Howdy-do
Hello and Welcome to Modern Trepidation! (That may be the name of this Periodic Newsletter/Journal/Column/Internet Thing, or maybe not, who knows? I’ll tell you who: Time … and its ever-frustrating cousin, Patience.)
Most People call me Sam, but, as you’ll see, I go by many other Names, too.
Example: I am a Writer. Well, I think of myself as a Writer, at least. But, I must confess, I’ve never really Written Publicly (like for You, Kind Reader). So—actually, wait—can I call myself a Writer? And if I’m not a Writer—wait—does that mean… You’re not… a Reader?
Welp, this has gotten off to a rocky start. Sorry, I fudged up. I didn’t mean to insult You, Kind Reader!
Let’s take a step back.
Let’s ask: What does it mean to Write/be a Writer (or: Read/be a Reader)?
If you think about it, this is an incredibly specific version of a broader question: What does it mean to Live/be Alive?
What does it mean to Live? Sheesh, that’s heavy! A bit too deep for the Intro, no?
It’s alright, You can say it: What-the-F, Man?
Somehow it seems we just took a giant leap forward, not a step back. Sorry, what a goose I am. Let’s try one more time.
Let’s ask: What am I doing Here?
The quick answer is: (for Me) Writing; (for You) Reading.
The long answer starts: Holy spit, what are we doing Here? What is our Purpose? What even is a Purpose in the first place? Why did Sam ask this awful, stupid question? Ahhhhhh…
Hoo boy. Yeah, so… let’s forget the long answer for now. Let’s go with the quick answer: I’m Writing; You’re Reading.
Ah, much better.
Wait—so, If I’m Writing, doesn’t that make Me, Writer (and, therefore, You, Reader)?
This is all very confusing! Haven’t we just gone in a circle? Make up your mind already, Sam!
Is this what this measly Periodic Newsletter/Journal/Column/Internet Thing is going to be like? If so, it sounds like… A Lot.
Short answer: Yes. Long answer: No, it’ll meander, get more confusing, but then—hopefully—it’ll all make sense… kinda-maybe.
So what can you expect? For now, you can think of this Periodic Newsletter/Journal/Column/Internet Thing you’re reading as something like Field-Reporting from Inside Sam’s Mind.
Got it? No? Great. Let’s begin anyway; Time is tick, tick… ticking!
Questions of Beginning
For a long time—since Sophomore year of High School, at least—I’ve wanted to be a Writer. I’ve wanted to: Write Book To Help People. But, for a long time, the question has been: help people with what, exactly? Help people how?
Over a decade later, I still don’t have a concrete answer.
It’s not that I haven’t tried to answer the question, I have—I swear! But, sadly, Trying To Answer doesn’t always yield Finding The Answer. Often it yields: Best I Could Think Of.
In High School, Best I Could Think Of was abundantly clear: Help People…some way?
Really, the goal was: Publish Book Before I Die (funny, how early we think about Kicking The Bucket, huh). I was Innocent and Hopeful, so I think I had good intentions beyond, you know, Fame and Ego. But, I was also Young and Immature. So, yeah, the thought was probably well-rooted in Fame and Ego.
In College, Best I Could Think Of shifted: Help People help their Self.
I moved from Country Club, New York to OG Kush, California, began meditating and reading lots of Self-Help Books like Chade-Meng Tan’s Search Inside Yourself and Dr. Richard Carlson’s Don’t Sweat the Small Stuff (And It’s All Small Stuff). I was introduced to the concept most people call Enlightenment and what James Brown calls Mind Power (What it is, is what it is/It is/What it is).
This caused: Opening Of Sam’s Mind.
Opening Of Sam’s Mind caused Sam’s Body Transformation: from Inflated Teenage Meatbag into Kinda Hippie-Looking. This cosmetic change can be attributed to Sam’s Mind realizing: 1) Powdered Protein Shakes are no longer necessary since Sam’s Body is no longer employed as Varsity Quarterback; 2) Vegetables ≠ Slimy-Squishy-Gross. (Great culmination of #2 being, one night in the dining hall, I watched a fellow omnivorous friend consume an entire plate of sautéed mushrooms—and nothing else—and thought, What sicko would purposefully subject himself to an entire Plate-O-Pain? Then, Wait—how disgusting could those weird buttony fungus things actually be—he seems to… enjoy them?).
