I Will Not Be Leading With My Best Chin Forward
I am not offering anything of value. I thought we agreed on that.
Trying is a thing I need to be led to like a dog on a leash. It is my horcrux, my villain origin story. An excruciatingly uncomfortable thong when what I really want are cozy granny panties pulled past my muffin top and hovering at my underboob. There is never a moment where I am trying and I do not want to die from the shame of it all.
I blame Kurt Cobain. I blame Reality Bites. All of Generation X, who I idealize and love dearly, but my god, have filled the middle of my sandwich with heaping piles of existential dread and self-promotional sabotage sliced thick from the deli counter. I am highly unprepared to quote-unquote put myself out there in any meaningful way so that I might, dare I say it, succeed at something I desperately want.
Is this inner turmoil a niche market? I feel like it’s a niche market. Look, I barely leave the house these days and I am seriously cut off from humanity but abundant in my own thoughts, so maybe more people feel this way than I think? I really have no idea.
But what I do know is I signed up for a writing seminar about newsletters, and according to the Substack experts, I should be offering you something of value.
I need to be clear here. I am not offering anything of value. I thought we agreed on that. Like, no pressure, write whatever you want, Liz, you do not have to fix our lives or arrange our refrigerated pureed fruit packs in rainbow hues (we can all agree coordinating bins are a porn genre). There will be no indoor plant waterings or serum suggestions (ok there will be and it’s this one). We know you have a swollen left foot for no reason and sometimes your painted eyebrow arches don’t match, so don’t worry about us. Just put on your red lipstick and do your best.
My safest zone is playing small. My preferred method is barely trying. And my favorite book is the one I’ve written in my head. I watch Back to the Future and all the George McFly* anxieties hit a little too close to home. I do not know what I’m offering because I’m figuring it out as I go. Is that acceptable?
Maybe this is a relic mentality I am dealing with. Did someone excavate me from amber and put me behind an electrified fence? Will I eventually grow smarter and start eating the visitors — but only the ones who make operating at peak performance their entire personality.
The accomplishments of other people, especially when they list them in a bio, make me feel uncomfortable. Typically they are academic or career-driven accolades and while I have some of them, I don’t particularly value them in the way I value the 120 days I outmaneuvered multiple men in tow trucks trying to repossess my car. The level of physicality this demanded was borderline decathlon-worthy and I have post-traumatic-repo-disorder to prove it. If I may: car repossessions are for the young -— my body is no longer in tip-top repo-outrunning shape. (And this top quality tip is what you can come to expect from me and this newsletter.)
Don’t get me wrong, If I was a MacArthur Genius I’d print 356 t-shirts for every day of the year announcing my accomplishment to anyone with functioning eyeballs, but everything else is a Shania Twain, Don’t Impress Me Much chorus.
Imagine if the executive vice president of the place you work was real: Gregory Daniels, former recovering meth fiend and handsy 20-something, found his way to Mercer County Community College, eventually graduating from Penn State University with a Bachelor’s in Economics. He loves tailgating for the Nittany Lions, does 20% of the housework (it feels like a 50/50 split to him), but don’t talk to him on Tuesdays — it’s leg day.
Now, that is a reckless bio I want to read so I can share it with my party people like, DUUUUDE, avoid Greg near the KIND bars.
What I’m offering is no pretense, no pompous air, no leading with my best chin forward. STAY HUNGRY is a compulsion, a thing I must do otherwise I wouldn’t be able to live with myself. It’s messy, uneven, it’s empty calories full of no discernable nutritious value except human connection, and I hope — I really do — that you are entirely fine with all that.
*Crispin Glover can get it.
CURRENTLY
Nightstand: The Lady From The Black Lagoon // the lost history of the only woman to create one of Hollywood’s classic monsters
Reading: Her Name is Not Honey Boo Boo // Teen Vogue
Watching: On The Record // HBO Max // The accusers of Russell Simmons speak out
Listening: Aaliyah // Finally, FINALLY, more of her music is on Spotify
Coveting: This clip of John Goodman dancing on the bar in Coyote Ugly // Who knew??
Supporting: Buying from this Amazon wish list will help the Nationalities Service Center in Philly as they prepare to receive Afghan refugees. They also have volunteer ops and welcome kits for purchase.
SHARE FLOP ERA with the kind of friend who knows only normal people sleep with a beside fan turned up to mach 10. Because Beyoncé air circulation rejuvenates in the overnight hours.