The Only Newsletter That I Care About This Week
The only link that I care about this week:
I Remember Everything, John Prine
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plus a little more!
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Hello! Once again, I am asking: How are you? You have no idea how badly I wish I could hear the answer to that question from each of you. I'll start: I'm doing great. Doesn't it feel a bit controversial to be in a good place in 2020? I hope you are also doing great and if you are, that you can take a deep breath in and recognize that feeling and then smile really big with all of your teeth. If you're not doing great, deep breaths for you too. And then maybe instead of a smile, another deep breath and a step forward. Or another sip of coffee. Whatever you gotta do. We're with you (the annoying happy people), standing 6' away, staring creepily with our wide toothed smiles, ready to assist.
Picture this: I'm drinking my coffee this morning, scribbling flowers on my journal where I am supposed to be journaling profound thoughts (I can't be the only one who writes my journal with the expectation that it will be published posthumously) and this song comes stops me in my tracks. Suddenly, John Prine is sitting next to me - his steady tone forcing me into a trance. Suddenly, I'm 86, remembering every detail on the face of the love of my life. Suddenly, I'm a writer, in a cabin somewhere, writing my 7th great novel that both critics and readers love for my style of relatable heartbreak and Americana idealism. Suddenly, I'm throwing away my TV, plugging in my landline, creating the room in my life to become the kind of person that would inspire the line Your ocean eyes of blue, How I miss you in the morning light, Like roses miss the dew. Suddenly, I'm back in my apartment, sending a link to I Remember Everything to all of my friends, wordlessly begging them to meet me in this beautiful, creeky cabin on a Tuesday morning, from wherever they are. Suddenly, I'm typing this newsletter.
This might sound incredibly expectant, entitled even, but I want more incredible things in 2020. Or maybe just less of the okay stuff. Life is simpler these days. It's a well beaten drum to say that some of us dig this life and that some of us have spent the last 8 months looking for the exit. Here's an argument for carrying a bit of 2020 with us: A life of simple, incredible things sounds really great to me. Better coffee, better music, better books, better conversation with friends who's faces look brand new to our eyes, better pre-bedtime routines and mornings with the light in your apartment. Or nothing at all. Imagine that. The spring-loaded calves of Action taking a back seat to the comfort of a stable ground. A swaying, dish-soapy dance in the kitchen.
How to quantify this into a goal in 2021, I don't know. There's no success criteria for this. I'd like to try and see how it feels at the end of 2021 if I give it a shot, though. This we've learned: there is little else I can control than the tone of my own voice.