, girl.)

So, yeah, I’ve been writing. But I’ve also been playing.

As I’ve been learning from my dear friend Katy Bowser Hutson (who is writing an epic book about how God is at play and is inviting us into the delight of it all), preserving mental and emotional space for playfulness requires that I, on occasion, give that ever-buzzing undercurrent of obligation/ought to/not enough/scarcity mentality a very polite, but very firm, “Thanks, but no thanks.”

It’s not great for the algorithm. But it’s good for, like, my life and stuff.

More on how I’ve been playing shortly. First, I’ve got some news.

I’m delighted to announce I’ve signed a book contract with InterVarsity Press. Coming your way in 2028, it’s a book titled Days Like This: Reclaiming Motherhood in a Culture of Optimization.

Literally every aspect of our lives can be optimized. Your presence on Substack can be optimized. Your wardrobe can be optimized. Your skincare. Diet. Sleep hygiene. Water consumption. Even the pantry storage for your Captain Crunch cereal can be optimized.

The optimization culture of motherhood urges us to optimize ourselves into the latest version of ideal womanhood, some 1950s hausfrau/Margaret Thatcher mash-up; a high-heeled, cherry pie-baking, power-suited fever dream. You must do better. Be better. Grind harder. And make it look sexy and effortless.

I say nah.

It seems I’m giving the ol’ Heisman to perfectionism on many fronts these days.

This doesn’t mean I don’t pursue excellence. It just means I cheerfully accept my finite, embodied existence—with its need for unscheduled time, Sunday naps, and British period films—not as moral failure, not as something to be overcome, but as the way I’ve been designed to flourish.

I’m eager to take a deeper dive into the subject, particularly as it intersects with motherhood, a vocation rife—yes, downright infested—with pressure to optimize.

And look, I got this cool sticker, so it’s official.

This summer, though, I’m plugging away at my dear Rabbit Room Press manuscript. Let’s Get Coffee is shaping up nicely, in large part to my dream team Feedback Squad, Heather Cadenhead, Sara Bannerman, Frank Ewert, and Elizabeth Harwell. These guys are incredible. Go subscribe to them right now. I’ll wait.

…

Here’s a quote from J.D. Salinger that pretty much sums up how I feel about them:

“What really knocks me out is a book that, when you're all done reading it, you wish the author that wrote it was a terrific friend of yours and you could call him up on the phone whenever you felt like it. That doesn't happen much, though.”

Except, in this case, J.D., it totally DOES HAPPEN, because these terrific friends of mine have answered panicky texts, angsty emails, and have borne my writerly flailing with finesse. I am deeply blessed to be able to write this book about community, well, in community.

Oh, and if you’re planning on attending the Rabbit Room Member Gathering here in Nashville on June 20, you’ll get to hear me read a snappy little excerpt of my book during the Storyteller Hour alongside two esteemed storytellers Jennifer Trafton and Jonathan Rogers.

Whew.

I often find myself wondering how is this even happening? How is this my life?

Apologies to my friend Andi Ashworth because I’m going to blatantly steal the sentiment I’ve heard her express about being a writer because it feels so lovely and true.

I get to be a writer??? Me??? Yes, I get to be a writer.

Now it’s time for a Kate’s Favorite Things Round-Up.

First up, I give you the Yorkshire Dales.

David and I celebrated our 20th anniversary this year with a walking tour of the Dales.

Guys. So much walking. We walked anywhere between 4 to 22 miles a day.

We hired a porter service to transport our luggage from village to village, so all we had to do was we sling on our backpacks and waaaaaaalk.

It was pubs and pints and lambs and idyllic countryside as far as the eye can see. Enjoy these highlights.

Next up, an epic house show.

I’ve mentioned Rachel Wilhelm here before.

Her Hosea album—oh, man—go buy it. So good. Dare I say prophetic? Here’s the link to buy it right now.

To have Rachel play in our home among friends was a gift. If you’re thinking about hosting a house show or you’re on the fence about it, please do it. Feel free to DM me or say something in the comments if you want me to talk you into hosting one of your own.

(Rachel pictured on the left, Michelle Raybourn opening, on the right.)

Next up, how cool is it to spot a friend’s books in the wild?

Look at these beautiful books by Robyn Wall, guys.

If you need a baby shower gift, look no further. Also, if you look closely, you can see me creepin’ in the background. Photo cred to David Gaston!

Lastly, I just celebrated another birthday.

I wish I could say I did something really cool. Like hang-gliding. Or buying overalls.

But instead, I chilled at my local YMCA pool for a couple hours, wrote at my local coffee shop, got a free scoop of ice cream at the corner shop, ordered pizza from the best pizza place of all time, and watched a double header with my daughter—Kiki’s Delivery Service (so sweet!), and Sense and Sensibility (the Emma Thompson version, obviously).

Here’s a picture of me raising a mug to another year. Let’s gooooo, 43!!!

I’ll leave you with an short excerpt from John O’Donohue’s poem, For the Artist at the Start of Day:

“May this be a morning of innocent beginning,
When the gift within you slips clear
Of the sticky web of the personal
With its hurt and its hauntings,
And fixed fortress corners…”

Sigh. Oh, John. What great words you wrote.

As always, thanks for reading, friends.

Cheers!