As for many, College led Me to take important (baby) steps: setting aside Fear to cross the border into the brilliant, beautiful land of Things I Don’t Know Yet. It also made me realize, Huh, maybe other People also feel stuck as Lesser Self and want to grow into Something More. Maybe My Book could help them get there.
But, somewhere along the way, Mind Power introduced me to Voices In Head. You know Voices In Head: Doubt, Worry, Fear, Over-Analyzer, Self-Sabotage, etc. As a result, figuring out how to Write Book To Help People has started to overwhelm me.
Best I Could Think Of has transformed, increasingly, into the much wavering: Help People by Writing Book as Novelist … or Poet … or Playwright … or, uh, actually… Philosopher … or, maybe, Psy-chol-o-gist (is that what they call themselves?) or, Sociologist (?) … but, actually, I’ve spent so much time in Tech so maybe I’m a Technologist … ah, no (stoned)—I’ve got it!—Theologist! (Yikes.) Wait, why do I even think I can help People in the first place? What-the-F do I know?
See what I mean? Finding The Answer is sometimes… Nearly Impossible?
I feel more lost now than when, as Teenage Meatbag, I first conjured up the totally original, kind-of-morbid-yet-somehow-aspirational, entirely abstract goal to Publish Book Before I Die.
Voices In Head have made me certain of one thing: I’m (nearly miserably) Indecisive.
(You’ve probably already picked up on this; I mean, look at how many parentheticals I use!)
Recently, though, I think: Wait a minute—what’s the hang up on Book? Isn’t Book just one example of Write Thing? Aren’t there Other ways I can Write To Help? Can’t I try Write Something For People before I get stuck trying to accomplish extremely daunting task of Write Book To Help People?
Cowardly or Heroic?
Back when I first moved to The City (New York, duh), I was invited—along with Mushroom-Eating Friend—to the storefront opening of a burgeoning local Streetwear Brand. The party was… Somewhere in Brooklyn (those were the days I understood: Brooklyn = Jay-Z + Williamsburg + Other Stuff??).
Everyone was so Cool there. Translation: People expressed themselves in ways that—let’s be self-kind—I did not. There were Fashionable Outfits, Adventurous Hairstyles, Tattoos & Piercings galore. It’s probably the type of scene Average Joe thinks of when Average Joe thinks of Party In Brooklyn.
The party took over all 3 floors of the building, selling merchandise, offering food and booze throughout. The 2nd floor even had Tattoo Artist. If you liked some of the Streetwear Brand’s designs enough, you could buy them as, er… more permanent Accessories.
LOL, no. I wasn’t ready to be that Cool. I bought Cool Hat instead.
But not right away.
First, I tried on Cool Hat, looked in the mirror and put Cool Hat back on the shelf. I performed this charade five or six more times. Each time I concluded, Eh, maybe I’m not even that Cool, either.
Mushroom-Eating Friend bought a simple Logo T-shirt, which was definitely cool, but maybe not Cool. While he waited on the long purchasing line, I picked up Cool Hat one final time, looked myself in the mirror once again, went through the same internal dialogue of Can You Do This? but this time finally concluded, F-it; yes I can.
Mushroom-Eating Friend must have been aware of my apprehension to buying Cool Hat because he asked me one of the questions I was asking myself all those times I looked in the mirror, “What’ll your Dad say when he sees you in that hat?”
It’s a fair question because Cool Hat was very unlike the Me at that time (let’s call him, Small Fish In Big Pond), who was still very much shedding Teenage Meatbag skin. Cool Hat was somewhere between cool(+) and Cool(-), maybe even totally Cool. Each of the suede snapback cap’s five panels were a different color, ranging from Midnight Blue to Violet to Teal; the under-brim a glossy Fire-Truck Red. (Picture one of those Colorful Propeller Hats but without the Whirly Thing on top… and much Cooler). On front of Cool Hat, between Navy and Indigo, is a sketch-portrait of a Frida Kahlo-looking woman. This was, no doubt, different from what Small Fish In Big Pond usually wore on his head: basic Slouch-Fit Dad Cap with Sport Team logo or one of the simple promotional Trucker Hats sold by the Eco-Friendly Clothing Brand I Helped Found in College (That Is Doing Much Better Now, Without My Help). In other words, Small Fish In Big Pond’s style was… (again, let’s be self-kind) Not Super Flashy. In possession of Cool Hat, though, Small Fish In Big Pond felt, maybe, as Holden Caulfield felt after buying his infamous Red Hunting Hat: that it “looked good” but, admittedly, “very corny”.
Anyway, back to Mushroom-Eating Friend’s question: “What’ll your Dad say?”
I took a deep breath in (Dad loves you, regardless), a breath out (Fuck it) and read my friend the quote stitched above the strap on back of Cool Hat. It’s a quote—I later found out, reading Existentialism is a Humanism—lifted from the brilliant-but-massively-flawed Mind of Jean-Paul Sartre:
THE COWARD MAKES HIMSELF COWARDLY
THE HERO MAKES HIMSELF HEROIC
To date, this is one of my favorite ways of saying a very simple, very powerful Truth I Believe: You are what you do.
With that in Mind, let’s momentarily return to that beginning question: What does it mean to Write/be a Writer?
If “The Coward makes himself Cowardly” and “The Hero makes himself Heroic”, we can use the Transitive Property to say: The Writer makes himself Write; The Reader makes herself Read; The Artist makes theirself…Art (?)
Therefore, since I am Writing, I am Writer. Q.E.D.
Sold? Air-tight Proof? No? Fair enough…
Musical Interlude
Over the holidays, Mom and I watched Tick, Tick… BOOM! (Dad watched half then announced, “I’ll finish this Later. Night, love you”; Translation: “You guys enjoy, I’m going to watch Narcos”). I highly recommend the film to anyone who likes Musical Theater, RENT, Andrew Garfield, New York City, or that delicious trope: The Starving Artist.
It was Mom’s second viewing of the Jonathan Larson biopic—this time sitting next to me, an aspiring (maybe?) Artist—and my impression of her takeaway from this viewing was: Jeez, is that what your life’s gonna be like? Translation: Are you sure this is what you want for your life, Honey—to (spoiler alert) be rejected and lose everything, including your young life, for some posthumous success? (Hey, Siri, play “Brutal” by Olivia Rodrigo)
My takeaway was: *Gulp, Tears, Gulp*. Translation: That looks super hard, but, like, maybe, I don’t know… worth it, potentially?
In the weeks since, one scene has been replaying through my mind. Jonathan (Andrew Garfield) is fighting with his best friend, Michael (Robin de Jesús). Jonathan resents Michael for taking Job With Corner-Office at Advertising Agency instead of continuing life as Mediocre Actor on Off-Off-Off-Broadway and has just—very rudely, selfishly—made this resentment clear to Michael.
Michael: [aghast] What are you doing with your life that’s so noble?
Jonathan: [dismissive] I’m making art.
Michael: [deadpan] Oh, that’s what the world needs, more art.
Jonathan: [increasingly hysteric] Actually, yes. And at least I’m not perpetuating a system—
Michael: [boiling] Spare me the self-righteousness, Jon, you’re writing musicals in your living room; you’re not Saving The Rain Forest!
(Action Brackets courtesy of this Writer)
The scene builds into a teary, climactic outburst in which Michael delivers a privilege/reality check, reminding Jonathan, Narcissistic Straight White Man, what it’s like to be Gay Man in Disappointingly-Close-Minded AIDS-Epidemic America.
Weeks later, talking to Mom about it, I had to remind her (even though she’s seen the movie twice) this is the scene where We Can Tell Michael Is Hiding A Secret, not the one where We Find Out What Michael’s Secret Is. Which is to say, this is not the Best scene in Tick, Tick… BOOM!, not the most Important or even my Favorite scene, but it (made me cry and) resonates with me most because it sums up my struggle with that very important question in Art and Other Places In Life:
Why am I doing This? (Also: Why Me? What gives Me the Right? Am I even Qualified? Especially, increasingly, the part of the question that implicitly asks: Do we really need perspective from another Privileged White Guy?)
