This newsletter was a project born out of boredom and a challenge to write once a week. I’ve done that, I guess, because I’m doing it. But is doing it enough? If you still read these, thank you. If not, that’s ok. But if you’re reading this exact sentence right now that means you read these and so this has been a failed attempt at data collection.
Joan Didion said we tell ourselves stories in order to live. This is true. Stories are all we have because they prove that we exist. I guess in collecting my thoughts and sharing them in this way I’ve been trying to remind myself, through harder times, that I exist. That you exist and that community exists and that when you send a meme and your friend laughs at it, that is proof of life. Here, there, laughing at someone dumb, in unison.
I will never be a doctor. Never a yoga teacher, a spiritual healer, an EMT, a political leader, a band conductor, a soccer coach, a dentist. I am not equipped to help people in those ways and I’ve made peace with that. What I know how to do is tell stories. And listen to stories. And write down little sound bytes of stories and share them at open mics in Brooklyn. I feel most comfortable when a room full of strangers are laughing at me. It feels like we’re United, one nation under dumb.
There’s a lot of ego in comedy. In writing and sharing anything whether in person or on the internet. It’s not lost on me. Who do I think I am that my thoughts are so unique that you should want to read them once a week in your inbox? Or stand quietly while I speak them at you into a microphone in a crowded bar? And the answer is I’m not so sure that anyone should ever listen to me. But the first step in whatever bullshit spiritual journey I’m on right now is to get me to listen to myself. Something I’ve often struggled with. I don’t know if I deserve to be on any of the platforms where I’ve found myself. But I’m choosing to ask for forgiveness and not permission.
Ego is a fragile thing. One more g and it’s breakfast. It can drive you insane or drive you into a wall. Maybe some ego is required in the performing arts, but maybe it’s more like a student government position. I’m not better than you, but let me be your representative. I have a lot of thoughts and maybe like the annoying kid who raises their hand to ask too many questions, you have those thoughts too you just don’t feel like getting involved in the whole thing. Allow me to be the boat guy on the gondola in the Venice of your dreams. I’m an over thinker and a minimal drinker so I have a lot of ideas. Signing up for this was voluntary anyway. The exit is down the hall and to your right.
I tell stories in order to live. Writing things down is my medicine. In addition to medicine. It is a privilege and an honor to even make one of you laugh or furrow an eyebrow once a week. This project is a work in progress and a lesson in storytelling and editing and an abundance or lack of either or both. It’s a mess in here, but there’s a vacuum and some windex and we’re getting to work. It’s Saturday Night and for the first time in a long time, I feel hopeful. I feel ok. I hope you give yourself the space to feel that too. Thank you for reading, thank you for listening, sweet dreams Pillowtown.