Tell me something.
Or everything. I can’t tell you exactly what this space is yet, but you're here & I’m here so let's create something.
You know those late-night rambling overtired conversations that set the world right? Let’s have one of those here, today, now. It doesn’t matter what time it is. Put some words in this box & I’ll write something back in an open letter form.
I’m looking for the I-stayed-up-all-night-thinking-about-this kind of stories, fears, lost & found loves, magic-in-progress, hopes that seem impossible or scarily possible, drafts, unsent text messages & anything in the notepad of your phone that you woke up in the middle of the night to write. You know all those feelings you have that don’t seem to fit anywhere? THIS IS THE PLACE. You have arrived & the timing is perfect. Let’s make something.
*Fake names are welcome.
Who are you to give advice?
So much of my life has been defined by existential fears of a dark infinite nothingness. This uncomfortable void is a part of my every day experience. It’s in everything I do. It turns out my work is to keeping finding new ways into the dark, creating art to make it okay, and then to live in a way that is so much more than just okay.
I’ve learnt when you start with I HAVE NO FUCKING IDEA WHY ANYTHING IS ANYTHING there is a lot of empty space to work with. I’m actually quite anti-advice. I believe the only answers we ever get are the ones we create for ourselves, drawn from insight and perspective and a commitment to our seeking.
We ask for advice not because we need an answer from the outside but because we need help to see the path from where we are to what we are becoming. That’s the best metaphor I can come up with. When we seek advice we’re really looking for someone to say, it’s okay to feel what you feel, and here’s a safe space for you to feel your feelings.
I mean, how the hell should I know what you should do? (Besides the obvious: make a cup of tea, write a list, find ways to forgive yourself…) I have no idea what I’m doing either. My biggest struggle is coping with the fact I exist and I feel endlessly guilty about it.
I’m not going to use this space to spit out my glowing resume of life experience consisting mostly of messy relationships and one-way tickets. I vow to never be the kind of person who says, “trust me, I’ve been there.” What I’ve realized is everything I’ve done and everywhere I’ve been has added up to this. When someone asks me a question like, “who are you to [insert anything]?” I don’t feel like I have to justify myself or come up with a pleasing answer. I’m just over here trying to create a meaningful way to be in the world, something to do my hours in this always-almost-ending lifetime.
So, write to me, I don’t really know what I’m doing here either – something between Teen Open Diary (remember that? or was that just me?) & an anti-advice column. Tell me something that drives you wild or keeps you awake or inspires you. We can keep this light too. I’m not going to give you any actual advice anyway. I will first try to read the energy of your words and after that I’m going to do what I do best, dissect and rip apart everything you write to me, read too much into every sentence and overthink every detail. Then, I will take on your stuff, try to imagine the situation from every angle, before I filter it all through my own thoughts, feeling and experiences. After that, I’m going to get jacked on coffee and vomit up quite a vague yet super wordy essay based on my own perspectives and insights. I will most likely talk too much about myself and at some point ramble on about the endlessness of existence. The hope is that somewhere, in all the messiness, we will find a piece of the path that has been there all along.
P.S. A part of me is always screaming: THERE ARE NO ANSWERS. Another part of my just knows: EVERYTHING IS AN ANSWER.