Hey friends,
This is my first time writing something like this. Well, that’s not entirely true. I’ve probably written a few hundred things like this, brain dumps with the intention of enlightening the world and making everyone comprehend the boundless love living within us all. Maybe thousands. You'd be amazed at what addiction to social media will make a man's notes up look like.
But this is the first one I’ve done on my laptop. And this is the first one that I’ve done to share on my new blog. So there.
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I launched my mailing list last week. I’m kind of proud of that, and kind of frustrated that it took so long. I looked at some new hyperpop kids who are doing house parties at 17 like I was, and I’m kicking myself. If only I’d started my freaking mailing list at eighteen! tonser, if you’re reading this, start a freaking mailing list man.
Anyway, I now have a mailing list, where i share my reccomendations. And there’s 46 of you in the first two weeks.
Not bad.
Actually, one person is good. Great. Godly. I remember telling that to other people more successful than me back in the day, when they got hundreds of thousands of streams in seconds (or so it felt) and I really hope I remember it as I go forward. The notion of helping people stems from what I wish I could give to just one person.
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I was writing chapter 30 something of One, when I realized my grandparents were starting to watch their mystery without me, and i upped myself from the bed, to give my presence to my grandmother. She is hosting me, her eccentric grandson who helps her with the garden and writes for odd hours of the day. (i write a lot in the bed. I’m writing right now in the bed. The Bed TM. Not really, any bed will do. Or won't do, the same amount. Things you get used to, being 6'5.)
I’m glad I sat and watched a murder mystery on Tv with them. Actual Tv channels. I'm vintage.
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Sometimes, the things that seem to be the biggest wastes of time are the most precious moments. In fact, i think that is exclusively the case. The idea of wasting time feels like late stage capitalism wormed it’s way into my brain and ate the apple and is steering me like a fungus in ht elast of us towards another apple.
That said, if I had real scarcity, I would not be so cavalier with the notion of wasting time, I’m sure. Privledge at every turn.
Is privledge a product of capitalism? Was the garden of Eden ever real? I struggle with that concept often.
I think back in the good old 150 tribe days when we lived around the equator, there might have genuinely been enough fruit for us. If you dodged the carnivores, heatstroke and plague, then yeah. Garden of Eden. And we were all naked.
Seeing my grandparents, they seem to have their garden figured out. And they still have clothes on.
I think for them, they’ve met their basic needs, and now engage in the struggles of their choosing. Some of those struggles are struggles they’ve learned to embrace, (I’d like to see someone try to order grocereis to my grandmother’s door instead of her going to get them in Oak Bay.)
Whereas other games they play are more freewillynilly.
Struggles that are self-imposed are called games. When that clicked, I had a whole bunch of reveleations. Maybe playing games in relationships is good. Maybe that’s why I like sucking at things and getting better, when it doesn’t matter.
It kind of turns hustle culture on its head, because hustle culutre kind of assumes that the struggle is imposed externally, when really, the motivation to win a game and not lose blossoms in acknowledging that I wanted this, and i want to win. i guess that’s why the term “It’s just a game” never really lowered the stakes for me.
Anyway, time to fall asleep reading Pillars of the Earth, and yearning for something my mere mortal mind will never comprehend (my girlfriend)
Thanks for being here,
David