Hi everyone! I’m going to restart this Substack and simplify it. Now this is Absorbed, and I’m going to write about my adventures in the attention economy. I’ll share reactions to things I read (and fail to read?), watch, fidget with on my phone, and generally pay attention to—plus some little theories on how my attention works.
This is not so different from my old newsletter concept, but a little broader, and now all my emails will include a cameo from my sponge.
+ if you’re wondering where I’ve been for the past 4 years, some intel on that below (+links). Short answer: I was rebelling against my core personality and it was extremely chic of me!
Against writing
I haven’t been writing for the past few years, except for work, because I decided that writing to “express myself” was stupid.
This was a pretty hot take for me. I went to grad school for creative writing. Writing to express myself has been my favorite thing to do since I was a little kid and wrote “The Bedroom Buzz,” a newspaper about my stuffed animals (obviously). The sunk cost fallacy was screaminggg at me to keep writing.
But why write when no one reads anymore? Not even me?
I at least often prefer not to read. You could make a long montage of me lying in bed, setting aside books by Nobel Prize winner Olga Tokarczuk to scoll through strangers twerking to “Dade County Dreaming” on TikTok.
This is partially Olga’s fault. She has written a lot of books, and only one is good.
But it’s not like I’m a better writer than her. And I was spending a lot of time alone in my house, typing out my exact thoughts about Taylor Swift and Mr. Peanut, type type typing and revising and sleeping on it and giving it a line edit and emailing it out… to who? Some mythical undistracted reader more virtuous than I?
Writing, I decided, was an isolating, perfectionist, doomed little hobby for me.
I did mean impressions of myself in my head: “Sorry, I can’t hang out—I’m at home crafting a long perfect letter to the world.”
I needed to get a life, and I decided that writing was the opposite of living. Text repelled other people’s attention, and writing ate up my life force. It was all a complicated way to do nothing.
So I did… something. Somethings! I went freelance and got a new job. I started going to Orangetheory a lot. I learned SQL. I sewed myself a tote bag with a fucked up handle (and a good handle!). I went to Ireland with my dad for his seniors handball tournament, which was great. Seniors: They’re fast!
I also calmed down about writing. It’s not an all or nothing endeavor, and doing zero creative writing felt like being in brain jail. I wasn’t 100% avoiding reflecting on my life, but I forgot my reflections really fast, on purpose. And for what?
I missed them. I like to remember my little thoughts (like the reasons I didn’t enjoy The Boy and The Heron) (I started a Letterboxd account just to document my dislike for that movie). Then I can connect my thoughts and revise and build on them and eventually, possibly, grow as a person.
I think writing is a lot about that for me—sending long perfect letters to my future self, AND the world. I also just like to do it. That wasn’t a 30-plus-year delusion. So… we’re back!
Next edition: Martyr!
PS — More like The Boy and the Heron and That Weird Little Guy the Heron Barfs Up Sometimes, amirite?!
Linxxx
How not to give up, according to Hidden Brain.
A perfect 1-minute Charli x Chainsmokers mashup (open on desktop if you don’t have the TikTok app!)
Highly rec this kind of expensivo weed-scented candle
Trump-era survival strategies, from me to you
ICYMI: Party like I forgot I was famous (wow)