Unraveled Wednesday: 6/11/25

I'm joining Kat and the Unravelers with a finally finished Hitchhiker. It rained most of the day yesterday, so I wasn't going outside to throw it in the grass for a photo. I pinned it to the porch railing and that's the best I can do for now. Maybe if it ever stops raining and I get it out again in the fall I'll try to take a better picture but it is fine for now.

It's huge (57 teeth), warm, and I'm glad it's done. I do like the colors, but I might arrange them differently if I was knitting it again. I am definitely not doing that! 

 

 

Since I finished the Hitchhiker I gave myself permission to wind my new yarn and cast on. I was knitting along quite happily until I got to the row with cables, K4tog, and SSSSKtog. Yikes! I attempted this late at night when I was tired, using slippery needles, and John was watching a loud Led Zeppelin documentary; these were not ideal conditions. I managed to tink the row back, but I'll be checking later today to see if I did it right. I just ordered some (hopefully) pointy bamboo needles. Once they arrive I'll give them a try and decide if they are both sharp enough and not slippery so I can keep on knitting with them or if I need to cast on again and knit more loosely with the new needles. Here's an unimpressive photo of the first 12 rows:

 

To avoid knitting frustration and disappointment, I also cast on a pair of socks. There are only a few rows of ribbing, but I can always work on them if SSSSKtog gets to be too much. 

 

I finished two books this week and neither one of them was great. The Let Them Theory by Mel Robbins takes a popular phrase, “let them”, and builds an entire book around it. The core message is straightforward: stop trying to control others and instead allow them to behave however they want. Has someone excluded you, ignored your needs, or made questionable choices? Let them. According to Robbins, your peace is found in that detachment.

There’s some value here, particularly for dealing with minor annoyances or setting boundaries in everyday relationships. If a friend constantly cancels plans or your co-worker is rude in a meeting, practicing “let them” can save you energy and stress. In those cases, the advice is simple, freeing, and practical.

But that’s also the problem — it’s too simple. This is a message that probably would’ve been more effective as a blog post or a short TED Talk. The book is highly repetitive, and once you understand the premise, there’s not a lot of new ground covered. There is a second part to the "theory" that seems to get lost, "Let me." This invites you to turn inward: Let me figure out what I need, let me take control of my response, let me move forward without needing permission from others. “Let them” can be a liberating way to disengage from unnecessary conflict, and the “let me” side empowers you to take responsibility for your own peace and next steps.

But more importantly, I think the “let them” philosophy could be dangerously reductive when applied to serious situations like trauma, abuse, or grievous injustice. Suggesting that someone “let” their abuser mistreat them in order to reclaim peace is not only misguided — it can be retraumatizing. Robbins acknowledges that this method isn’t always appropriate, but much of that nuance got lost in the cheerleading tone.

There is some controversy surrounding the origin of the “let them” phrase, with various voices online pointing out that Robbins didn’t invent this concept. It’s an idea that’s floated around for years in different forms. Robbins has never acknowledged Cassie Phillips who originally wrote the "Let Them" poem, raising serious questions about originality and plagiarism.

I was prepared to hate this book because self-help proclaiming that it is life-changing raises my hackles before I even start reading. A friend said that it had been helpful so I was interested in finding out what the book had to say. Ultimately, The Let Them Theory offers a catchy mantra for specific, low-stakes situations, or even instances of personal growth, but it’s not a universal solution. The book is worth flipping through for a few takeaways, but approach with caution — especially if you’re dealing with deeper issues. Two and a half stars, but I can't round up.

I had hoped for more from Is A River Alive? by Robert Macfarlane. The book is a beautifully written, lyrical meditation on the nature of rivers, our relationships with them, and the broader question of what it means for something to be “alive.” As always, Robert Macfarlane’s prose is evocative, poetic, and deeply sensory—his gift for language can make even a puddle shimmer on the page. His references to myth, language, and cultural understandings of rivers from around the world (Ecuador, India, and Canada) are thought-provoking and richly textured.

That said, I found myself wanting more science to balance the philosophy and poetics. The titular question—Is a river alive?—is fascinating and could have benefited from a deeper dive into hydrology, ecosystems, or even legal personhood from a scientific or environmental law perspective. While the book inspires reverence and reflection, it didn't fully satisfy this reader who was looking for rigorous evidence, clearer answers, conservation history, economic pressures, and more understanding of interconnected systems.

The author has a real love of rivers and his enthusiasm and desire to protect them is admirable. His book is a lovely read for fans of nature writing and contemplative nonfiction, but less fulfilling if you're hoping for a more empirical or interdisciplinary approach. This one was three stars for me. 

Maybe next week's books will be better! What are you making and reading this week?