ways we worldle
how to be with the world
I didn’t grow up doing crosswords. Sure, a word search here or there, I might carelessly circle a line of letters, but really, I’ve always fancied myself more as a puzzler of pattern play—the kind of girl who fits every falling tetromino into place with ease.
That was, until Wordle.
Although I haven’t been Wordling since its inception, in the months after the puzzle migrated to the NYT1, it became part of my morning routine. Something about the premise appeals to me —six chances to guess a five-letter word, something I (usually) can complete in the length of time it takes to press my coffee. Both offer a satisfying ahh of accomplishment because, as Elmo says, it’s nice to start the day with a cup of coffee before everything goes to complete fucking shit, and because I know that even if I don’t do anything else, at least I did Wordle.
☑️
There are days when the word feels prophetic, like March 12 — my sweetheart’s BIRTH day. Others, not so much, as when LOVER is revealed to be LOSER, although so, too, life. Sometimes, when I can’t fall asleep, I wait patiently until midnight to do the new puzzle, pleased that I’ve crossed something off my list before the day has even begun. My longest streak ended after 118 days, and although I can’t recall the word itself I missed, I still believe it was an (invalid) proper noun, definitely not a Wordle word. Another time, I ended a 75-day streak by forgetting to do the puzzle entirely. Damnit! Still, there was also puzzle 1,290—the one when I got the word on the first try.
Lately, my relationship with Wordle has grown complicated—it’s become a rigid container I approach only with an attitude of competition rather than curiosity. I always begin with the same word: STARE because is there anything more satisfying than when STARE becomes STEEP in two steps? No, there is not.
But it’s more than that. Of late, I’ve noticed I’ve gotten incredibly cutthroat with the bot, feeling oh so smug when I beat it and irritated by its condescending tone when it chides my choices in its “that was a good word, but it could have been better” tone, even though I’m still solving the puzzle in fewer tries!
My last epic fail occurred on January 4 when I repeatedly tried to force my will into five boxes, refusing to believe the word could be anything other than what I thought it should be. Let it be noted the word was RELAX. 🤬
If there was ever proof that I tend to rush to judgment, to push and shove everything into neat boxes, even when they don’t belong, this, dear reader, was it. I was so sure I knew what the word was supposed to be, just as I can feel so wracked with fear with the current state of this country. In both cases, I convince myself I know exactly how it will play out. But the truth is, I know nothing at all.
RELAX
There once was a time I approached Wordle like a Magic 8 Ball of possibility. My only strategy was to pick a word that spoke to me as a place to begin, then allow it to play out from there, pulling poems from each letter, line by line, forming a cinquain of sorts.
At this moment, it would be better for my psyche to return to the gentleness of that mindset, to let go of any winning streak and lean into the wonder of allowing Wordle to be a softer container, especially now when the world feels so hard. All I know is there’s nothing mindful about being obsessed with beating a bot. My current Wordle streak is 33 days. Perhaps it will end tomorrow, perhaps not. Regardless, I will be okay.
I have to remember that no matter my approach, I’ve had a consistent 96% win streak, which is a pretty good percentage. Maybe that’s the point—Worldle reminding me of the many ways I’m getting it more “right” than “wrong,”
They’re the odds I’m holding close, especially now, in the face of everything.
I’m signing off with a few of my Wordle poems; perhaps they will inspire you to try a few of your own.
ocean story woman water weigh woven quiet groan irony sugar guilt gully today blowy glory
Tell me, do you Wordle, and if so, how do you play? Do you use Wordle as a ritual, a flex, or a generator, and has it changed over time?
thanks for reading,
xosew
PS
I wrote this essay (mostly) during my morning writing circle ~ the space offers me the accountability I need to hunker down and get sh*t done!
If you, too, are craving a creative community, join us every monday, 7:30-8:30 am ET because gathering (in grace) notes is back!
and
registration for Braiding Sweetgrass: Breathing Stories opens Monday, February 10! If you’ve ever dreamed of coming to Monhegan, don’t miss out on early-bird pricing.
all the details are below the fold… . ..
UPCOMING EVENTS: (TWO) WAYS TO BE TOGETHER
gathering (in grace) notes returns!
