So, question: Do you ever have a great idea, but you're driving so you can't write it down? Second question: Had you already read that in the email (sub)subject?
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It often happens to me. This week, specifically Saturday, on my way to teach yoga, it happened. I had absolutely brilliant thoughts, and I was pre-authoring this very newsletter. I have the general idea still, but it was eloquently worded in my mind. (It always is.) That's one thing I've learned about these newsletters- if I don't draw things out a bit, and instead cut right to the chase, we get left with a random spewing of facts, thoughts, or reporting that's just not quite what I'm after here. (Fact- I still do not know what I am after here, and think about it often) I was actually thinking about exactly what it is I am after here when I had my great idea. See, I'm constantly trying to rearrange all the bits and pieces of my life to figure out how they all work together, trying to maintain space for new things, and save some space to simply exist. I've heard that as an individual, you never actually get to see yourself. Even in a reflection or a picture. There are things called "true mirrors," and of course, using technology, we can get the general idea. For the purposes of me drawing this out, however, I'm more interested in the hypothetical "seeing" of your self. The idea that this experience is all a process of becoming human, never actually being completed. Depending on your beliefs, there are lots of ways to look at and philosophize about this conundrum. What I am trying to convey, if I haven't lost you, is that my rearranging of the bits and pieces over and over again is my way of deciding which configuration of "Julia" I am most comfortable with.
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The world is cruel allways, and right now, for whatever reason, those in power can't stop to realize they have more than enough and instead are showing us how wicked they truly are. Our imaginations could have run wild for more time than we've been afforded, and still I find these atrocities hard to comprehend. It's gotten to the point where we are made to feel guilty for feeling good. I can sit at my makeshift jewelry bench, and my gratitude is tainted because I'm worrying about tomorrow as if it's going to be any different. I start hand stitching projects, and as my hands are busy, I can't help but question what exactly it is that I am after, because dreaming seems childish and forlorn.
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Rearranging yourself when the world seems broken beyond repair feels selfish.
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Sure, I could try to blame winter in New England, and the barometric pressure from the storms, making my head feel like it might explode/ fall off, but the trees covered in snow are beautiful, and sometimes my head hurting is a relief from whatever other part of my body is hurting. It's always perspective, and ignorance is bliss.
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Gosh, what a drag, am I right? It's good for me to be real with y'all from time to time, though. I can't let anyone believe for a second I've got anything figured out. Even if I do have something figured out, it's best to let people doubt you; it creates fun, nervous energy.
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If you think I've forgotten that I was telling you a story about how I figured out what I was going to write about in this newsletter, then maybe your comprehension skills need a bit of work (There's 28 old newsletters in my archive for you if your comprehension is fine, and its just my voice you're having a hard time grasping.) because I've been telling you that story this whole time.
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Aside from all the nonsense, these weekly newsletters mean more to me than I realized when I started. I started with the simple mission to redefine how I interact with the internet. See, when I was growing up, I didn't know I had a big sister, which means outside of school and the few neighborhood kids, I didn't get a lot of peer-socialization. Now, I am in no way saying I was sheltered (even though if you talk to me in person, I might use that term, and my reasoning is valid, but that could be its own newsletter), or that siblingless children are weird, but I was definitely one of the kids who wasn't picked first for, well, anything. Shit, I remember one year a girl in my grade lied to my face that she got my address wrong when she mailed out birthday invitations, and that was the reason why I wasn't invited. All this to say, I never really felt like I fit in. I was likely annoying with how often I pestered. I was only trying to be included. I wanted to be recognized.
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Now, considering I was diagnosed with adhd at 27, and also considering tropes around younger sisters, few of which I identify with, two conclusions can be drawn:
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- My (at the time undiagnosed) adhd likely made me a bit different from my peers at Catholic school, so my lack of peer socialization isn't wholly at fault for my unfortunate feelings of exclusion. (We won't dive into how mean kids can be and how I had a single mom [again, catholic school- in the 90's] AND my grandmother was the librarian. [cue the trope about the "poor" kid in private school because of family connections.] Again, could have its own newsletter.)
- Had my older sister and I been aware of each other's existances I would still have feelings of exclusion because who doesn't want their older sibling to think they're cool? I sure did when I was 15 and found out I had an older sister who was 19 and could buy blunts legally. 2a. I would be a much different individual had I known my older sister throughout my childhood.
This is all said to clear up that I am not placing blame, and my attempt to draw your attention to other plausible "causes" is my own personal brand of coming to terms with things.
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You're probably thinking that I lost my point, again. No, no, no, yee of little faith. Believe me, when I tell you, I am telling you a story, damnit.
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This newsletter conquest of mine has provided me with a whisper of a taste of self-directed discipline and schedule. There have been weeks I've been full steam, writing on multiple days as if this is a journal (is it not?) and letting it all out. There have been weeks that I have NOT wanted to write, I'm sure some of you have noticed, as they'll come out late, have few words, or be difficult to read because they just reek of sadness. There have been stressful weeks, confusing ones, weeks that resonate with people, and they keep coming. Most weeks, and I say this with my full chest, I feel this strange excitement knowing that someone, somewhere, is reading this.
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I disclosed earlier a perspective of my childhood to highlight that I wanted something that I'm sure everyone wants: recognition. I didn't quite fit in at school, ever. To the extent that I cashed in all my matured (and a few that weren't) savings bonds at 15 to fund the foreign exchange I went on my junior year, I wanted to leave. Maybe I'd fit in somewhere new. (Let's ignore the fact that as a child I was funding this excursion. Again, whole. entire. other. newsletter.) Having a single mom through my formidable years meant she worked a lot, and most of the recognition I received from her was for something "important" that "you can't miss". The idea that just getting through the day wasn't good enough was reinforced by my failed attempts to be recognized by my peers, my parent, and by proxy- my self. None of this is to say I was unloved or neglected. I was praised in school for being "advanced" (aka, undiagnosed adhd and need for attention), and my grandparents shaped me in invaluable ways. (Grandma taught me to sew and led by example, Grandpa taught me how to ride a bike, take it apart, and put it back together. Again, an entire newsletter's worth of material.) I'm doing that thing again where I spread the perspective and try to paint a whole picture that allows you, the consumer, to draw your own conclusion, because that is how we become multifaceted.
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If you've made it this far and you are that someone, somewhere, your recognition means more to me than a simple thanks. I still don't feel like I fit in, and it's not just kids that are mean, but at least I've got a sliver of recognition. Not for anything special, not for anything that means anything or has any purpose, not for any big accomplishment, nothing important, and most of you certainly don't even open my emails, but recognition for doing something that I wanted to do. That's really, really fucking cool.
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