WE HAVE been dividing our days between Scotland and London these past few months. It’s quite remarkable how distinct these two worlds feel—one anchored in the rugged north, the other pulsing in the bustling south. The contrasts unfold in everything: the capricious weather patterns, the varied temperaments of locals, the rhythm of daily life.

Though we’ve moved away from our regular Weekend Links feature, we do share personal musings in the openings of our weekly newsletter, Hyperreality. For those missing our customary life chronicles, you’ll find these reflections waiting there. To simplify matters, we’ve gathered several of our most recent letters that have reached our subscribers over these past few weeks.

Bisous,
xR

1

One morning during my university years, I awoke with a numbness in my right arm and became convinced I had necrotising fasciitis1, despite not having so much as a scratch on my skin. Death, I calculated, would claim me within the half hour. Panicked, I rushed to the university health centre where my GP listened to my breathless fears before calmly pronouncing, “Go home, Roséline, you just slept on it funny.”

2

In the stillness of recent days, I’ve found myself caught in a curious pattern—my mind habitually racing forward while the present moment slips through my fingers unnoticed. The irony doesn’t escape me. Where once I remained tethered to memories and past regrets, I’ve now swung to the opposite extreme, fixating on uncertain futures and hypothetical tomorrows.

Progress, yes, but incomplete. I’ve traded one form of absence for another.

3

This letter arrives to you from a café in Marylebone—our Scottish interlude having folded back into memory as we returned to London Monday night carried home by the falling night. The city pulses differently now—German voices mingling with American accents in streets that seem to have swelled in our absence. We stand at the threshold of some new chapter, watching its contours materialise before us, simultaneously observers and participants.

4

We document our visual experiences meticulously—thousands of photos and videos capturing every meaningful moment—yet our most valuable intellectual currency, our ideas, often vanish before we can capture them. While our memories fade and our attention fragments, two revolutionary tools now exist that extend our cognitive abilities beyond biology’s limitations. By transforming spoken thoughts into searchable, interconnected knowledge networks, these voice-first systems don’t merely archive our thinking—they fundamentally enhance it, creating a seamless bridge between inspiration and action that will transform your creative process entirely. This essay reveals these two powerful tools and exactly how to implement them in your workflow, providing a practical framework for expanding your mind beyond the confines of your brain.

5

This letter began from the bed of a hotel room overlooking a beautiful view of the cityscape just as the sun was setting in shades of violent oranges and reds, a Pad Thai delivery on the way, us sipping on cocktails while we waited. It is now three days later, and I’m writing from a window seat in a bustling West End café, where two empty flat whites with lingering foam rings sit to the right of my laptop as I contemplate this week’s letter to you. The weather has been uncharacteristically lovely for being so far north, with full sunny days that have coaxed the cherry and magnolia blossoms into bloom. Busy terraces, short shorts and sundresses, people loitering in parks and enjoying picnic lunches—all signs of the season’s shift.