This Newsletter Is Not For You
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The following is a one-time introduction post. The first official newsletter will be delivered next week and is more indicative of the format to expect going forward.
Let’s start here, because I want to be really clear about this: this newsletter is not for you.
If you’re new to newsletters, you may not know this but there’s a glut of writers out there who claim to do what they do for their audience, as if they’re so altruistic. It’s easy to claim this when you have tens of thousands of social media followers or people paying you for your writing. I have neither, which is why I can hit you with this inconvenient truth: this is for me.1
I joined the ranks of the unemployed an almost unfathomable 10 months ago, as of press time. The job market is weird right now. I did the whole “funemployed” thing, the travel thing, and yes, I eventually ventured into the freelance and consulting thing, but even before all of that I had questions. Big life questions like “Is this all?” and “Is work supposed to fulfill us?”
In times of strife throughout my life I have always turned to writing as an outlet for self-expression.2 When I was about eight years old I’d create short stories loosely based on my childhood that I stapled together into striped paperback books, then I started journaling every overwhelming emotion and experience. That soon evolved into writing poems then music and lyrics in high school once I got my first bass guitar. Around the time we ditched dial-up internet, I started writing on Blogger (née Blogspot), then MySpace, then Tumblr, twice. Of course, I wrote on Facebook, Twitter, IG, and LinkedIn, but that never felt… quite right. I wrote for my high school newspaper then my college newspaper and a podcast I did with friends. Most recently, I wrote out monologues for my own podcast.
You get the picture. The point is, I’ve been going through it lately, and I need this newsletter as a means to express myself and get these superfluous thoughts taking up space in my brain out into the world.
You listen to me. I need this, OK?
- Walsh, Old School (2003)
I first began identifying as a writer in 3rd grade when my teacher told my parents, “I think we’ve got a future writer on our hands!” Every teacher after him had the same vision. The prophecy had been foretold. My future was locked in, as if I had no agency.
Soon, I began to resent writing. And not just because “you have to do it!” but because everyone told you how to do it. It made me wonder if people told Beethoven how to compose his 5th symphony or Michaelangelo how to sculpt the David. Not because I share traits with those bros, but because I believe writing is an art best left unrestrained. In time, every limitation passed down by a teacher, editor, or boss, every line about how I “should” write something, they drained my world of its color.
I became such a strange shape from trying to fit in.
- Pete Wentz, Wilson (Expensive Mistakes), 2018
Then there’s those rascally algorithms. Social media felt like a place I could finally write in my most unfiltered ways, until you realize you’re writing for the algorithm itself and not for your followers. It lords over you determining what’s passable based on structure, engagement, and your willingness to “play ball.” I balk at that.3
I don’t want to write by someone else’s rules. I want to write this newsletter in a way that feels true to me. In that sense, this is a return to form I have not experienced since I was a kid, and that has me feeling inspired for the first time in a while.
If you read the part above where I noted all the different places I’ve written content, you’ll notice there’s an abundance of them. What is absolute lunacy is that, when I started publicly creating content almost two decades ago, I didn’t think to bring those readers along for the ride with me. I’ve hopped from blog site to social platform like a frog across lily pads. In the end, the content disappeared or went private and I lost touch with most of my readers. No more! I’ve lost interest in creating ephemeral content—I want to create something that lasts.
Why make something disposable like a building when you can make something that lasts forever, like a greeting card?
- Tom, (500) Days of Summer, 2009
That brings me to you. You thought I forgot about you? No, what I’m trying to say is I want this relationship to last. Whether this newsletter becomes the last bastion of creativity and astute content analysis or I become a San Francisco street performer by the end of 2024, I want you to be there to witness it all. I want to connect with people who have an interest in my work via the one medium that has withstood the test of the time online—email!
And, of course, my hope is that you will find value in this exploit. Just because it’s my outlet, guided by own unique set of rules, for my own gain doesn’t mean I don’t also want you to benefit from it. What that benefit will be is up to you. Do you get value from learning, laughing, being challenged to think deeply or critically? Regardless, I hope you will get all (or at least one) of those from this newsletter.
To the tens of thousands of people who’ve already subscribed—I feel indebted to you for your blind faith. If you haven’t signed up yet, you can do so below.
The inaugural issue of “Here Comes the Content” hits inboxes next week!
Expect this sort of transparency and boldness to be a staple of every piece I write in the future
I promise this is not a poetry newsletter
I swear this is not a sports newsletter, but I worked in sports for a decade—cut me some slack
Ok but what would you be performing on the SF streets? Curious minds want to know!
I'm here for it, let's go!