On Taking Yourself Seriously: Olive & Ink April 2026
This letter was originally sent to Olive & Ink subscribers in April 2026. Olive & Ink is our monthly Snail Mail Club—handwritten letters, art prints, and creative writing delivered to mailboxes around the world. Want to receive future envelopes? Subscribe.
Dear Creative,
Olive & Ink Mail Club April 2026
I’ve been thinking about the word “casual” a lot lately. In the past, I’ve used this word as bit of a shield. Casually making art. Casually dating. “Oh, whatever happens” in my career. I believed if I diminished the thing I was actually excited about, potential rejection would hurt less. As if not naming what we want protects us from wanting it at all.
But here’s what I’ve noticed: genuine people, the people that I admire, are rarely casual. Intentionality can’t help but seep into everything when you know who you are. If you care about how you move through the world, that care doesn’t just conveniently switch off when it comes to your creative practice, your relationships, or the risks you take.
Integrity can’t be compartmentalized.
I’m not saying you need to be serious all the time. Rather, it’s about taking yourself seriously before anyone else can validate you. It’s deciding your work matters before you have a following. It’s treating your creative practice like a practice, not a hobby that you’ll commit to when, and only when, the conditions are perfect. This month, I’m challenging you to stop treating your dreams and desires as negotiable. Stop dismissing what really matters to you. Intentionality only radiates outward.
Here’s to being genuine, intentional, and taking ourselves a little more seriously.
Warmly,
Britt Broadwood
What else was in this month's envelope:
🎨 Print: Windowscapes by Fiona Campbell
A digital illustration from her view out of a window. This piece is a study in thresholds: what do we let in, and what do we keep out?
✍️ Prose: "The Butterflies in my Stomach Turned to Moths" by Eveline de Wolf (@fflein)
Sometimes we cage out the most tender truths to keep them safe, only to watch them wither in the dark. Her narrator imprisons her moths out of fear, convinced the outside world will destroy them.When she finally lets go, when she risks being seen in her full, trembling vulnerability, it doesn’t diminish. It survives. It strengthens.
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