So here’s a thing I’ve been mulling over lately—like, while brushing my teeth, walking to the mailbox, and half-listening to podcasts I swear I’m going to finish. It’s this whole tug-of-war between withdrawing and continuing to show up and fight, especially now, when the political climate feels like it’s been microwaved on high for seven years straight and the smell coming out is… not good. You know?

I’ve had days where I’m like, That’s it. I’m outta here. Gonna delete every app, unplug my router, adopt a hedgehog, and disappear into the woods where no one uses the phrase “culture war” unironically. But then five minutes later I’ll see a news headline that feels like it was pulled from a rejected Handmaid’s Tale script and suddenly I’m hate-refreshing Twitter and typing angry emails to my senator. (Who never replies. Rude.)

It’s a weird place to live—this teetering between burnout and fury. Like, on one hand, withdrawing sounds so peaceful. Just cocooning up and pretending the world isn’t actively lit on fire? Tempting. But also… that’s exactly what a lot of folks want people like me to do. (And by “people like me,” I mean anyone who gives a damn about actual rights and not just rebranded control dressed up as “values.”)

There’s this scene in Andor—and yes, I’m about to get Star Wars-serious for a second—where Stellan Skarsgård’s character gives this monologue about sacrificing everything for the rebellion. He’s not shiny like Luke Skywalker. He’s bitter and tired and completely jaded, but he’s still in it. That kind of resignation-fueled resistance? Ugh. It wrecked me. Because that’s what fighting often looks like. Not banners and parades. More like missed sleep, shaky hands, and still deciding to keep going anyway.

And don’t even get me started on The Hunger Games. Katniss didn’t sign up to be the face of the revolution. She wanted to survive. Protect her sister. Maybe plant a garden someday. But the system shoved her into the spotlight, and she did what she had to do, even while unraveling emotionally like the rest of us would’ve. Sometimes courage looks like shooting an arrow at the freaking Capitol. Other times, it looks like not screaming in an interview with Caesar Flickerman.

Now, full disclosure—I do withdraw. I vanish for a bit, nap weird hours, eat toast for dinner. But the thing is, I always come back. I think we have to let ourselves pull back sometimes so we can actually sustain the struggle. We’re not machines. Even Batman had to take a beat and lick his wounds (and probably moisturize, honestly, because that cowl looks drying). Rest isn’t quitting. It’s sharpening your claws before the next round.

At the end of the day, I think it comes down to this: hiding is okay for a while. Recharge, recenter, maybe binge-watch something with emotionally satisfying comeuppance (Looking at you, The Fall of the House of Usher—justice, finally!). But don’t let that retreat turn into permanent exile. The world still needs your voice. Even if it’s wobbly. Even if it only squeaks out a vote or a shared article or one stubborn conversation with That Uncle at Thanksgiving.

Take care of you. Then get back in there and raise a little hell.

Catch you on the barricades (or in my blanket fort for now),
—R

Okay, so you know how you fall down a random internet hole at like 11 p.m. because you’re just going to check one thing (famous last words), and then suddenly you’re reading about haunted vending machines and goat-headed cryptids? Yeah, that happened to me last night. Again. Which brings me to today’s ramble: some of the weirdest, creepiest, and straight-up what-the-heck urban legends from around the world. These are the kind of stories that make you double-check your closet before bed or give side-eye to any antique doll with too much… personality.

Let’s start with Japan, because wow, do they know how to mess with your head. There’s this legend about a thing called the Kuchisake-Onna, or “Slit-Mouthed Woman.” She’s this ghostly woman who wears a surgical mask (which honestly wouldn’t raise many eyebrows these days), and she’ll stop you on the street and ask, “Do you think I’m pretty?” If you say no—bam, she kills you. If you say yes—surprise! She takes off the mask to reveal her mouth has been slit ear to ear, then asks again. Say yes again? She still kills you. Say no? Yup, you guessed it—dead. Moral of the story: maybe just… run?

Meanwhile, over in Iceland, they have the Huldufólk, which literally translates to “hidden people.” These are elf-like beings who supposedly live in rocks and lava fields, and Icelanders take them very seriously. Like, rerouting-road-construction serious. There was a whole thing in 2013 where a highway project got delayed because people believed it would disturb the elves. I kind of love that, though—respect the mystical lava elves or suffer the consequences.

