Reflections on One Year

Five things I've learned while writing this newsletter.

Somehow, it’s been one whole year since I launched this newsletter. A lot has changed in that time. A lot has remained the same.

Now that we’re fifty-two emails in, I can admit how terrified I was to send the first installment. What if no one read it? What if someone did? I couldn’t wrap my head around the fact that my words would land in people’s inboxes where I’d no longer have the ability to edit them. It felt very direct and very final.

“Okay,” I turned to my partner. “I’m going to schedule it and then we’re going out, because otherwise I’m going to obsess over whether anyone opens it or not.” And then we absconded to our favorite neighborhood restaurant.

“Did you get it yet?” I asked, three minutes after ordering. “How about now? Has it come through?”

Thankfully, the process has gotten (somewhat) easier since then. And one year in, I can say that it has also taught me a fair amount.

1. Maybe just try.
While I can hesitate and second guess with the best of them, I launched this newsletter off the cuff, without any plans for what I’d say or where it would go. As I wrote in the first installment, my goal was simply to show up, week after week, like Balcony Jack, doing the thing without being attached to the outcome.

As it turns out, the “just try” approach is a decent way to wade into all sorts of unfamiliar territory. It’s how I started running again after a multi-year hiatus and how I’ve come to approach creative projects, particularly when I get all up in my head about the finished product.

It would be THE worst slogan for an activewear brand, but sometimes, trying is good enough. You don’t have to succeed or impress or even keep going. Maybe just try, and see what happens.

2. See possibility.
I started this newsletter because I was envious of all the other writers I saw with shiny letters of their own. Eventually, I realized what my feelings were trying to tell me — I could write one, too.

It’s easy to look around and see things that inspire envy. On social media or on TV, at work or school pick-up or the grocery store. While some things are undeniably circumstantial — the result of geography, inheritance, many forms of privilege — others are within our control. Whenever I feel the creep of envy, I do my best to remain aware of it. And instead of feeling defeated, or falling prey to comparison, I try to reframe others’ successes as evidence that something is possible.

Bestselling book? Thriving company? Amazing fitness routine? Whatever it is, there’s proof that the world has some decent things going on. If someone has a <fill in the blank> it doesn’t mean they’re better, it means that having a <fill in the blank> is possible. That may not have any bearing on my own situation — it almost never does. But it can help change what I believe.

3. It’s okay to be you.
In everything I’ve ever written, I’ve always been truthful and tried my best to be authentic. But at a certain point, I realized that I was only sharing part of who I was. For example, I’ve studied tarot since I was ten years old, but until recently, I never wrote about it, because I worried some people would conflate it with fortunetelling or the occult. (And that it didn’t fit into the image associated with whatever job or company I might’ve had at the time.)

Showing up in this space over the last year has shown me that it’s okay — in fact, even more than okay, it’s necessary — to approach the world as your full, authentic self. (Thank you.) We need all the viewpoints we can get. And no one is going to do you as well as you.

4. …And while we’re at it, don’t be afraid to be vulnerable.
I’ve heard it said that the mark of those who are the best at what they do is that they make it look easy. They never belie the hours of prep, training, practice, editing, what have you that go into their performance. If they’re stressed, they don’t show it. If they struggle, you’d never know.

While that may be true, I like hearing about the parts that are less than easy. I enjoy hearing about the fears, hesitations, challenges, and difficulties hiding behind the curtain, if only because it makes me feel better about my own.

That leads me to my aim for year two, which is to expand the newsletter. The Sunday Letters will remain the same, but I’m planning a new vertical featuring conversations with others about this very thing — fears, vulnerabilities, and behind-the-scenes tales of how they found the courage to do what they do. More on that as it comes together!

5. Celebrate everything.
If there’s anything I’ve learned this year, it’s to celebrate whatever you can. Big victories, tiny wins, good news, habit shifts, weird coincidences, bits of hope, and scraps of inspiration. The moments when it feels like there is nothing to celebrate are the times when it’s imperative to find something — however small — to acknowledge.

“Happy birthday dear Shaaaaa-ron…”

Today, I’m celebrating one year of showing up. But I’m also celebrating you.

Thank you so much for being here. Thank you for every comment, email, personal anecdote, thoughtful observation, and word of encouragement.

This would not exist without you, and I am so appreciative. I hope that wherever you are, you’ll find something to celebrate, too.