The scene does this for me by depicting (pretty accurately) my Mind’s inner-dialogue: my optimism and pessimism; idealism and pragmatism. As such, in Sam’s Mind’s production of this scene, we might cast Aspiring Writer as Jonathan and Self-Sabotage as Michael. In the production in Sam’s Mind, Self-Sabotage usually sends Aspiring Writer home feeling like he has been recast as Steaming Dog Poop On Sidewalk.
In a similar way, maybe this scene even describes Mom and my responses to the film, though Mom is not so harsh as Michael or Self-Sabotage. Actually, knowing Mom to be Relentless Cheerleader of Sam, and Me to be Relentless Doubter of Sam, I even think she or I could represent either of the characters (my Michael would turn his question inward and her Jonathan would encourage me, “You’re making art.”)
The question is a good one, a fundamental question: Does the world need more Art?
For years I’ve been asking myself a derivative of this question and, maybe, you’ve asked yourself the same: Does the world really need another Periodic Newsletter/Journal/Column/Internet Thing? Will another Periodic Newsletter/Journal/Column/Internet Thing help to Save The Rain Forest?
The answer is, obviously: of course (not)!
This question is a good representation not only of a fundamental question about Art, but also of other, more existential questions I’ve been asking myself this whole time: Who do you want to be? I mean, really? A Writer? What even is a Writer? Can you do it? What makes you so special? Why? Ok—maybe—but what would you write about? Who the heck would want to read that? I mean… Seriously?
One of the things I’m realizing, and it’s something I’ve been told for years in various So-You-Want-To-Be-A-Writer Books, Articles, Conversations, Podcasts and Films, is: to be a Writer, you must write. It’s the same lesson they teach you in so many of those Be-Your-Best-Self and Find-Your-Passion Things, which is: You are what you do. If you want to do something, do it.
So, let’s return to our question: Does writing this Periodic Newsletter/Journal/Column/Internet Thing make me a Writer?
I don’t know, maybe?
At best, maybe This will quell my fear of exploring and using my Voice—whatever that is; help overthrow my crippling desire of being, not just Writer but, Perfect Writer; push me a step deeper into that land of Things I Don’t Know Yet; entertain and provoke thought in You, Kind Reader. At worst, This will keep me away from mindlessly scrolling the Internet (i.e. offer me Vanity in at least a more actively-creative medium than Consuming Social Media) and bore you back to doing Literally Anything Else.
But, unquestionably, This will be Sam Making Himself Write. And, if we agree with Sartre (and the Transitive Property), then Sam Making Himself Write can be called Writer.
Indeed, all this makes Me more comfortable calling Me, Writer; and You, Reader. (Eventually, maybe You will be called General Public but, let’s face it, for now You are probably better described as: Sam’s Friends & Family, Former Classmates, Colleagues & Lovers, and Once-Upon-A-Time Acquaintances.)
With that out of the way, I want to say: Hello, Reader. Hi! Do you mind Me calling you Kind Reader? Great. How are you, Kind Reader? Happy New Year to you, too! How about that Weather? And what’s up with this whole Omicron Thing, am I right?
Everything, Continuous
Now that Sam’s Mind feels comfortable calling himself Writer, Sam’s Mind would like to more formally introduce one of its tenants: Self-Sabotage (You remember him from moments ago in his role as Michael in Sam’s Mind’s production of Scene From Tick, Tick… BOOM!).
Don’t worry, for once Sam’s Mind has introduced Self-Sabotage for Actual Good Reason.
Self-Sabotage wants to challenge Writer to do what Writer does best: Make Up Stuff.
Self-Sabotage says to Writer: Think of something Original to say, for once! Translation: Make Up Stuff that is more true to you than all this boring old You Are What You Do crap you’re ranting about; Make Up Stuff that can (maybe) Help People.
Writer panics. Something…(gulp)… Original? But what do I have to say? (As You can see, Self-Sabotage is good at his job; a bonafide professional. Self-Sabotage has won J.D. Power & Associates Dependability Award for 7 years in a row.)
Writer tries fighting, mentally-punches Blank Page, which is staring at him, taunting him via Self-Sabotage. Writer says, Go away, Self-Sabotage. But Self-Sabotage doesn’t go away. Writer is like Anakin in Episode III, desperately crawling, burning in flames, yelling “I hate you!”
Then Writer tries something else. Writer stands up, walks over to Cushion and performs action: Cross Legs & Sit. Writer disappears into Sam’s Mind (bye-bye!) and Inconsistent Meditator appears in Writer’s place.
Sam’s Mind says hello to Inconsistent Meditator. Inconsistent Meditator says, Breathe in.
Self-Sabotage, bonafide professional it is, doesn’t go away so easily. Self-Sabotage says, LOL, you really think this will work? Inconsistent Meditator says, Breathe out.
Self-Sabotage is persistent. Come on! What kind of a Fool are you? You don’t really think this will work!
Coolly, Inconsistent Meditator proclaims, There is no ‘think this will work’; there is only ‘doing the work’. Self-Sabotage wants to say, What a load of bologna! But Inconsistent Meditator breathes too much Confidence. Self-Sabotage winces, shrivels away (see-ya!).
By the time Cross Legs & Sit has concluded, Inconsistent Meditator (in ways only Inconsistent Meditator understands) has introduced Writer to Magician.
Magician shows Writer, in palm of Magician’s hand, You Are What You Do. Magician encloses fingers around You Are What You Do and puts closed fist into Magician Hat. Magician pulls out fist, turns over palm and reveals: You Are Everything, Continuous.
Writer, confusedly, writes, You Are Everything, Continuous.
Self-Sabotage (and You, Kind Reader) ask Writer: What does this mean, You Are Everything, Continuous?
Writer looks to Magician, but (POOF!) Magician has vanished (apparently Magician doesn’t know many Tricks). Writer looks at cushion but Inconsistent Meditator has also disappeared.
Writer is alone.
Unsure what to do, Writer picks up Pen. Writer breathes in, closes eyes, and when Writer looks up, reads what’s been written: You are everything you do and everything you do not; and this is always changing, developing, transforming; certainly you are not any one Thing. You are Everything, Continuous. You are all those times you (do not) take out the trash, all the sacrifices you (do not) make; you are (not) that broken bone, broken heart, broken promise; you are (not) all those Books, Movies, Songs, Wishes, Vacations, Conversations, Successes you’ve (not) experienced; you are (not) Mom, Dad, Anyone Else. You are Everything, Continuous.
You are… thinking if you agree with Writer (or not). For the moment, please grant Your approval so Writer doesn’t become Discouraged Writer (certainly You can if Writer is right and You Are Everything, Continuous).
But—wait—(remembering beginning question) if we are all Everything, Continuous, is Writer really Writer?
By Writer’s own definition, it would be absurd calling himself Writer, because to call himself any one Thing is absurd. Sure, he’s Writer! He’s also Novelist, Poet, Playwright, Philosopher, Psychologist (if that’s what they call themselves), Sociologist, Technologist, (stoned) Theologist… even Artist.
It would be more accurate to say: Sam is not just Writer.
Writer is just one of many People inside Sam’s Mind, living in Human-Shaped Bag of Bones called Sam.
Now, stepping away from the confining box that is Writer (for once we can say: Thank you, Self-Sabotage!), Sam can say: I am none of those Things, I am all of them at once. (I am large, I contain multitudes.) I can Be—or Write as—any of those People; all of them. I am Everything, Continuous.
The most beautiful secret is: If I am, so are You, so is Anyone Else!
To be Writer (or Anything Else), all I (You, Anyone) have to do is… just… do… Thing. Do Thing and do it again. And again and again and—with Coach Brooks from Miracle in your ear—again and again; over and over and over again. If you’re lucky, you might get good at Thing; if you’re luckier Thing will make you feel like Jonathan Larson in Tick, Tick… BOOM! “Hey, what a way to spend a day!”
Conclusion (Introduction Pt. 2)
It is my Delight (and Anxiety) sharing with you this first installment of Sam Sends You Things He’s Written, Maybe You Open the Email, Maybe It Goes Straight to Trash, Who Knows…
I hope you got something out of it!
Did we answer all those earlier questions about what This is? No?
Well, let me leave You with one final idea of what we’re doing Here (in Modern Trepidation, at least).
The question, I think, we’ll be investigating most is: What does it mean to be Alive, Here, Now?
