One year ago today, I published the first two pieces from this newsletter. In the first of those posts, “Preamble,” I examined my relationship to writing and explained how, in creating this newsletter, I wanted to reframe it. Exhausted by the chore that writing had become throughout my schooling and wanting to reclaim the form for myself, I wrote, “wherever the inspiration strikes, I want to give myself permission to follow it, write about it, and use my writing as a way to process it… along the way, hopefully this project will challenge my own depth of analysis, improve my storytelling abilities, and allow me to become a better writer.”1
Beyond that goal, though, I also started this project as a place to put my thoughts. A sort of repository for my unruly intellect. Echoing much of what I still feel nowadays, I wrote of myself that I “overintellectualize a lot of decisions. I agonize over where I’m going, or what I’m doing, and get myself caught in such an intellectual tailspin that I can’t go anywhere or do anything.”2 Creating this publication was my way of formulating a salve to get myself out of that cycle; it was meant to be a place wherein I could get my thoughts out of my head and onto the page. Kind of like if Billy Ocean had a newsletter.
As for what I started writing, it’s quite evident that, at the time, I was unsure of my place. After all, I first got the idea for this newsletter right around the time I graduated college. A period in which, after spending the vast majority of my life being a student, I had to contend with leaving the educational environment and trying to determine what, exactly, it was that I wanted to do next.
Instead of getting a job or moving to a new city, I opted to galavant around the world, thus delaying an inevitability of adulthood that I, in some ways, still find myself resisting. Though I got to know myself much more intimately, travel did not aid in my efforts to find my new place. In fact, there were many moments in which the experience made me feel even more alienated from the people and the places I knew to be my home.
On top of all of that, knowing I would need resources for whichever step I wanted to take next, I started seriously looking for jobs for the first time. A job search, on its own, can be more than enough to drive a person mad; having it join the amalgam of confusion that was my life at the time only made me more unsure of what I was doing.
It was in that mental quagmire that I returned to the idea of this newsletter. I had written some articles for it as early as the summer of 2022 but, in a similar way to many other aspects of my life, I did not feel particularly connected to those couple of texts I had already written. While pieces of some of those first essays now exist in the ones I have published since, I decided I needed to start anew. And so, I started writing. Perhaps, deep in my subconscious, I did so because I wanted control of something. I had no power over how I felt and I couldn’t make employers respond to my applications; but I could create something. Or maybe it was simply a hobby that gave me an activity to do other than scouring Indeed and watching Below Deck. “Is it always ‘or?’ Is it never ‘and?’” Whatever the reason, it would take until May 1st, 2023 for me to finally hit the “publish” button and, in doing so, allow my writing to exist as something other than my own.
Pretty immediately after hitting that button, my life began to change. I got two job offers the first week of publication. Soon after, a friend and I agreed to move to New York together. Now, I do not necessarily think this newsletter was the sole catalyst for these changes. However, I do think that, especially as I published more pieces and heard from others that they liked what I was writing, it gave me a certain confidence. I know for sure that writing the newsletter, consistent with the goals I set for it in the “Preamble,” also made me feel much better about all of the complicated feelings I was experiencing at the time. It brings to mind something Joan Didion wrote in the New York Times Magazine:
“I write entirely to find out what I’m thinking, what I’m looking at, what I see and what it means. What I want and what I fear.”3
Beyond helping me to identify my fears, writing also became my way to disallow myself from being paralyzed by those fears. Instead of getting overwhelmed by the undertaking that this project has been, or waiting for someone else to recognize my talent and publish me, I faced that which I was afraid of head-on. Somehow, I evaded the “intellectual tailspin,”4 charted my own path, and continued to write.
That is not to say that it has been a perfect process. Writing is hard. As a result, I have become really good at avoiding it. It is a consistent struggle to remain disciplined in my practice. I often find myself staying up late into the night, hating myself as I put the finishing touches on a piece at four AM. That resentment only grows as the next day wears on, with each hour making me feel more like a zombie. During these moments, I question myself as to why, exactly, I did not carve out more time earlier in the process. Sitting in front of a two-way mirror in my mind, the metal of the tabletop cold against my forearms, I find very few answers for the part of me sitting across the table.
Regardless, though, of any good or bad feelings this newsletter has inspired within me, I know something for sure: it has given me a place. A year ago, as I sat in Hockessin, Delaware, pondering my place in this world, I decided to create one for myself. Today, as I sit in my apartment in New York City with many of the same questions, I feel so incredibly proud of myself for continuing to foster that place. It has rarely been easy, but I have stuck with it and, in doing so, continued to show up for myself and achieve my goals. How this space will transform or how long I will have it, I cannot know. For now, though, it will remain a place for me to figure out what, exactly, it is that I am thinking. A place to experiment with my writing and to reclaim it as my own.
While I have found a lot of joy in this process of reclamation, I would be remiss not to mention the joy I derive from my writing no longer being mine alone. Therefore, as I start the next year of this project, I want to take a moment to thank you–yes, you–dear reader. Whether you have read every single one of my essays, or you’ve read a couple here and there as others got lost in the shuffle, or you just recently subscribed, thank you! It is truly an honor that you take time out of your day in order to read my musings. An extra special thanks to those of you who have reached out about anything I’ve written. Those of you who have commented on Substack, or sent me a text message, or even talked to me in person about my writing. It makes me feel a bit less like I’m writing into the void, and I cannot express enough gratitude for that.
As I bring this essay to a close, especially for those of you who are just joining us, I have taken it upon myself to sort each of this first year’s thirty-seven (!!) pieces into five different genres. Think of it as an Overintellectuals Anonymous reading guide. Remember, I could soon be to the written word what Chappell Roan is to music; if you want to be able to say you “knew me when” as you gatekeep my writing from others, then you best familiarize yourself with the ancient texts! Jokes aside, thanks again for this year! See you soon!
Reflections:
Socio-Political Pieces:
Media Pieces:
Travel Stories:
Satire:
This week’s recommendations:
Last week’s essay, “The Canon,” because it did not get many views 👀
Beyonce’s COWBOY CARTER, which finally clicked for me this week
Taylor Swift’s THE TORTURED POETS DEPARTMENT: THE ANTHOLOGY
Stress Positions (2024), dir. Theda Hammel
A springtime jaunt around the Jackie Onassis Reservoir
Passages (2023), dir. Ira Sachs
This video on Orcas. There is some wild stuff going on in the ocean!
JVN Complete Air Dry Cream
Murphy, Quinn. “Re…”
My friend, you never cease to amaze me. Living your life transparently takes a bravery that you have in spades. If you need more to read, pick up Writers & Lovers by Lily King. It will break your heart and put it back together again. Keep writing because the world needs your voice!