On Impending Doom
It'll all be okay
Dear Me, Later On,
I keep waking up feeling like something bad is going to happen. Sometimes to me, sometimes to someone I love, sometimes to complete strangers I will never get to meet. I try to wave these feelings off, attribute them to the dusty blue of early morning, so beautiful yet so bleak, but in fact, I know bad things will happen—just a virtue of being alive in this world, I suppose.
I feel a great nebulous fear of not being able to achieve what I want to achieve. I keep falling down Google search sinkholes. It’s been very hard to climb out of my most recent one—how to make friends as a young adult, how to meditate without freaking yourself out, how to eat healthy, how to eat healthy for cheap, how to achieve perfect boxing form, how can i practice chinese without speaking to real people, how to become a professional writer, how to read poetry, how to write poetry, how to write good poetry…
I think I am someone with many problems, and really, none at all. I am very scared and also scared of nothing. I want to wrap my arms around the world, but I’m afraid of hurting it—it’s a fragile thing, really. It’s hard to be graceful in the face of it all. I know I haven’t always been. I know I’ve done bad things. I’ve been mean, spineless, timid, scared to face my problems and only made them worse. I’m afraid of what tomorrow may bring. I feel like a trembling greyhound in a human being’s body.
All this to ask: do you think it’ll all be okay?
Sincerely,
Me, Now
***
Dear Me, Now,
The world is such that, at times, it feels like we are walking along the edge of a precipice, or a chasm, or a rotting, brittle log bridging river rapids. Yes, the world has the tendency to seem quite terrible, quite scary. It’s a medical symptom, you know—a sense of impending doom. If too much introspection was a symptom, we’d be the WebMD page for it. Fear has the tendency to give you tunnel vision, to make you feel quite small, too small for your own body. At times, we feel like a child, on the car ride home, asking the same, pleading question: Are we there yet? Are we there yet? Will we be okay? Will everyone else? Will anything, ever?
I’ve caught myself going for the easy answer, at times. Maybe everything is bad. Maybe the planet will implode. Maybe we’ll all be better off for it.
But I don’t really think that’s true.
What is okay, in the first place? Just a reprieve? A lull between the next terrible thing? A space in between disasters, a staccato of bracing for impact? No, okay is a net positive. Not everything will work out. Not all relationships will succeed. Not every project will be fruitful. Yet despite all this, you have what’s in front of you. Your life. Your people. Your hands. Other people’s hands.
Here’s how we break it down. Here’s how we make it easier. Here’s how we make it okay.
I want to light a candle but my parents don’t like the smell of burning. I love my parents dearly, so I don’t light a candle. The world goes on. I like to make small sacrifices. I like to sit in my room in the near dark. I like to write. I hate how luminous my computer screen is, even when I turn the brightness all the way down. I like how fast I can type on a keyboard. I hate how ink smudges when I write with a pen. I like when clouds are pink and gray. I like when trees are black paper cutouts against the sky. I like to see poems as small beings. I like to feel their sound and rhythm. I hate how I can never quite recreate the shape they take on in my head. I know many bad things will happen in my life. Many good things too. This makes me scared and delighted. I love the world very much.
It’s not so simple, of course. Some won’t get okay. Some aren’t afforded the luxury. But so far, you have been. You say you’re scared to hurt the world because you love it too much. If everyone thought the same, no one would reach out to others, for fear of hurting each other. Keep your arms open. Wrap people in them. Hold onto them as hard as you can. Be there for others, and let them be there for you. Forgive yourself! Be brave! Be scared! Do it all anyway! This may be your only opportunity.
All this to tell you: it’ll all be okay. And even if, in the long run, it won’t, we’ve got the entire world to love in the meantime.
Thinking of you,
Me, Later On
***
Sorry about the lack of newsletters lately. I was traveling, and then I wasn’t, and had no excuse not to write, really, and now I’m starting a new job and feeling all too adult and busy, but I’ve been filled with the deep and painful urge to overshare about my internal dialogue these past few days. Ta-dah!
And now, for the first miscellanea of 2024:
“The Years,” by Alex Dimitrov, a poem I have kept coming back to since the first time I read it, on New Year’s Day 2023.
If you like pretty pictures of food, give Daan Walterbos’s Insta a scroll.
Can someone in NYC please go visit this exhibit about zines and report back. I’m so jealous. I love zines.
Rogér Fakhr, Fine Anyway (Habibi Funk 016)—one of my favorite albums ever.
January mood (I know we’re in February. I’ve been procrastinating this newsletter):
Thanks for reading. Endless love. Eat a Peach.