Obviously, this will be through my lens, so you can append to that question: “for Me, Indecisive, Self-Sabotaging White Cis-Male of Means, Long-Haired But Clean-Shaven, Inconsistent Meditator, Currently-Unemployed Brooklynite, Sam Jacobson,” amongst all those other Things I called Me earlier (Teenage Meatbag, Poet, et al.) and, no doubt, many other Qualifiers (remember: I am Everything, Continuous; also, see below for more).
However, it is my fundamental belief that all People are more similar than dissimilar and, therefore, I expect these questions/topics to ring true for a much larger—dare I say—Universal Audience.
In some way, maybe this Periodic Newsletter/Journal/Column/Internet Thing is/will be, in itself, Everything, Continuous. (At least, it’d be Cool if it was.)
Woof. Jeez, that was a lot for our first time! Ever heard of Taking Things Slow?
Still, while we just hit on A Lot, you may be asking yourself one last large, looming question (gosh, you’re not just Kind Reader but also Thoughtful Reader!): Why should I read this Thing besides, maybe, you know, knowing you, Sam Jacobson?
I hope we’ll find some answers in the weeks to come.
Once again, Welcome! Thanks for reading (any time you do), for your support and criticism, and/or for sharing with others!
Love,
Jam
TL;DR
This Writer will use this Periodic Newsletter/Journal/Column/Internet Thing to loosely follow the advice of Jonathan Larson’s agent in Tick, Tick… BOOM!: “Try writing about what you know.”
More exhaustive list of Sam Qualifiers:
Conflict Avoidant, Perpetually Late, Frequent Narcissist, Privileged Beneficiary/Perpetuator of Modern Society’s Contrived Systems, Sorta-Wannabe-Vegetarian, Attached to Things, Romantic Idealist, Hydration Obsessive-Negligent Mostly-Good Friend, Digital Real Estate Owner, Child of Nature, Intermittent Faster, Impatient Misophone, A Few Episodes Behind on Insecure and The Sopranos, Patent-Pending Inventor, Child Rodeo Champion, Vinyl & Book Collector-Hoarder, Unreasonably Over-Confident Chef, Cheap, Conformist Big Brother, Contrarian Little Brother, Below-Average at Basketball Brother-in-Law, Not On Tik Tok, Former Startup Exec & Fortune 500 Cog, Sensitive Apologist, Unreasonably Argumentative Stickler for Truth, Absentminded, Guilty Culprit of A Lot (… The First of His Name).
References + More
The person who taught me to go "Too Deep For the Intro": J. Cole
Buddha-Wisdom from Domestic Abuser/Godfather Of Soul, James Brown: “Mind Power”
Self-Help books from College:
Search Inside Yourself by Chade-Meng Tan
Don’t Sweat the Small Stuff by Dr. Richard Carlson
Streetwear Brand Where I Bought Cool Hat: Kid Super (Cool Hat no longer for sale, sorry-not-sorry)
Google Image search for `hat with whirly`
Eco-Friendly Clothing Brand I Helped Found in College (That Is Doing Much Better Now, Without My Help): Fair Harbor Clothing
Holden Caulfield’s infamous Red Hunting Hat first appears on page 24 of Catcher in the Rye by J.D. Salinger
Quote on Cool Hat comes from Jean-Paul Sartre’s Existentialism Is A Humanism
Q.E.D. = Quod Erat Demonstrandum = Latin for modern-day Mic-Drop
Favorite So-You-Want-To-Be-A-Writer Books (so far):
Writing Down the Bones by Natalie Goldberg
The Artist’s Way by Julia Cameron
If You Want to Write by Brenda Ueland
A Swim In A Pond In The Rain by George Saunders
Lin-Manuel Miranda’s film Tick, Tick…BOOM! can be found on Netflix (Jonathan/Michael scene starts around 01:06:20; the call from Jonathan’s editor begins around 01:25:00; the song “Why” begins at 01:30:30)
Anakin, desperately crawling, burning in flames: pen-ultimate scene of Star Wars Episode III
Coach Brooks from Miracle: short version; full dramatic version
I am large, I contain multitudes: Song of Myself (Section 51) by Walt Whitman
Great manifesto on Art: Claes Oldenburg’s “I Am for an Art”
Hopeful Trajectory of this Periodic Newsletter/Journal/Column/Internet Thing: Song by Famous Liverpool Band