The word pure originates with the Latin purus, meaning clean, clear, unmixed. It is related to fire, to brightness, to the act of burning away what is not essential. In early usage, purity was not only a state of cleanliness or chastity but of clarity, of freedom from adulteration. A pure substance was one in which nothing extraneous had been added. No fillers, no fog. Just the thing itself, standing in its original form.
There’s a Latin phrase, nota bene, which means note well or take notice.
Nota Bene is a feature of ALL DAY celebrating deep noticing.
To speak of purity today feels fraught. It has been made rigid by modernity, twisted by ideology, sold back to us in curated lifestyle photos on social media, in plastic packaging, and self-help language. But purity, in its most profound and most luminous sense, is not about judgment or perfectionism. (Being is better than being better.) It is about alignment. Integrity. The unmistakable ring of truth when something is whole unto itself. I think of spring water before it’s bottled, a glass's bell-like sound when tapped by a gold ring, or the unmistakable clarity in a child’s laugh.
Wholesomeness belongs here, too, though it travels a different etymological path. From the Old English hal, meaning whole, hale, healthy, undivided, wholesome gestures toward what nourishes us and restores us to ourselves. It does not necessarily mean clean in the antiseptic sense, but clean in the sense of unburdened. Free of irony, free of sarcasm, free of skepticism. A wholesome thing is what it appears to be, and because of that, we feel safe inside it. Safe to open, safe to soften.
Last week, I wrapped up my spring class, The Every Day, and in our final moments together, one student shared that my teaching feels very pure. Later, I got to thinking about that purity, her reflection, and how authentically pure I move in the world, and I teared up, feeling so seen. (The class was a resounding success, and we all loved every moment of it. It sold out last time, so sign up early for my summer class!)
At this student’s generous verbal testimonial, I realized this week that purity and wholesomeness are so woven into who I am that I never thought to write about it! It’s the fabric of who I am. When I sat down to write about it, it rang truer and truer and I feel so passionate about this lifestyle. We must choose wholesomeness. And I thought about this poem I wrote that was just published:
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Purity is not a static state but a process. It is a quality of attention, a quietness that arises when we no longer need to prove, project, or possess. To be wholesome is not to be naive or simplistic but sincere, undivided, and capable of embracing complexity without the need to corrupt it (with a photograph for social media, filling a silence with unnecessary words, etc.).
I think of the many times in my life when something felt “pure” not because it was untouched, but because it was so profoundly touched by care, by truth, by intention. A handwritten letter. A wooden bowl. A meal made with simple ingredients and eaten in good company. There is nothing ornamental about these things, and yet they radiate. They feel nourishing because they are whole. They do not pretend to be more or less than what they are.
In this way, wholesomeness is not a performance of goodness, but the actual presence of goodness. Wholesomeness is what makes a space feel alive or not, a conversation energizing or draining, why some books are friends and some feel like kidnappers. There is a difference. You can feel it.
To live wholesomely is to let life touch you and to respond with clarity, not cleverness. To speak plainly when it is time to speak. To remain silent when that is truer. Wholesomeness is the art of doing things without leaving residue, of not needing to recover from the choices we make. It is a kind of clean living, but not in the aesthetic sense—it is clean because it is free of friction.
In writing, wholesomeness might be the page you return to without dread. It might be the sentence you don’t revise a hundred times, not because it’s perfect but because it is true. In the home, it might be the worn linen napkin, the warm light of late afternoon, the unhurried walk. Wholesomeness resists the culture of consuming more. It favors enough. Wholesome is content.
There is something deeply intelligent about simplicity, though it is often mistaken for ignorance. But wholesomeness does not mean the absence of intellect—it means the presence of integration. The capacity to live what you know. I find that most wholesome things—be it a pot of tea, a knitted sock, or a line of poetry—are not complicated, but they are complete. They don’t need a sales pitch. They just are.
“At times, the simpler the image, the vaster the dream.”
—Gaston Bachelard, The Poetics of Space
We live in a time that prizes irony, cleverness, edge. To be wholesome is to risk seeming uncool. It is to risk sincerity in a world that often distrusts it. But perhaps wholesomeness is the quiet radicalism we need. Not because it is flashy, but because it is restorative. Not because it solves everything, but because it reminds us what wholeness feels like.
Let us not mistake purity for rigidity or wholesomeness for saccharine optimism. Both are qualities of depth, presence, and willingness to live a little closer to the bone.
Nota bene. Take good notice.
A wholesome life does not always look the way we expect it to.
But it always feels like coming home.
Ways In: Prompts for Engaging with Purity and Wholesomeness + Notes I’ve Been Taking + Spring Grocery List + Salad Dressing Recipe + Self Portrait + Poems I’ve Noticed + What’s Going Well + a Love Note to YOU: