Lately I’ve missed playing, the kind of silly pointless playing we used to do as kids. One way this manifested was by longing for a rubik’s cube—a toy I don’t think I ever owned. My brother had one, I didn't. Until now.
I don’t care about solving it, and have little faith in myself that I have the ability or the patience. I just missed switching and swiping the squares and watching the colors line up sometimes and feeling like “aha I’ve got this!” when I really don’t got it. Plus I think it’s a great metaphor for life. It’s chaotic, some people will solve it only when they do there’s nowhere left to go but to start again. And learning to be ok with the chaotic journey is a big part of it. Sure sounds like life to me. Plus the sound the cubes make when you twist them is fun.
Having the rubik’s cube is not the reason I stopped writing here but it’s sort of the reason I’ve started. It’s a tale as old as time, life got me. 2023 has come to be known in my circle as “The Great Unraveling” and it stayed on theme until the very end which to be honest, I appreciate, for consistencies sake.
I had to handle my life last year after bit by bit and in speedy succession the walls all fell down. First it was the job—a toxic job that I hated mind you, but it was my steady income and kept me housed and fed, then almost immediately after it was the boyfriend who I had just fallen in love with, then the apartment which I had to leave because of the job, then a move to Brooklyn that will ensure I never go anywhere near lefferts gardens as long as I live (dramatic I know but I don’t care). A short but traumatic stay that included, apartment break ins, men waiting for me in the hallways, men chasing me down the street, men following me up the stairs, lots of gunshots, a huge fire that really tested the “when a firefighter is screaming at you to run out of the building, what do you grab” (I grabbed my journals, the teddybear my dad gave me when I was 9, three books and two of my favorite shirts) this is what having anxiety is for. I trained all my life for that oh shit moment and I did pretty well. During the whole break in and fire thing there were the roaches, oh my god the roaches in this place. I won’t say anymore about it except that I still have nightmares about them. Then in May, I got a job. A new job! A great new job that I love with wonderful people that is the antithesis of the last job. By this time I was beyond broke, swimming in debt from the whole mess but, I got a job. Which meant I could get another apartment which meant there was some hope in the near future that I could once again take a deep breath. *I will spare you the dating stories that took place last year but trust me, they’re gold. Perfect memoir material should that ever happen.
I moved into the new place in early July and it’s taken me until now to get here. Here being, OK. 2024 is pretty ok so far, I am ok so far. There’s family sadness and stress that I won’t talk about but otherwise I really can’t complain and I’m also done complaining or even thinking about all that 2023 brought about. As with most things in life, looking back I see that losing the things I lost were good for me, if not necessary. Not to be that person but it’s true, all the loss brought me closer to myself in a way I could have never anticipated and that is a gift worth losing all of those things, and then some.
So that’s where I’ve been. Oh! Also I finally got close to figuring out my book and then found out someone was working on something not similar, but with some overlap which means I have to change my book just a little but after five years of work to finally get it solid, changing a little was the final blow from 2023. A full K/O.
It’s not major and it’s not serious nor is it life or death. It’s a privileged kind of problem and I remind myself of that whenever I catch myself internally whining like a child. But what do I expect? I want to write. I am a writer. I am a writer who wants to write, sometimes things are going to go poorly or have to be changed and we move forward.
I’m only sharing this with you so you didn't think I died. I didn’t. I also haven’t been publishing/freelancing and that’s partly because 2023 was all hands on deck mentally and physically and I also have a full time job which keeps me busy and tired but also I’ve been putting any excess energy into the book which will someday exist.
So, I’m not dead. I’m still writing. I’ve been reading a lot of Karl Ove Knausgaard and I think his Proustian stream of consciousness reminded me of my own voice. Not that I’m comparing myself at all, but more that his thinking and feeling aloud helped me hear my own again in some super cheesy way. But what are books good for if not to bring us closer to ourselves and each other in some way even if that way is strange or unexplainable.
Anyway, I don’t know what will become of this newsletter. I’d like to start writing here again although I’m not sure about what. I think it’s just nice to see words again, selfishly. These are strange times. Somehow they get stranger. So if you’re still here and reading or will be here reading again, it might just be about something strange. I hope that’s ok.
I hope you’re ok.
So glad to have you back. I think I am not alone in saying that we all missed your voice. I am glad you are safe and settled (somewhat) and so overjoyed that you are sharing your writings again. Very much looking foward to your book and more posts like these. Welcome back, Shannon!
Nice to have you back. I've really missed your writing. "Mars is a hellhole" is something i return to frequently and often share with friends 🙂