What if someone were happy?
Does that make you joyous or angry?
What kind of reader are you, my reader?
Did you just find yourself with a solitary moment, or are you feeling alone and wanting some company, or are you taking a well-earned minute for yourself, a little “me time”? (or if you’re new, hi! welcome to my random newsletter of random thoughts! I wish I could introduce you to these other people who have been here a while, they’re great!)
I was reading the Anne Lamott 70th birthday essay in the Washington Post (that link is subscription only, sorry if you can’t read the whole thing) and her beautiful words made me think about perspective and how things that are awful when you’re young are awful because they are breaking your concept that the world is a genial, fair place where benevolent beings look after you and protect you from the (rare) evils that are trying to hurt you. Every awful moment of childhood is a betrayal of the greater good. The older you get the less genial or fair the world at large seems, and therefore when you’re old, things that are awful strike you not as a betrayal but as a distressing or saddening confirmation that indeed the world is not a genial, fair place, but one that is riddled with terrible things. Instead of betrayal, the evils are predictable. It is the difference between the first time you went to the DMV to get your license and the tenth time you had to go into that building. Evil is no longer betrayal, but dismay.
However. May I make a little suggestion? It is possible that the world is neutral and things just happen and that your relationships (whether friendships or spousal or children or the news you choose to watch or the social media feed you have created for yourself or the things you are reading and watching) are even more than your cushion—they are your baseline.
If I surround myself with frightened and complaining rich friends who are dreaming of gated communities with bunkers because the world is terrible, vs. starving artists who can’t make their rent and are looking only for the next high to escape because the world is terrible it leads to the same thing: I will become one of them. If I know who I am, I can go from one complaining rich friend to a starving artist and listen with compassion and not feel swayed by their insistence that the world must be seen through their single lens.
So how does one figure out who one is?
Having a daily/weekly confidante (even if that is a deity or a journal) where you can pour your heart out and be yourself and you do not feel judged but instead you feel accepted, welcomed, and forgiven your missteps, vices and minor wickedness, has always helped me maintain personal equilibrium against the truly awful things in the world. When that person was my spouse it was easy and I was able to thrive and have a multitude of various relationships and truly interact with the world. Replacing that daily confidence has been a long journey involving friends, deities, journaling, family, therapy, and other outreach activities — but through it all, I have learned that the constant is the “me” in the time. Not the things I do with my time.
I think we have lost this ability, to share confidences, and here’s why: social media has made us terrified of sharing small happiness. We know it is acceptable to post the milestones— the weddings, the births, the new jobs and college acceptances - and also the bad milestones of course - people need to know about deaths, diseases and divorces - but we no longer post freely about simple things that please us, because 1) it is overwhelming to see all the ephemera of the lives of acquaintances and work-buddied but also 2) it feels like bragging about something easily dismissed. So no one posts unless there is a reason for it. (I agree with this practice, by the way, I think that the overwhelm of ephemera that people did on early days of Social Media was part of the reason society went off the rails. People didn’t get on Social to ask questions or start conversations, or even to see who else was there, instead they just went on as if they were a six year old on a stage, jumping up to swirl and twirl and say ‘look at what I can do’ without thought - never realizing that everyone from doting, lonely aunts to pedophiles were the audience for their shameless joy. And that most of the people who saw their posts actually honestly did not even care - like watching someone else’s kid get up and twirl on a stage. Momentary amusement or annoyance and then we move on.)
Social isn’t that way anymore, for most of us. We have learned to curate our joy. People still post cooking wins and ruins but I don’t know anyone who just posts dinner when it is boring—unless it is specifically to show boringness. People have intentions with their posts now. All of us have learned to watch the number of likes, the feedback, to ignore the trolls and respond to the comments. Those of us with businesses are “building a platform.” It is an industry whether or not you think it is.
But what this means is that you need a human being or two who is happy/willing to look at the new ring you bought yourself and intrinsically knows the layers of meaning: that it is slightly higher in price than your usual pleasure purchase, it replaces a ring you no longer wear, a stone that holds intentionality, a color that is significant, a shape that pleases you. This doesn’t belong in the public comments section of a post on Facebook. This belongs in a small room over tea.
With distance and parking issues, with health worries, money woes, and fears of outside violence, these frequent in-person meetings that have no “point” - these are what has been mostly lost with the prevalence of social media.
If we were meeting in person for coffee, I guarantee you’d reach over and ask me to see that ring I wrote about and I’d tell you with a laugh that I just made that up for the blog, because it was a good example. But the conversation that followed…
that would be the real purpose of our coffee.
Writing
I WON A PRIZE!
I just won second prize in an essay contest! Read the prize-winning essay here. It is the second one down - a really nice format because the first place winner is on there too so you can gauge the competition.
The best was the acceptance email (though of course it is nice to win and — understatement of the year — also nice to get prize money) but seriously — just have a look at what they said:
We all adored your essay, “Gabriel Garcia Marquez didn’t have to do laundry.” I absolutely love the one sentence format, plus the extra paragraph—brilliant! It accentuates your amazing narrative voice and thought progression and how much we have to take on as women and mothers while trying to find time to write. The structure gives it this overwhelming feeling and mirrors the narrator's interiority perfectly. So good! We also loved the meta quality of the essay, which is so timely now. Plus, you are hilarious—the sawbuck comment and the ripped jeans!—while also covering important and timely topics like abortion laws in Texas, shootings, and consumerism. With all these thoughts circulating through our brains within seconds, it’s a wonder we get anything written! You captured this feeling perfectly, and it’s so relatable. And I simply love how you refer to another essay about your brother and duck safety pins, but sidestep it. Perfection! Congratulations on writing an important and stunning essay. You are such a talented writer.
I mean, how on earth am I supposed to get any writing done after that? I just want to sit here with my tea and read the letter a few more times.
Tiny joys. That’s what makes it all worth doing. All of these endless, tiny joys.
Random Final Thought:
Wise words & congratulations on the essay! More wise words-
Actually, I loved social media when it was all what I had for breakfast. In 2007 my Twitter was just me and twenty or thirty librarians I knew from the internet, and every weekend I’d think, “Oh, he does laundry on Saturdays too!” It was delightful. Then everyone started posting their blog posts and retweeting constantly, and no one talked about what they made for dinner.