It has become fashionable to pooh-pooh The Population Bomb [Paul R. Ehrlich’s 1968 book about the threat of overpopulation—Ed.] and even the idea that the explosive growth of the human population over the last century is a problem. But when I dig into the root causes of any given problem we grapple with as a society, I end up concluding that there are just too many of us. So it’s heartening to hear researcher William Rees [“Glass Overfull,” interview by Leath Tonino, December 2025] calling out what has seemed so clear to me for so long.
Some of my friends, who have bought into fantastical notions of technology conquering all, look at me with pity when they hear my perspective. For my part, I’m shocked by this cult of “abundance,” as well as its proponents’ seeming lack of concern for all the other species who share this planet with us—species that, I believe, have a right to the space they need to survive.
In “Glass Overfull” William Rees describes processes that have been studied and written about for decades by scholars of systems theory. Their emphasis on interconnectivity makes it clear that we are facing a global catastrophe on multiple fronts. For example, in their 1972 book The Limits to Growth (later reissued as Beyond the Limits), Donella and Dennis Meadows and their coauthors used computer models to predict the effects of unchecked population growth on the planet. Later, environmental activist Joanna Macy, who recognized the emotional impact of our planetary crises, would describe a process for finding strength in community in her 2012 book Active Hope: How to Face the Mess We’re In Without Going Crazy.
And yet, despite the efforts of some of the greatest minds of the last century, we continue to destroy ourselves. Brace yourselves, people! This is going to hurt like hell.
Nikolina Kulidžan’s essay “The Childless Aunt” [November 2025] struck a chord with me. Unlike Kulidžan, I was single when I adopted eleven-year-old M. But I, too, was emotionally preoccupied with infertility issues and on a “search for meaning” with a desire to be “responsible for something beyond myself.”
M. arrived at my home with all her belongings in a trunk she had used to shuttle in and out of more than ten foster care placements. She and I never bonded. At least, that’s what I thought for some time.
M. often lashed out, saying I lectured her too much and that I was a terrible mother and too ugly to get married. These verbal attacks were her defense mechanism. I survived her anger with the help of my husband, whom I married one year after M. came into my life. He had three daughters, and although his children never lived with us, we became a blended family and figured out how to create our own special traditions, like an annual week together at the beach.
After M. left for college, she sometimes ghosted me for years at a time. But then, out of the blue, she would call in a moment of crisis or to share good news, like when she’d been awarded Outstanding Teacher of the Year.
Being M.’s adoptive mother has had its own special joys despite all the frustrations, angry words, and periods without communication. Though I don’t have all the answers, I have learned that even when adoptees arrive in a shell of anger and rejection, armed with hurtful words, they can still absorb the love, security, and kindness that all parents—biological or not—can provide.
The essays, memoirs, and true stories in The Sun often nudge me toward feeling more in touch with our shared humanity. Nikolina Kulidžan’s insistent and joyful mothering energy in “The Childless Aunt” affected me in this way.
“Sometimes the universe is not subtle,” she writes, which is just what I felt, realizing that I was reading the right thing at the right time. I wiped away tears as I acknowledged my membership in Kulidžan’s tribe.
John Hodgen’s heartbreaking poem “The Lonesomest Sound in the World” [November 2025] transported me into the world of the poem and the characters’ vivid experiences of isolation. I found the description of the Jolly family children especially sad, since their lonesomeness was the result of being alienated and bullied by their schoolmates. I wonder where they went and how their lives ended up.
I’d like to think that the Jolly kids’ experience of being ostracized resulted in resilience and determination, as well as compassion toward others who are different or less fortunate.
I appreciate The Sun for publishing beautiful and courageous work like “The Lonesomest Sound in the World.” I also admire John Hodgen’s bravery. It seems rare to come across a contemporary American artist who is willing to explore their own dark side with such honesty, simplicity, and elegance. Hodgen’s poem made this reader a little more human, I think.
I used Rebecca Baggett’s poem “I Try to Listen to the Rain” [October 2025], along with John Cage’s composition 4'33", in my English-language discussion class in Japan. My students loved both and the pieces generated a lot of very interesting conversation. The class’s homework assignment that week was to try to listen to the rain.
This morning I woke from a dream of my mother, who died almost twenty years ago. She was coming to visit and bringing with her vitamin C and cat food. I haven’t had a cat since I was in my twenties. I wish I had cherished that small creature more back then.
A few hours later, to force myself to take a break from my busyness, I prescribed myself one piece in the October 2025 issue of The Sun. Only one, though, since it’s easy to get caught up in the writing and read for hours. Oh, my! Sy Safransky’s essay “The Cat Who Woke Me Up,” about his cat Cirrus, touched me profoundly. Beyond his memories of Cirrus, I appreciated Safransky’s struggle to balance his sense of himself as both a spiritual and a sexual being. While those two parts of oneself should not be in conflict, our culture often shames people, especially women, for being enthusiastic about their sexuality.
Safransky asks rhetorically if love is real. I believe he loved Cirrus more than I’ve loved many of my past partners.
Sy has begun posting selections from his past writing in a new Substack. Follow along at sysafransky.substack.com.—Ed.
When an excerpt of Na Mee’s essay “Moon Boots” [September 2025] came across my Instagram feed, I was so entranced by the writing that I finally subscribed to The Sun. (A subscription is much more affordable than I realized!) I also shared the piece with my writing group. I’m grateful that your magazine continues to publish such moving and engaging work.
I first stumbled on The Sun back in the mid-nineties when I was a college student. After all this time, I’m not quite sure who recommended it to me, but the magazine changed my life and continues to have an impact on me as a reader and writer today.
When I became a public-school teacher over twenty-five years ago, I wanted to find authentic written voices to engage my students. Long before a digital subscription was available, I would cut out articles and essays from The Sun and house them in binders, each piece carefully protected in its own plastic sleeve. Although I’ve always enjoyed the essays, stories, and interviews published in The Sun, it was Readers Write that really spoke to me. I felt confident my students would connect with the short, letter-like format of the monthly responses. And, sure enough, they did.
I continue to share excerpts from The Sun with my students—plus anyone else who will listen. In a turbulent world where we are all too quick to criticize and lash out at those who see things differently than we do, The Sun remains a steady ship.