Looking for some butt-in-chair writing accountability? Lord knows I do 🤦♀️
Begin your week gathering in good company! Every Monday, 7:30 - 8:30 am ET, I host an online writing circle to encourage a creative start to the week. Honestly, I’m doing this more for me than anyone else, but I’d love to have you join me because I know the power of coming together and writing in community. Butt, it works ~ I wrote (most) of this newsletter in one sitting.
Each week, you are invited to come as you are. We will greet one another; I will offer a prompt in the chat if you are looking for a way to begin, and then we will write for 60 minutes with our screens on or off—that’s it!
This is a free offering for all. If you find you are attending regularly and ever wish to make a donation in support of maintaining the space, you can always buy me a book.
Register once, and the link is yours forever—I hope to see you there!!
and … . .. . . …. . join me on retreat!!
Braiding Sweetgrass: Breathing Stories
September 17-21, 2025 | Monhegan, ME
For the fifth year, I invite you to join me for an intimate retreat on Monhegan. Our program is an embodied book group, journeying and journaling through the wisdom and words of Robin Wall Kimmerer’s memoir Braiding Sweetgrass with the magic of Monhegan. I’m thrilled to consider the possible ways Kimmerer’s storytelling will become the guide to writing our own. Together, we will write through the island's topography, the geography of our senses, and our storied experiences. There will be ample time to search for sea glass and hike the trails through Cathedral Woods to the rocky shores of Pebble Beach.
Through writing, ritual, and restorative yoga, we will meditate, celebrate, and honor the variations of our authentic voices, as can only happen when you find yourself on this artist's island 10 miles out to sea.
Braiding Sweetgrass is limited to eight participants ~ I hope you will join me this year!
EARLY BIRD REGISTRATION OPENS TOMORROW, FEBRUARY 10!
all the details here
watching… . ..
Ted Lasso ~ well, thank goodness i didn’t waste my time watching this feel-good during the pandemic when, who knew, the fall of democracy was just around the corner!
reading… . ..
looking for a can’t-put-down dark and twisty crime novel en pointe? try The Turnout; Megan Abbott’s story of family secrets exposes the blood and bruises beneath a ballerina’s toe shoes. if you were ever a dancer, this book will speak to you.
making… . ..
still haven’t decided what to cook for the big game—try this mix-and-match menu, perfect for any snowy Sunday, super or not
listening… . ..
as promised, here is a link to the playlist from yesterday’s yoga class at TRU—it’s on Apple Music, which hopefully is not an issue. no, i don’t use spotify 🤦♀️
lingering line…..
it’s a gesture of hope to make art, but it’s also a gesture of hope to consume it, too. Jami Attenberg
Thanks for being here. I’m grateful for your readership. Before you go, would you click the ♥️ or share this post with a friend? You may also restack, leave a comment, or reply via email because it helps others find this newsletter. If you want to see a little more of my island time you can follow me on Instagram, too.
Wordle was purchased by the NYT in January, 2022.
As always, I loved your essay, Sarah. I knew I was in trouble with wordle when I was frustrated each time the game ended, wanting another one. No matter how well I did, it wasn't enough. Worse, if I was running late and something had to slip off my list of morning rituals, meditation would go by the wayside before wordle.
It's been a while since I've engaged with the puzzle. When I left it behind, some tension went with it, and a bit of light entered the empty space.
Ha ha Wordle yessssss, I like to start with patio or earth (which can also be heart)… or maple, syrup, or savor…. My sweetie and I play every morning after bkfast. We love the ritual to start the day. For this snowy morning, the kitchen will be cast in gray light (possible words-snowy, light). On sunny mornings, this time of year, the light bends through many prisms in the windows and casts rainbows around our kitchen (bends, prism, sunny). If the wordle-word is not appearing to us we move on to puzzle Connections, then return to Wordle with success…. and on Sundays we finish off the word puzzles by reading a poem.
For me, I enjoy playing together, noticing the light of day, sharing idea for first word, and hearing his voice. Thank you Sarah for sharing your Wordle experience and creating a relatable opportunity for readers to offer theirs.