40 Things I Needed to Hear
words for your weekend.
I’ve been under the weather this week and stepped away from my computer for a few days. Whenever I fall out of my writing routine, it feels tricky to get back into it. Fingers creaky, mind fraught. My ability to spiral is remarkable — I’ll never write another coherent sentence, everyone will unsubscribe, it will all be for naught, etc. Until I write my way through.
As I was catching up on what I missed, I noticed a bunch of “Things I’d Tell My Younger Self” type posts circulating, and decided to add this (back) into the mix. So, here’s a bonus Friday letter, with an updated version of an old favorite. I needed the reminder — maybe you do, too.
1. There are many kinds of value. Time, space, personal freedom. Monetary worth is only one. You choose what holds the most weight.
2. Mundanity and profundity often arrive hand in hand.
3. Withhold judgment. It’s not just for them, it’s for you. Think of all the people, shows, stories, and experiences you’d miss out on if you never gave them a chance. Give the world an opportunity to surprise you.
4. Mary Oliver is always a good idea.
5. …even (especially) at 3 A.M.
6. Perfection is a myth that will hold you back (and bolster the self-improvement industry). Aim for authentic.
7. Negativity does not pay more in rent. So don’t give it more space in your brain.
8. Keep your eyes and heart open, in equal measure. Neither cynicism nor naiveté makes a capable captain. But together, they can cover a lot of ground.
9. “I’m actually not looking for feedback.” Employ as often as needed.
10. Remember The New Yorker. You subscribed because you liked it. Then it taunted you with its endless words, pages and pages demanding to be read. It reminded you of all the time you didn’t have to spend reading The New Yorker. Whenever you glimpsed the growing pile, you felt mild panic. Every time you recycled an unread issue, you felt like a wasteful failure. So, you cancelled your subscription but continued to wear the tote bag all over town. You didn’t unsubscribe because it was bad, but because of your own human feelings — The New Yorker kept right on going. The moral of the story: If your work doesn’t resonate with someone, that’s okay. Maybe they just wanted a tote bag.
11. Everything takes longer than you think it will. It takes approximately 140 hours to establish friendship; 300 hours to make it a close one. The path to success is circuitous and not without detours. But oftentimes, that only makes it sweeter.
12. If you want something, but it doesn’t exist, make it. This goes for books, newsletters, nail polish shades, companies, recipes, products... Everything started somewhere.
13. Every stranger is a potential friend. And also a potential teacher.
14. Sometimes, quitting is the right move. Other times, you might just need a vacation. As much as possible, try to see the difference.
15. Do not confuse subjectivity with worth. Opinions are not absolute.
16. Trust that life unfolds in seasons. If you look closely, inside every flower is the winter that came before it.
17. Everyone is making it up as they go along. Even and especially the people who seem like they’re not.
18. Thoreau had the right idea: Simplify, simplify. As relevant to writing as it is trips to Target.
19. Choices are good, because it means you have options. If you pick wrong… guess what? You can choose again.
20. There is nothing wrong with your appearance. (There may be something wrong with people who feel the need to comment on it, but that’s another story.)
21. Thinly veiled insults (“Really?”/“That’s weird”/“…interesting”) are often compliments delivered by people who are at odds with themselves. Take them in stride.
22. Fear is a yield, not a stop sign. It doesn’t always mean not to proceed. Sometimes it just means you care.
23. Everyone is people. Oprah is people. George Saunders is people. All evidence to the contrary, the cantankerous dude at the grocery store is people.
24. Humans are simpler than the instructions would have us believe. We’re all looking for the same things. To be seen. To be accepted. To connect. To matter. This is true for readers and writers and kids and strangers and the cast of Love Is Blind.
25. Little things add up to big things, over time. Actions. Words. Knowledge. Legacies. The beach is made with grains of sand. Life is made of moments. Take it one a time.
26. Life’s not a race, it’s a party. Arrive whenever you want.
27. Keep a running list (or calendar) of things to look forward to. A day trip, the week when the cherry blossoms bloom, the random day you get a box of doughnuts. The world will give you plenty to do, manage, and anticipate. Be proactive about creating joy.
28. It’s not your job to save anyone. Unless you are an EMT. But even then, you can’t change people.
29. It takes a second to find your footing. Especially on a brand-new path.
30. Remember Lymantria Dispar. (See also: Cicadoidea, A.K.A. Cicadas.) There will be periods of inspiration and periods of rest. You cannot kick ass all the time.
31. Comparison (and its cousin, envy) is a moving target. Circumstances will change. There is always more behind the scenes. Keep your eyes on the prize — your own life.
32. Trolls mean you’re doing something interesting. Say, “thank you for your interest,” as you calmly move them to the trash bin.
33. Perhaps a rebrand is in order. A new hairstyle, a new hobby, a new route. Why should Pepsi have all the fun?
34. Just start. The first step, the first sentence is often the hardest. Begin. Learn as you go, with momentum as your copilot.
35. “Gumption” is a fabulous word. We should probably use it more often.
36. Not everything will be for everyone. (Not even chocolate.) And that’s okay.
37. The dictionary is full of recommendations. It’s pretty clear on spelling. But some words — “success,” “worth,” “value” — you get to define for yourself.
38. There is no such thing as “supposed to.” You aren’t supposed to look or feel a certain way at 25 or 39 or 56 or 82. You aren’t supposed to have checked all the boxes on a to-do list, especially one written by the world at large.
39. You are a person, not a pickle. Your identity does not hinge on preservation. Use the eye cream or don’t. Do whatever moves you.
40. You have the capacity to change. Unless you are a pickle, which thankfully, you’re not. As George Eliot wrote, “It is never too late to be what you might have been.”
A few recent features (I’d love if you gave them a read!):
My recent guest post about 9 Things I’ve Learned About Growth and Self-Promotion (from Someone Who Would Rather Just Write) for David McIlroy’s How to Write for a Living.
I shared my Links We Sent Our Friends with the wonderful Aja Frost and Aliza Sir at Platonic Love.
…who also appeared as guests on last week’s Five Big Questions! I loved (and deeply related to) their answers on everything from guilt and pride, to being a “bad texter,” to favorite books and TV shows.
As always, thank you for reading. I’ll see you on Sunday. x
I absolutely loved every single one of these, but especially #10: "The New Yorker kept right on going. The moral of the story: If your work doesn’t resonate with someone, that’s okay. Maybe they just wanted a tote bag." I needed to hear that today, actually!
Bookmarking this isn't enough. I'm printing it out and using it as wallpaper... once I find a printer.
Also, re: trolls. "Trolls mean you’re doing something interesting. Say, “thank you for your interest,” as you calmly move them to the trash bin."
I think there is a troll spectrum. I like to think I'm a bejeweled belly button troll who likes & comments & follows to be positive and praise people's interesting work. It's like... I'm still a little creepy, but a good creep? A creep for good?
On the other side you have the trash bin trolls with their bad attitudes and internal disgust.
ANNNNYWAYS, thanks for acknowledging the air holes in the troll box. Otherwise, I'd have notified the authorities.