Abundance Begins With Accessibility

A change up to how you receive these letters moving forward. And the why.

Photo by our wedding photographer Sam Arroyo. A love note to our guests but the same applies here. Thank you.

Dear Reader,

I began writing you these weekly Sunday letters at the new year as a reinvention of what Hina Luna feels like for me, its creator, in this season of its — and my — life. Hina Luna is the name I’ve given to my creative heart-work nearly eight years in the making. How to define it in five words of less, I cannot, for its proven itself to be a living, ever-changing thing. What began as an exploration into the vat of deep blues of indigo and a deepened love for the world of plant dyes, evolved into a web of collaborations with fellow makers and artisans and an expansion of my online shop, and eventually a taste of a brick and mortar life that I still hold a torch for. Closing my shop broke my heart and I offered myself generous time to heal, pausing most of my work and creation for three seasons to get quiet and listen. What called to me by winter was an invitation to commit to my writing. Throughout Hina Luna’s iterations, connecting with you by way of blog posts, full moon newsletters, and wordy Instagram posts has enabled me to collect and weave together my values and intentions as a creative human being and more authentically share my work with you.

Writing has been my most consistent offering.

Today as I type out my twenty-first letter, I am revisiting my intentions with this Substack and deciding to change things up. I chose this platform not with the expectation that it would become my primary source of income, or even generate much at all, but rather to share my inspired writing in a quieter online space free from the pressure to be any one type of thing. I wished only to cultivate a craving to write by establishing a consistent practice and to offer my small audience a more intimate point of connection with Hina Luna. These visually descriptive snapshots of my life and vulnerable shares from my heart are intended to be both anecdotal and be a window into a way of living that is slow and considered, that knows the possibility of joy that is accessible.

Sharing my writing has required me to be brave. Committing to and sharing a consistent writing practice has required me to trust. What I desire most from these letters is for them to be received — to be read and to be integrated into your life if they so resonate. What this requires is that these letters be as accessible as possible, which has lead me to decide to lift the paywall on the letters to come and to unlock the archive of past pieces which are available to read on Substack or in the app.

What I hope is that this fosters more reciprocity between myself and my readers — more engagement, more conversation. I will continue to leave the invitation open to upgrade to a paid subscription (equal to the price of one latte at an American coffee shop per month) for readers who receive value from what I offer and wish to support me as a creative in exchange. This I need to trust in too — that when we are generous, generosity will return to us.

If you are a paid subscriber, your subscription is a gesture to me that you are here, that these letters hold value and you want them to continue. While for the meantime most online letters will be accessible to all regardless of their subscription tier, I’m playing with an exciting idea to create an exclusive paid subscriber snail-mail offering in addition — for something to look forward to that is tangible and real and delights the inner child. Because couldn’t we stand to revive the old art of letter writing and reawaken the potential of what awaits on the other side of the mailbox door?

And so, with this twenty-first letter and a farewell to June, I want to extend my gratitude to you — the one who opens these letters week after week, who then continues on about your day while carrying these messages and musings along with you, pondering and reflecting while you drive to work or throw the laundry in or stir the sauce. May they continue to offer you welcomed moments of pause, to sit, to consider, to dream, to vision. They are but humble offerings — a balm, a tool — to support you on your journey to living a connected life.

PS. Some moments of June beauty from home.

Flowers and more flowers, L’acqua di San Giovanni (more on that here), snuggles with our best old gal, and bows of light (and hope) on the other side of all. this. rain.