The Squid Ink Newsletter

This morning I got on a call and told my client and my team, "I'm not doing great." Not the professional not-doing-great — the real one.

There's an ease that comes with summer — slower mornings, days off, afternoons at breweries. Am I relaxed? NO! I am in the weeds. I am the weeds. I am lost. Send help.

Last week I took my daughter to Chicago for a "school's out" girl's trip — and stood on a corner in Edgewater, looking at the dive bar where Giant Squid Group got its name. (It's still there. Still sketch af.)

Last week was my daughter's half birthday. Why is this important, you might ask? I don't know. But here we are.

I just got back from a full weekend in San Diego — CCF Family Reunion, then straight into AFP ICON. I am exhausted in a way that feels specific to being around hundreds of people who care about the same things I care about.

I am still mulching. I need you to lament with me how long this has been going on.

Sometimes these newsletters write themselves. This is one of those weeks — just not in the way I planned. Enter the mandoline. Queue the ER visit.

I owe you an apology. I have said, more than once, that fundraising is like planting seeds — be patient, water them, let them grow. I would like to formally recant.

Hello, recovering perfectionist. This one's for you. I grew up in a household where mistakes weren't allowed — walking on eggshells became my first language.

Fellow Humans, two things happened in the last few weeks that stopped me in my tracks — with very different impacts.