Card of the Week

Here is this week’s card for the collective, as well as some thoughts to carry into the days ahead. As most modern readers will tell you, the tarot is not about fortunetelling, nor is it about neat, definitive answers. The cards are simply one path to reflection, a way of better knowing ourselves and others through universal themes. If this reading resonates with you, great! And if not, no worries. Take whatever may be helpful and leave the rest.

Featuring The Modern Witch Tarot by Lisa Sterle

When I was in middle school, we took a field trip that changed my life.

I can’t tell you where we went, beyond that it was some nondescript office building in a nearby town. Nor can I tell you who spoke to our class, beyond that they were some expert in health or wellness or psychology.

The trip was part of our “health” class, a weekly module where the instructors spent an inordinate amount of time drawing inaccurate renderings of sex organs and telling everyone to stop giggling.

The point of this pilgrimage was to discuss the presence of images in the media and how they impacted our self-esteem. This was before social media, or even home internet, so the examples were largely confined to print. We were asked to scrutinize a fashion magazine, a “men’s interest” magazine, an Abercrombie catalog. The photos were so obviously problematic we didn’t need someone to walk us through the reasons why.

“Oftentimes, you aren’t being sold a product at all, but a lifestyle,” the expert-at-something-or-other said, brandishing a perfume ad. It featured a model in a state of undress, her cascade of impossibly long limbs contorted into a pose that bore a striking resemblance to a praying mantis.

“When you look at this, how does it make you feel?”

We all blinked. No one said a word.

“Do you just want to smell like her? Or do you want to be her?” the instructor pressed.

This really sent me for a loop. I didn’t necessarily want to be her. For one thing, I didn’t know anything about this person. And “praying mantis chic” was not on my list of things to aspire to. But apparently, I was supposed to want this. So much so that they’d bussed us across town to discuss it.

That class did more than demonstrate how to view advertisements in a discerning manner. For me, it opened up a Pandora’s box that never closed again.

I hadn’t thought about it for years. But when I pulled this week’s card, my mind jumped to that nondescript room in that nondescript office building where I learned that selling a lifestyle is often a lie.

The Nine of Pentacles is a lovely card, depicting only good things. Visually, it’s about as close to a perfume ad as you’re going to find.

Traditional depictions often feature a person in a garden, wearing an epic frock, carrying themself with an aspirational air. They wear a red beret, signifying wealth and social status, while a falcon perches on their hand, symbolizing power and self-control.

One might say that when the Nine of Pentacles shows up, it’s a good omen, foretelling security, abundance, prosperity, and success. But I see this less as “you will win the lottery/get promoted/stumble into a windfall/win an award, etc.” and more about cultivating a sense of awareness and appreciation.

That’s one reason I love this deck’s depiction of the Nine of Pentacles as a gardener, surrounded by the bounty they’ve helped cultivate. You get the sense they’ve played an active role in creating this space, planting these crops, and now, partaking in their nourishment.

They’re a participant in the system they inhabit, which informs their perspective. They appreciate all that goes into it, and feel gratitude for all that comes out.

When we talk about “the one percent” we typically mean the people with the most money, power, and influence in society. But I recently read a statistic that said roughly one percent of the world’s population will complete a marathon. And I thought, huh. It made me wonder just how many “one percents” there are.

I love the idea of inhabiting another one percent — one you aren’t necessarily born into, but choose. One you play an active role in creating. I love the idea of a qualification based not on material wealth, but life experiences. I love the idea that there are infinite “one percents” out there — comprised of all different metrics — waiting for us to claim our place within them.

The Nine of Pentacles is about this feeling. On the surface, it might appear to be a card about an “aristocrat.” But in a larger sense, it’s about the many forms of abundance and the many definitions of wealth. “Abundance” doesn’t have to mean a literal cornucopia bursting forth on your table. “Wealth” doesn’t have to be connected to a bank balance.

The figure on the Nine of Pentacles could just as easily be someone who has taken the path less traveled. Or who has been bolstered by their specific set of challenges. Or who exhibits incredible kindness. Maybe it’s just about one perfect fall day.

The bigger message is that you are part of a narrative of your own choosing. The only person who has followed your particular path. The only one who has had your collection of experiences.

“It’s about the journey, not the destination” sounds like trite lip service. So instead, the Nine of Pentacles wants you to know that you’re already here. The endpoint is always this moment. The trick is to drink it in.

A lot of things are marketed to us as a destination, when what we’re after is really a mindset.

The Nine of Pentacles knows that it’s selling a lifestyle. It knows that we’re all in danger of seeing this scene and wishing our lives looked a little more like that. But the secret is that this card isn’t an ad, it’s a mirror. Take another look.