My Substack Recorded One of the Most Challenging Years

Happy Substack-iversary!

Funny how it happened on the solstice last year. I posted the first ones quietly without promotion because I wanted to see if this was really what I wanted to do. Did I want to blog about writing and life? I wanted to share written work and build a readership, but it also felt like a commitment I didn’t want to abandon halfway.

What a year. This one. And what a commitment to maintain throughout this damn year.

So much has changed since my first post, which I wrote in the university library at Adams State University while on a break at my old job. My old job in my old town of Alamosa, Colorado. A high desert alpine valley through which the Rio Grande meanders. Where frogs sing to me in the late spring months. It felt hard and shitty there. In the early spring months, the wind is so extreme, you feel like you might blow away. There are few resources, which means if you can do one great thing, others may think you’re magical. At 7,500 feet elevation, sleeping was difficult, and my hair was lifeless, but the air was clean.

Shortly after my first post, I moved to Texas. Finding a job was harder than I anticipated. Bryan, Texas is in a place they call The Brazos Valley, but it is not in a mountain range. I do not hear frogs, but I do hear birds going nuts in the Kroger parking lot. There is a spot where you can get a good bagel (the New Yorkers I know are satisfied with it, so that must mean something). The weather is hot and that’s what people always want to talk about, and I often wonder if we could find something more interesting to discuss in the elevator. It’s hot, but like, it’s been hot. I want to say. There are many resources, and rules, and ways for doing things. If you do one great thing, others may not know about it. We are on sea level. Sleeping is better. My hair is great. The air is so-so.

I believe culture shock can happen anywhere, even in the same country. It can happen when transitioning to new workspaces or home environments. For the first month or so, everything seems wonderful. Everything is perfect. The food is better. The cocktails are tastier. The weather is warmer. Then there is the slump, where it sucks, and broad generalizations are made. People are lazy. Everyone is a weenie about the heat. All the sidewalks are shit. There are no bodies of water! (I am still worried about this. I just want to look at a lake or river). People at the DMV are mean. It’s always about football. Eventually, this equalizes. Joy and anger combine to make an honest reality. There are beautiful wildflowers on the sides of the highways (thanks to Ladybird Johnson) and conservatism shows up in complex and multi-faceted ways. I can’t exactly say all of Texas is obsessed with football, though this might be true. Have you seen Friday Night Lights?

It takes me a whole year to adjust to a new place. When I lived in London for a study abroad semester, I was in love love love with the city, but I only lived there for three months. I never had to see it suck. In New Hampshire, I thought the people were well-adjusted New Englanders. Kind of boring. Loved hiking. A few months in, I hiked and was like, yeah this is the shit. I get it now. In Colorado, I had a theory that the food was bad because the people cared more about craft beer and camping. They’d rather be outside, so they didn’t care if their food was delicious. This is not true, or is it? Once I lived in these states for longer than a year, I explored, reached out to people without fear. I am hoping to find some sweetness in the next year, in the Texas part of the world.

But the writing was always there. While jobless and sad, which many of you know about, I couldn’t work on the memoir I’d been writing for four years, because I needed time away from it. During my workshop in Iceland, my feedback was difficult to receive. I was too close to it. So, it sat. When I needed it during this difficult year, I couldn’t touch it. Instead, I wrote a novel. Something to get me through the chaos of not being employed, of not feeling valuable in our country. And there’s that the country part. This nastiness was part of the year as well.

A lot can change in a year. The spaces in which I didn’t fit, are not letting me stay; and I am outgrowing them because they are no longer comfortable. They were place holders for something larger. The next step is outside of me. It requires risk, and I am a risky bitch. And George brought me a flower and a donut this morning so maybe the transition, the settling in, will be easier than I think it will be.

To another year of these morsels. To another year of my aggressive pursuit.