Dear Readers, it’s a fine day for the 49th issue of The Letter. Shall we…
Finally, water fell from the sky. Sliding off the hills, bathing the ground, quenching my soul. A communal shower. I love nothing more.
Where I live, water is rare, so very rare. The town is Mill Valley. The nearest city is San Francisco. The hills everywhere near me are parched. I’m parched. I know now, after the rain, that I must live near water. I’ve added it to my to-do list.
To Do
◽️ Feed cats
◽️ Call Susan (who’s Susan?)
◽️ Live near water
I felt a special type of freedom as drops fell hard and fast on Sunday and partially on Monday. I taste fall, and this year, I’m binge-eating it.
Writing a Passage
Lately, I’ve abandoned my morning routine so I can work. As soon as my eyelids peel open until they fall like rain—I’m working. This behavior is short-lived. It’s a particularly nutty time at the office.
I work for a cohort-based course called Write of Passage. What started as a small group, taught by one guy named David Perell, has turned into a few hundred students, five weeks, and a staff of 34. It’s bonkers.
We teach people that writing on the Internet leads to success in life and business. Some people write books; others write marketing copy. We propel you to write articles, essays, newsletters, and the like and publish them online. Why? Because putting yourself out there makes you a magnet for opportunity.
The quick and dirty physics of it is this: what you put out, you get back (and then some). Show up. Create, express, and publish your work—for others to discover.
Another concept of the course is this: you have writing topics coming out of your ears— if only you would tap into what you know. And, you know stuff. You know a lot of stuff. You judge what you know, therefore you stop yourself from writing it down (don’t even get me starting on sharing it).
Our next cohort begins in days. It’s a mad push to enroll students and put on our best “show” (it’s not an actual show, it’s reality).
Are you worried this is a sales pitch? I would be. To prove to you this note isn’t that, I won’t even post a registration link—no link for you!
Truthfully, I’m not comfortable selling you the course. That’s not why you’re here reading The Letter (though, ironically this very letter was birthed during the course almost one year ago (Issue 52 will be proof). Also, I landed my dream job, Creative Director at Write of Passage.
Like I said, a magnet for opportunity.
Picture This
I placed this picture of my son here to give my newsletter a photo-worthy presence. You’ll see, as you scroll further, there’s nothing worth looking at below :)
Irreverent Copy
It tickles me. When I stumble across it—I’m delighted. This bit of papery substance sealed to the top of my Oatly ice cream—what a pleasant surprise. A surprise with no meaning, except the concept, was conceived of, approved, printed, and distributed, which means that someone in charge is very cool. There’s meaning in that, for sure.
Dating On The Line
Perhaps sparked by my being catfished a few weeks ago, or maybe it’s my attitude toward relationships, but this dating app go-round is the pits. I see faces I saw four years ago. What losers. Oh, right, they see mine.
While ambivalence emanates from my digital aura, another reason for the slower than molasses activity has occurred to me: my profile says, “two cats, two kids.” This admission can’t be doing me any favors.
Another observation and I could use your help here. On the topic of kids, which option would you select if you had kids and you were happy to meet a man with some of his own?
Did I choose correctly? All the apps use the same logic. I have another to throw into the mix: “have & would tolerate someone else’s—probably.”
The Ol’ Re-Frame
I got a new car. It’s my third VW Tiguan. Lease. She gets the job done—obvi.
The automatic liftgate, the button you push to open and close your trunk like the laziest person in the land, wasn’t installed because of a microchip shortage. I didn’t learn about it until it was too late. The car is mine. So bummed (which reveals far too much about me).
I actually have to use my arm to close my trunk—total bullsh*t.
While seeking the sunny side of this terrible inconvenience, I conjured up an image of my arms strengthening slowly over time with each pull. So long as I switched, closing my drunk one day with my left arm and one day with my right, I’d gain muscle over time (at least I wouldn’t lose it). I thought, this isn’t so bad, and maybe, just maybe, it’s a blessing.
Rarely do we consider that conveniences accumulate. Our lives get easier and easier, and we lose itty bitty muscle mass in areas we once had an abundance of. One less muscle used is one less muscle strengthened. So, I’m stoked. My arms will gain micro-muscle for three years, 30,000 miles. Ah, the sunny side ☀️ (though I quite love the rain, as you know).
It turns out, my neck muscles will also strengthen. There was a blind-spot monitor microchip shortage, so I actually have to turn my head to change lanes. Jesus, what’s next?
Sometimes I feel like my magnet of opportunity is stuck to the fridge, finally. Not sure what that means but I thought it at 5:30am while reading your weekly letter.
I also feel compelled to ask if you did anything with your yogurt numbers? (Wait, was that yogurt? It’s to early to really care, but I suddenly want to play the lottery)
Have a fabulous week!
Your and my choice on kids match exactly. Thanks for sharing about your car. I have a VW golf and it will soonish be Adi’s. And then my husband wants me to drive our enormous 7 seater SUV so he can get the sporty car he has long wanted. But I want to drive another Golf always..