For a bi-weekly newsletter, you’ll notice that there’s only been one post in the last month. This is because I’ve had several different draft versions of newsletters I wrote and wanted to share but none felt quite right. I’m the Queen of Drafts and Editing-as-I-write which often gets in the way of done. It’s a habit from high school that I have been actively working on unlearning but it’s also likely a product of my anxiety. In some ways, I am going to publish the newsletter that pulls from some of the drafts but it’s also going to be this new never-before-seen work. I’m ready for this newsletter to be done.
Topics/Ramblings
Content Creation: What should I write about on the internet? how personal should I get? Once it’s online it’s there forever. I also regret publishing some very personal melodramatic “think feel pieces” on my blog/social media because they were very emotional, very fleeting (although it didn’t seem like that in the moment), and very inappropriate. I used to think that I was being vulnerable when I shared how I was feeling but I didn’t realize then that in the throes of adolescence/early adulthood I couldn’t regulate my emotions healthily. I couldn’t discern what was oversharing and what was sharing vulnerability. I was caught up in making the internet my friend, trusted confidante and a way to seek validation for how I felt. I know I wasn’t alone in this but I also know now, equipped with knowledge and experience, a lot of self-reflection practice and expert-supported reflection practice (read: therapy), I have boundaries for what I write and share. I don’t want to add to noise and I don’t want a social media archeologist from the future or other planets to discover my fossilized subtweets and emo-instagram posts.
Mortality or Wisdom from Robbie Coltrane on the Harry Potter HBO Max Reunion (excerpt from 03.27 draft):
“ I’ll not be here, sadly. but…But Hagrid will. Yes. ” #RETURNTOHOGWARTS #HARRYPOTTER20THANNIVERSARYI've been fascinated and very logical about death since I can remember. When I was a child, I used to have intrusive thoughts about loved ones dying and how I'd make promises with the universe (most likely one-sided) that before anyone (usually my parents and sister) died, I would want to die first. So I made my peace with my death around the age of 10. Morbid and very Wednesday Addams - I know. The reason I'd barter like this was because I knew the suffering would be impossible for me to bear and I wanted to whatever I could to never face that fear. I'd continue to reinforce that feeling that I'm not afraid of death - the process, the decaying, the non-existing when I read the book the quarter life crisis in sophomore year of college, fresh after taking my first and only philosophy course (thanks gen creds) on the Philosophy of Death. I held up this front of logic and rationalization because that's how my compulsion evolved from childhood - I wasn't vulnerable. I wanted to escape being human - which is a messy, chaotic, senseless, unconnected, beautiful, sensitive, random experience. I internalized that I would have a life free of suffering, devastation and struggle - a life where I wasn't unhappy and the people around me weren't unhappy either. And maybe it was the 2 back to back flights and jet lag and total joy of spending time with my tiny new nephew and ecstatic for being at the Bad Bunny concert the night before but the belief and narrative I've held onto for so long has been shattered. I am sad that one day I won't be here.
The same as no. 1 but more whimsical writing (excerpt from draft on 3.30.22): Long gone are the days I dreamed of being a contributor to Thought Catalog where I could write about all my really real intense feelings of true love, the sadness of life, the mental health challenges of a 20 something year old, the raw messy uncomfortable post 2 am experiences. It finally clicked that once it's on the internet it's out there forever - a memorial to all the mistakes, the silliness, the quiet and loud moments for anyone to discover in this age of modern archeology we're always digging, excavating using our thumbs to scrub instagram feeds all the way to the first post, or doom scrolling watching the fossilization happen in real time.
A shorter piece on why I write a la Joan Didion (excerpt from draft on 3.30.22): That's why I decided to start this newsletter. To commit to a consistent practice of writing meditatively. I opted to publish and share my work to confront the fear I've let consume me about putting my work, a part of myself out there. I don't know how writing will feel the day I write and when I finally hit publish. I don't know if I'll stick with the same draft and go through revisions or if I'll scrap it and write something entirely new. I don't know if there'll be a theme that ties all of the thoughts into one clear concise lesson to be mused upon or if there'll be any wisdom that can be gleaned from the words. I used to desperately want to write pieces that would resonate with others because that is a joy and magic that I've been lucky many times over to experience. Now I want to write with what resonates with me first.
I don’t know if years down the road I’ll re-read this piece and cringe at it because of writing style, or if I consider this to also be oversharing but I know it was pivotal because it was in practice of finding my voice, hearing it, and experiencing it for myself. It’s not easy, yet, for me to be comfortable with putting myself out there. I don’t know if my voice is performing or if it’s authentic. But I’ve got to play and try and see what comes of it for the very simple reason that I need to hear my words for myself.
I have to know who I’m not to maybe know who I am (or at least which is the live version).