what i did as we flew to orlando for universal: read joan didion’s a year of magical thinking and wrote

an author can be good but not good, you know? here’s what i mean: you can tell they are the master of their craft, that they have been trained… but reading them is like biting into a stick of butter. you feel so overwhelmed by the craft that you don’t get a chance to slow down and experience it. joan didion’s slouching towards bethlehem vs. a year of magical thinking is a good example. it totally makes sense that the latter was written after the first. I can imagine: freshly out of college didion writing her award-winning writing, something beautiful and the perfect distillation of what america feels like. and her, ten or so years later, having experienced and entire lifetime of the real world, writing her deeply person and beautiful account of a loss, this time, no longer about the craft but truly of why people write in the fitre place; of what the feeling of being human is.

landing and feeling your phone vibrate is the best feeling in the world. that when you were hundreds of miles in the air people still wanted to ask after you and message you. the feeling of being seen and known. im not a ghost; im remembered.

I feel like I’m too scared of not being known and that’s why I post and tweet and write so much. I want to tell the same stories to everyone so they know me. I’m retelling and retelling; I’m always asking and asking, “oh wait, did I tell you this before?” because I’m repeating the same things. I’m reducing my life into soundbites so it’s easier for those around me to digest and remember and regurgitate. But then, surprise surprise! there isn’t a real representation of my actual internal life because obviously there’s no way I can share with that many people with my actual personal life.

I make my thoughts and beliefs into something like tumblr snippets: things meant to be re-blogged and related to. Am I relatable? I don’t know. But I know the thoughts I put out and share are. It’s like the bits I commit to: the music and excitement, the star signs, the caffeine, the puns… None of these are fake—I very much do LOVE my music and everything, but they feel like a caricature of me.