Welcome to Issue 112.
As I write, I have a vague idea of where I’m going and a healthy dose of let’s see what comes out. This is typical. The good is, you get me as honestly as I get myself. The bad is the results are sometimes messy. Articulating oneself is no easy feat.
I want to share last week’s poll results, where I asked for your feelings about my friendship with John. I learned most of you are interested and feel my cadence of sharing is balanced. Thank you for your feedback.
One reader, after choosing, “Stop, he’s a murderer,” wrote me a kind message explaining her choice (thank you, Alexandra). She brought up safety, for good reason, though ironically, it only crossed my mind once—when I wrote my return address on the first letter.
I’ve never feared the repercussions of meeting another human on the level of being human. Which is to say, I have an overwhelming trust in humans (borderline disastrously naive, my friend Michael says).
We’re all good. Some of us were not treated well.
I'm fortunate, I’ve lived without big trauma—fortunate indeed. I’ve experienced divorce, tenuous attachment, and distracted parents from day one. I have dozens of little ts that waddle behind me as a result. Trauma, big or small, and its resulting strategies shapeshift until the source is unrecognizable, and the person you could be takes a detour (hopefully, temporarily).
Because I’ve not experienced big trauma and betrayal wasn’t part of my early life, my trust bone is pretty strong. Of course, there’s a caveat; there always is. In the past, I haven’t thought men would stick around (until Stephen), so clearly, my concept can’t be put into a neat box with a bow.
Stick with me, though. Let’s meander a bit longer.
I have a history of putting hot pokers into the asses of people I love. If you've had the pleasure of such an experience, you know exactly what I’m talking about when I say my feedback can be straightforward, downright uncomfortable, borderline never speak to me again.
I mean, it’s not that bad, but.
Grandious as it sounds, I share my perspective to relieve suffering and populate the world with more emotionally intelligent humans. But, who am I, without a psychology degree or your permission to open-fire my point of view onto you to do such a thing? I’m a human, trained in the school of life, who majors in people and minors in communication.
I learn about people in every moment—squirrel away data and aggregate it—never harmfully, always intuitively. I want to alleviate generational trauma and foster even healthier, more communicative humans. I can’t not share my point of view when I believe it will do such a thing.
My mom gave everyone who came after her the gift of cleaning up her family (and there was plenty) so as not to pass it on. It’s her legacy. I summed it up in an IG post announcing her death in April 2021. Thank you, Mama. ❤️
Serving Advice
I’ve heI'veit said countless times: Giving advice doesn’t help people—they must arrive at the solution themselves. And they may.
But if I can get there faster or help someone else—with short-term pain to stop generations of emotional pain, I’ll take it every time. I want growth. I want to get to the heart quickly because that’s where it’s at. I call it emotional productively, and I assume everyone wants it. Assume.
Most will not address the elephant in the room—the only way to remove it. Most people let uncomfortable crap fester, multiply, and shapeshift before they risk being uncouth (even when love is the goal).
You might think I only dish feedback, but I can also take it (I think :) If it’s service of my growth, hit reply and dish it—the good, the bad, and the ugly. I want to hear if you have something you think will help me grow, regarding this newsletter or otherwise.
Thank you in advance. Let’s see where this goes.
Bringing us full circle, last week’s poll about John triggered Alexandra’s comment about safety, which sparked this essay on humans—a topic I love very much. Thank you, Alex.
Before I end this segment, I must say I’m a bI'mle of limitations—a fumbler of things, a bumbler of thangs. I’m notI'ml-knowing, but I am all-loving.
I like what this guy says (if only I had an accent and 1.1 million followers).
Petty Presents
Emma lost her best friend, Tuffy, at her dad's by a coyote, car, or whatever else happens to cats when they go missing. She's devastated.
Whether by accident or algorithm, I landed on West and Willow and ordered her a portrait of her lost love. I cannot wait to see her face.
It’s noIt'sseum quality, and copious artists would create more authentic presentations. Still, for my ten-year-old daughter and my budget think this service hit a home run.
PS: Don’t tell Emma. It’s a secret.
Waterfall of Consciousness
Do you desire alchemy and six days in Costa Rica? Does your bank account overfloweth, but your consciousness is clogged? May I suggest a life-altering adventure? Nick, Clare, and Nadia are some of the world's best folks, and they put on one hell of a retreat.
If you're able, I cannot recommend this experience enough. Also, if you’re able, take me with you. At the very least, join their mailing list and stay abreast of upcoming events (and tell them Simone sent you).
I’ll let their words do the selling. I’m just the messenger.
Make Good, Not Bad
You must visit Heath’s Make Good Market this weekend if you're local.
They transform their 15,000 sqft tile factory into a market of makers with excellent goods.
Shoes from Sabah, jewelry from Julia Turner, wreaths from La Fleuriste, textiles from Blockshop, demos, crafts, food trucks, and all the Heath Ceramics you could hope for (to name just a few).
By visiting the Make Good Market, you support local manufacturing, independent craft, and environmentally responsible shopping—and the SF Food Bank.
The cheer is real. See you there! 🎉
Heath San Francisco
Saturday, 10am–5pm; Sunday, 10am–4pm.
2900 18th Street, SF