the substack I promised vs. the substack you got

an unintentional catfish and an embarrassment of niches

Chances are, if you’re reading this, you made your way here through an unassuming path. Perhaps you follow Berkshire Family Hikes (BFH) on Instagram or Facebook, and you actually clicked on the “link in bio” that influencers are always harping on about.

Or you saw something recently in the local news or internet search and followed your nose to www.berkshirefamilyhikes.com to learn more. From there, you saw this tempting little box, reaching for your email address, and you (gleefully?) handed it right over.

I don’t take that lightly.

Email inboxes are sacred spaces—magical clouds where countless things are delivered to our awaiting eyeballs. But they’re easily sullied by the snap judgment of a 15% off promise for a cart full of clothes you’ll never buy. Suddenly, you’re dreading the cleanup, bracing yourself to pick through the rubbish for one or two “uncut gems” *Julia Fox voice*.

That’s why I have a confession to make.

Before I clutter up your unsorted folders or dash your hopes at inbox zero, I must admit: I’ve unintentionally catfished you. That wasn’t the plan. Back in 2023, I launched this Substack to stay in touch with the Berkshire Family Hikes extended family of subscribers—a digital smoke signal for upcoming hikes and occasional notes on nature.

But I goofed. Faced with the blank page—screen—and its blinking cursor, I couldn’t help myself. I devoured other Substackers’ work, got inspired, and let my personal thoughts eclipse my professional ones (though, in truth, that line has always been rather blurry). And suddenly—again, unintentionally—this Substack morphed into a space of broader self-expression.

Why confess? I’m not sure. I guess I’ve felt like I owed y’all an explanation of some kind. Maybe it’s the millennial in me.

I’ve noticed a weird thing with my fellow “internet generation.” We feel the need to announce our hiatuses or explain our absences. As though without one, I can’t move forward without addressing the elephant in the room. (And maybe you’re wondering about the other elephant, which is BFH, and I will just say that that’s an elephant for another day, another post).

As a millennial who straddles pre and post-tech eras, I’m going to blame this on AIM-era habits. (AOL Instant Messenger, for the uninitiated, ruled teens’ lives from '98 to '04, birthing acronyms like brb, bbl (not the Aubrey kind), and g2g—eternal relics of sign-off slang. Its pièce de résistance? The Away Message: a bespoke snippet of text typically hinting at your emotional state—not your physical whereabouts. A carefully crafted away message was crush bait or a passive-aggressive stab at your ex that only Adam Lazzara could properly articulate.) Teenage millennials were explaining away their absence in the most philosophical terms possible. And we still are.

So here I am, justifying my pivot like it’s 2003, and my AIM away message needs to signal depth. I don’t expect everyone to stick around for…well, this (*sheepishly gestures at the word-splattered screen*). But the millennial urge to over-explain won’t quit until I do.

Here’s how it stands

I plan to continue using this platform for more writing—casting a wider net to catch the shiny stuff at the bottom of the creek (creek = my mind). Before, I would mostly catch the nature-y stuff and toss anything that wasn’t verdant and wriggling back in the drink.

I don’t want to do that anymore.

I want to step out of the creek, arms full, sopping wet, and laughing (or crying).

But here’s the catch (*wink*). I don’t want to subject you to the flow inadvertently. You are under no obligation to wade into deeper waters with me! Consider this your lifeboat—the Titanic wood paneling with room for you and Jack. Feel free to get out of the water and dry off now. It’s really easy to unsubscribe on Substack. Like, one click. Painless.

For those who have enjoyed my previous trips off the map, the option stands to tag along. My plan is to post periodically (I have plans to create a better plan, but that plan is still in the planning stages—see? there’s no escaping my typical bs!), so expect things like current obsessions, occasional playlists, rants, musings, tangents—ya know, general niche-hopping chaos, hence the new subtitle: “An Embarrassment of Niches” ‘cause I’ve got one niche in my pocket, and the other one is playing the p-iAN-O (or trying to watercolor paint, researching orca whales, watching every episode of Anne of Green Gables again…)!

P.S. Remind me to unpack my Lore, the lore of the Tay…the Tay-Lore, someday.

---

Flotsam & Jetsam

Flotsam’s accidental sea junk, Jetsam’s stuff tossed on purpose—but both are just debris (and Ursula’s moray eel minions). Here are some random ideas and other things I’ve mentally yeeted overboard.

• I got a few bug-themed gifts for my birthday this year and wanted to share: “Bugs in Culture” zine by Karyn Light-Gibson and “ How To Hold A Cockroach” by Matthew Maxwell

• My little municipality has been the focus of many of my recent “laying in bed” thoughts. While it’s a nice break from my parenting-fail highlight reels, I find I struggle to find my personal balance of energy and civic duty, concern and apathy. I’m curious about what has worked for others who constantly feel a pull to “be involved” and how you temper that with reality.

• What are you reading lately? I recently finished “The God of the Woods” by Liz Moore, and I enjoyed it but it felt very “meh.” Currently, I’m about 30 pages into Julia Alvarez’s “The Cemetery of Untold Stories.”

• Been really digging “Dino Time” as a way to get a serving of leafy greens into my diet. No accessories, no fuss, just mainlining ruffage (roughage?) for health.¹

  

  @sahmthingsupGrab your greens, it’s Dino time. Here are some FAQs. #dinosaurtime #getyourgreens #greens #fyp #dinosaur

  Tiktok failed to load.
  
  Enable 3rd party cookies or use another browser

• I’ve been attending a weekly writing group at my local public library, and good lord, y’all. Our LPLs are truly “palaces for the people,” as steel magnate/robber baron Andrew Carnegie declared in the 19th century.² My gratitude for this specific container in which to practice quiet creativity in community knows no bounds. It’s 1000% the reason you’re reading these words today.

  

  Do you?! Mine were orangelover13 and later tatertots413 LOL.

Drop yours in the comments!

---

Stay in motion,
Tay

1. Friendly PSA: Make sure you're washing your greens. Even the organic ones that claim to be triple-washed. I fear this manner of ingesting greens was responsible for a diabolically brief encounter with (listeria?) diarrhea.

2. Unlike the feudal lords of NOW, Carnegie felt it would be a disgrace to die a wealthy man (triple ghost visitation change of heart?) and donated the majority of his fortune to churches and other organizations, including funding approximately three thousand public libraries before his death. “Wealth is not to feed our egos but to feed the hungry and to help people help themselves.”