Summer Skies, Punk Docs, and a Bee to the Neck
Just a real one about stings, states of being, and permission to unplug.
Hello Dear Ones,
Well, it’s been two months. Two full months since I’ve shown up here in your inbox, and let me just say, the unplug was real.
You know how it goes: you start with the best intentions, a fresh calendar, a bullet journal, a deeply highlighted planner… and then life decides it has other plans. I’ve been juggling school, work, deadlines, more school, and a few deeply existential moments that had me contemplating the fate of the world while stress-watching cooking videos and documentaries about punk rock. You know, balance.
And in the midst of all that chaos? A bee. An actual bee. On what should’ve been a perfect summer Friday, I managed to find a moment to do nothing…nothing except exist in 98-degree heat and float in my backyard pool like a woman who had finally cracked the self-care code. I’d done my chores, fed the pups, had music playing, and was mid-gratitude loop when bam! sting to the neck.
Because life is funny like that, you make space for peace, and sometimes you get stung. But I’ll tell you what, standing in the kitchen with ice on my neck, Torr looking at me like I’m sorry, honey. I said aloud, “This is such a metaphor for life right now.”
We’re all just trying to float, aren’t we? To carve out moments of joy, of stillness, of meaning, and sometimes a bee will fucking sting you (regardless of how many you save daily.)
It doesn’t mean the joy wasn’t real. It doesn’t mean we stop trying. It just means… we keep showing up.
This reminded me of something kind of random…but not really.
When I was a teenager, I was super into punk rock. And I don’t want to offend any of you… but I am a bit of a music snob. I don’t care who knows it. I grew up around music, around musicians, my whole life. My dad, as many of you know, is a mariachi vocalist (the man has serious pipes), and most of my uncles played instruments. All my friends growing up in East LA were in bands. Music wasn’t just background noise, it was language, identity, ritual.
Lately, I’ve been feeling nostalgic. Like… teenage-Rosie-in-a-Misfits-shirt nostalgic. So instead of diving into another mindfulness book or clinical psych paper, I’ve been binge-watching this YouTube channel called Punk Rock MBA. It’s like music junk food with a side of sociology. Finn McKenty does these really cool deep dives on bands, scenes, what happened to the underground, and why that one pop-punk album from 2001 still wrecks you.
And you know what? It feels like medicine.
Sometimes we forget that healing doesn’t always look like journaling in candlelight or drinking “mushroom tea” in a sound bath. Sometimes it looks like blasting a song that knows your teenage angst better than your therapist. Music, especially the kind that shaped you, has a way of cutting through the noise and placing you right back in your body, in your heart, in your weird, messy, real self.
So yeah. Even in the chaos. Even with the bee stings. Especially in those floaty, almost-perfect, beautifully interrupted moments, we keep showing up.
A quick life update, because I’ve missed you:
I’ve been savoring the tiniest of summer breaks before summer school starts up again. Just two weeks of “luxury writing” (shoutout to the friend who called it that), and letting myself write not for work or deadlines but for joy.
Tessa and I are prepping Season 2 of The Radically Well Podcast, which you can binge from start to finish on YouTube, Spotify, or wherever you get your pods.
We just moved The Radically Loved Collective to Facebook! so if you want to join our circle, connect with other women, and reset this summer, you’re invited. Click here to request access.
Oh, and one quick thing: You may have noticed, we’ve had a little identity shift. This Substack is now called How to Midlife because, well... things are about to get delightfully weird, brutally honest, and maybe even a little unhinged (in the best way).
Midlife is not a crisis it’s a curriculum. And we’re about to major in all of it.
A gentle reminder to those of you on the same boat as I am, don’t beat yourself up if you’re slow to reply to texts, cancel plans last minute, or just need time to not be "on." People who love you will understand. And if they don’t? That’s a TP, not a YP. (Translation: their problem, not your problem.)
Here’s your mindful summer practice:
The 5-Minute Pause
Set a timer. No phone, no scrolling. Just sit. Breathe. Feel the heat of the season on your skin, the sounds around you. Ask yourself: What do I need in this moment? Not what should I do, but what do I need? Let the answer come gently. That’s it.
Here’s to a summer that lets you feel it all. Even the bee stings. Especially the floating.
With love and SPF 70,
Rosie