A note form Katherine: I wrote this Wednesday. Went on a walk, got struck with inspiration, typed on the porch until it was too dark. Then, I decided to wait until Sunday anyway. This newsletter, if nothing, is committed to 8pm CST on Sundays.
Greetings from a breezy Wednesday evening!
I know.
Here’s the deal: I am taking a planned break from Five Things in July. In light of the content later in this issue, you might think something is up. Nothing is up. The original plan was that the paid subscriber issue was going to go out Sunday, and then everyone else was going to get a quick little “see you when we celebrate the third birthday of this newsletter!” But I wrote the paid subscriber issue tonight, and I have enough “things” that a normal Five Things will send out Sunday at 8pm.
So here’s the other part of the deal: There’s a birthday deal. If you click this link, you can get 20% off a one year subscription to Five Things. Just until July 31. Consider it. Paid subscribers are getting two issues in July, because I’m not taking a true month off. Just a lil break.
I will see you Sunday with Five Things, and then I will see you July 25th. Unless you sign up. Consider it. Everyone is getting the paid subscriber issue tonight, just as a preview.
A man with one leg just pulled up in a new-looking Mercedes and dropped off Cheesecake Factory to the new neighbors.
A couple days ago I finished the book “Sorrow and Bliss.” When asked if I was liking the read by my sister, I said, “I love it.” More than any other book or movie or song, “Sorrow and Bliss” captured what is like to hold the tension of knowing how loved you are, and knowing that you are, deep down, not ok. Not ok in a depression sense; more than the knowledge that you’re not ok in a Presbyterian sense.
Reading it I felt a lot of “oof, been there,” but I think the relatability gave me hope. Depression is strange in that it’s like, we’re approaching throw a rock hit a person who has walked through a season of depression level of awareness, but it’s still just so absolutely isolating.
A few months back, I had a conversation that ended up being the pivotal domino-fall in the event I have decided to call “baby girl’s first big break up.” In this conversation, “baby girl’s first serious boyfriend” asked if he was wrong in thinking that baby girl may have been about to say, “I love you.” And baby girl had to quickly, calmly, and clearly shut that rumor down without being too gas-lighty.
I’m not sure I achieved the calm part. Or the not too gas-lighty. I got the quick.
Without even realizing it, the whole thing made me hesitant to say that I loved anything. I found myself “really enjoying” and “deeply appreciating.” I made my enthusiasm measured for fear of being misunderstood.
Which brings me back to this book that isn’t about depression, but to me it was about depression… the bullshit is that we’re all so afraid of being misunderstood. Either we’re in the one that’s in the pit; the one that can see that there’s light at the top but can’t find the ladder. Or we’re the one trying to do life with that person, struggling to not scream, “the ladder is right freaking there, I am the ladder, we’re all the ladder,” all the time. But we’re so afraid of saying the wrong thing, that we say nothing at all. I don’t know if that makes any sense.
I think embracing the possibility of being misunderstood is actually kind of a magical thing. You can’t be vulnerable without it. You can’t love or be loved unless you explain yourself a little bit, then clarify, then embody the uncertainty of it all.
One of the things that resonated about “Sorrow and Bliss” was how Martha knew that the people, albeit broken people, in her life loved her. It’s not that she didn’t hear it enough. She just had days that she could not bring herself to do everyday tasks. She couldn’t bring herself to live in light of that love.
And that’s the other bullshit thing about depression is that you can have the most charmed life, but still feel like there is no end to the depths of muck.
All of that to say, I’m back to saying I love things. And reminding the people in my life that they are loved. And the people that aren’t in my life, but are, because they read this newsletter.
You’re loved. People want to come to your birthday party. People want to laugh with you. People want to hear about the bullshit in your day, because you’ve cared enough to hear about the bullshit in their day. People want to misunderstand you, unintentionally. Some people might want to intentionally misunderstand you, but that’s their problem, not yours. Don’t sweat it too much.
I do love the word bullshit. And I love you. I love you specifically, and I love this audience generally. And I love this newsletter. I love that for three years literally hundreds of people have opened up hundreds of e-mails to read about some things I loved. It makes a girl feel loved.
I don’t think that in over-using the word “love” it loses it’s meaning.
The capital I irony of it all, is that I don’t want this issue of the newsletter to be misunderstood. I’m worried that people will panic at a 9:21pm Wednesday email. I want y’all to still think I’m a positive person. I want you to stay signed up for and consider investing in this newsletter as it embarks on it’s fourth orbit around the sun.
I guess it’s all a risk worth taking. Love you, mean it. Can’t wait see you soon.
xo