I had a friend message me the other day “Yo just checking up on you – your blog posts have been fire lately haha.” I like getting positive feedback so much. It’s weird, I don’t really care about gaining a ton of approval as much as I appreciate support from a small handful of people. It’s meaningful and has heart to it. I listen to Gary Vaynerchuk (I know people make fun of him), and I really like the way he focuses on the emotional tonality of work and life. I think our obsession with metrics sterilizes life. It defeats us.
I thought about switching to Substack for a while, but I think Substack is a cesspool. I kind of feel horrified by the prospect of sharing my work with a group of people who can keep reaching out to me, give me feedback, and criticize my work. I like being a lone writer mostly because I have so much more space to roam. I don’t have to worry about making mistakes or disappointing people because I’ve completely removed them from the equation. I thought about running a small ad campaign for my blog in Williamsburg but I’m weirded out by the idea of random people accessing my work. We’ll see.
Honestly, you know what’s sexy? The unlit alleyway, the hole in the wall, that strange mysterious vortex where you’re not quite sure what you’ll arrive to on the other side. I think that’s why I’m so obsessed with quiet and anonymity, it gives me access to unpredictability and experimentation. That’s where I like to be, in the weeds, in the dark. My ex boyfriend showed me that, the wealthy private school boy. He hid everything from the surface, you couldn’t detect him in a room if you tried. A wolf in ragged jeans. After him I started hiding more and more of myself. Even now my life is incredibly quiet. Gym, work, mellow evenings on my couch, coffee with friends, the occasional party, silence.
New York requires silence. The city is a fucking roar and it can fly straight into your life and gut it. Setting boundaries with the city, not letting it run your identity, is difficult and important. My ex eschewed the external world. He understood that people were easily misled and ignored them. He confidently relied on himself, consulting his intuition and emotions, assessing his needs. There was an extraordinary focus on interiority during the course of the relationship. As the outside world slipped below the horizon, he taught me how to harness my energy. The self instinctively evolves in a chrysalis kept beneath the surface of reality.
a soft death 