Then there’s the Philippines, home to the Manananggal, which is a shapeshifting, vampire-like creature that looks like a normal person by day, but at night it literally rips its upper torso from its lower half, sprouts wings, and flies around looking for pregnant women to snack on. I’m not making this up. Apparently, the way to defeat her is to find her severed lower half and sprinkle salt or garlic on it, so she can’t reattach and dies when the sun comes up. Note to self: always travel with seasoning.

Oh, and let’s not forget The Black Volga from Eastern Europe. This one’s weirdly modern and very Cold War paranoia-core. In the 60s and 70s, there were all these stories about a sleek black car—sometimes driven by Satanists, sometimes the KGB, sometimes just a straight-up vampire in a nice suit—that would abduct children right off the streets. You can tell this legend came from a time when everything was suspicious and nobody trusted the government or fancy cars. Honestly, I still don’t.

Here’s one that got under my skin in a weirdly specific way: The Bunny Man from Virginia. No, not cute. This guy wears a rabbit costume and chases people with an axe. Why? No idea. There’s a whole backstory involving an escaped mental patient and some dubious asylum history (very urban-legend-y), but the important part is: people still report sightings near a place called Bunny Man Bridge. And like, I want to laugh, but also I definitely don’t want to go there at night. Or during the day. Or ever.

Random fact for you: Did you know that fear of mirrors actually has a name? It’s called spectrophobia, and it’s often linked to legends like Bloody Mary (you say her name three times in a mirror, and she shows up to absolutely ruin your night). I read awhile back that the fear can even stem from the idea that mirrors are portals to another world. Which—yep, totally checks out.

Anyway, there’s something strangely delightful about these stories. They’re spooky, yeah, but they also give you a peek into what different cultures find creepy, and that’s kind of fascinating, right? Like, I’ll take a haunted phone booth over taxes any day. And it’s weird how some legends, no matter how bizarre, manage to survive across decades—or centuries. Maybe we just really like being scared. Or maybe, just maybe… that doll you thrifted actually is watching you.

Sleep tight tonight. And maybe don’t answer any masked women who want to chat about their appearance.

I’ve always been a sucker for a good quote. You know, those little nuggets of wisdom that make you go “huh, never thought of it that way.” So, I stumbled across this quote from John Barrymore recently and it caused me to sit down reflect a bit. The quote is: “A man is not old until regrets take the place of dreams.” I’ve been mulling it over for days now and figured I’d share my thoughts with y’all.

So here’s the thing — I love how this quote totally flips our usual thinking about aging. We’re always obsessing over gray hairs and wrinkles (guilty as charged, I check for new ones EVERY morning), but Barrymore is saying that getting older isn’t really about your birthday candles or crow’s feet. It’s about what’s happening in your head and heart.

I mean, think about it. We all know that one 74-year-old who’s taking up skateboarding or planning their next adventure, right? And then there’s that 25-year-old colleague who’s already given up on their passion because “it’s too late” or “what’s the point?” According to Barrymore’s logic, guess which one is actually “older”?

Last weekend, my neighbor Ted (who just turned 81!) told me he’s taking up oil painting. Meanwhile, I’ve spent THREE DAYS putting off learning how to make sourdough bread because “I should have started years ago.” Talk about a reality check!

What I find super interesting about this quote is how it connects to our mental state. When we’re dreaming up new possibilities, our brains are literally working differently than when we’re dwelling on regrets.

I’ve been trying to apply this to my own life lately. Instead of thinking “I wish I had traveled more in my 20s and 30s,” I’m shifting to “Where do I want to go next?” It seems simple, but wow, it changes EVERYTHING about how I feel.

I’m curious – where in your life have regrets started creeping in? And more importantly, what dreams can you dust off and put back on the shelf where they belong?

(P.S. Starting next week, I’m finally getting back to learning the piano, something I dropped quite awhile ago. Never too old, right? Drop a comment if you want updates on my inevitable finger blisters!)