I started a newsletter on substack. Here’s an excerpt from the fourth post. Read in full (and subscribe for free) here.
I realized recently that I could stand to change the way that I tell stories. Lately I’ve been telling the same ones over and over again without really pausing to think of whether they’re the truth of things as I see them now. It’s a familiar feeling I’ve had before: that feeling when I realize it’s time to retire that version of the story. It may be the (happy) recent changing of the season, but this has been a mood for me lately. It’s definitely a hopeful sign. It’s starting to occur to me that I was in a bit of a haze the past couple of years, which I now recognize as the aftereffects of loss. I mean, I felt the haze. I could not for the life of me get anything done when I moved back to Vancouver. I’m not sure if I was getting anything done before, but it became really obvious when I had fewer distractions. But I was kind of in denial. I mean, I couldn’t do anything about it. I want to say I found it painful to deal with people and tasks, most of whom and which were New York-related and therefore reminded me of everything that had just happened. But I didn’t feel pain exactly; I was just numb and unable to take action or know how to move forward. I’m only really putting this together now – at the time, I couldn’t explain it, and I just tried to stumble along as best I could. But it’s pretty obvious in retrospect: not only did I leave behind my self-determined home, friends, and life, but I went back to where I came from. Back to where all my old stories originated.
Read the rest (and subscribe) here.