So this is definitely the most difficult song I’ve ever shared. Like, I know I write sad songs, but this one just makes me feel naked and nervous. It’s not exactly how I want it to be, but it’s good enough for now.
When visiting South Carolina last year my grandmother casually said how she preferred “yesterday’s tea” because when you let it steep longer it has more flavor. Ever since I heard her say that I know it had to be a song. It took me over a year to figure out how to turn it into one. I’m not even sure if I’m happy with what I came up with relative to my expectations but it’ll do for now.
I only have two weeks to find an apartment. But if I move into an apartment I commit to a lease, most likely. And rent is becoming increasingly more expensive.
A friend offered to let me go to Buenos Aires for an extended period of time with her this winter starting in November. I’m scared of giving up my life in NYC with that big of a commitment depending on how long I decide to go, if I go at all. I’m so afraid of flying somewhere that far in general.
This is compounded with the apartment problem. Do I look for an apartment and come back after the trip or do I sublet until November, leave, and come back without an apartment and look then? I’m also worried about giving up the best cafe job I’ve ever had. I love how much money I am making and I love being there.
I’m also afraid of how much more I can sustain what I am doing professionally here. I feel sapped of energy, interest and ideas. But I felt this guilt and this shame and this weight from not being able to perform my job properly or forever. And from not being able to appreciate it. Everyone tells me how incredible my job is and how lucky I am but I just constantly overwhelms me as if I am taking in too much all at once all of the time. So it makes me feel worse that I can’t live up to other people’s idea of what my job is.
I’m scared to leave New York because I know so many incredible people here and I don’t want to give it up. I’m scared of feeling like a loser who couldn’t tame the city. I think about girls who have broken my heart who are successful here and it grinds down my confidence as if I am not good enough for them, as if they saw it and I have to admit my defeat in the face of their rejection.
I want to leave but I don’t want to leave at the same time. I just don’t want to feel this anxiety anymore and I don’t want to feel pulled in a million directions anymore. And I just wish I could find someone to share my time with who didn’t care that I felt this way who didn’t care that I was scared who didn’t care if I wasn’t more successful. Who just saw something good in me and let me be that person for once in my life. Who told me it was okay to runaway who told me it was okay to be weak or sensitive and that there was nothing wrong with being that person everyone expects you to be. Because I feel so often that’s not so much that I hate who I am more than it is that I hate what I have to do to survive.
Some of the men at this party are more eccentric than those we received as matches. A programmer who donated “several hundred dollars” to the Crowdtilt likens the donation to “giving $2 to a homeless person.” In an affectless voice, he analyzes the relative Asian-ness of each of my facial features, then explains his frustration with online dating: “I prefer to use reality as my platform. There’s zero latency, no lag. Do you know what lag is? When you do something online, you don’t get a response right away. Meeting women in reality — boom! — fully responsive.” As he says this, he begins to touch me. I flee. Soon thereafter, Emma Tessler points out a different man she believes to be “obsessed with” me. She offers to run interference, and I do not see him again.
I meet an angel investor who admits he gave to the Crowdtilt to butter up CEO Lauren Kay so she’d accept his money. “With these Y Combinator companies, sometimes so many people want to invest that they end up turning down money,” he explained. He’d given money to the Dating Ring to secure the chance to give even more money to the Dating Ring. He wouldn’t tell me how much he invested, but did mention a desire to buy an airplane.
“Artist Daniel Temkin has been creating and discussing glitch art for over seven years. In that time, he’s exhibited in solo and group shows, and had his work featured in Rhizome and Fast Company, amongst other publications. For Temkin, glitch art is about the disruption of algorithms, though algorithmic art is a bit of a misnomer. He prefers “algo-glitch demented” in describing the methods, aesthetics, and philosophy of glitch.”—There’s Not Much ‘Glitch’ In Glitch Art | Motherboard (via notational)
The entire idea of rereading implies just such a likeable and progressive assumption about life, one that’s meant to keep us interested in living it: namely, that as you get further along, you find out more valuable stuff; familiarity doesn’t always give way to dreary staleness, but often in fact to celestial understandings; that life and literature both are layered affairs you can work down through.
Rereading a treasured and well-used book is a very different enterprise from reading a book the first time. It’s not that you don’t enter the same river twice. You actually do. It’s just not the same you who does the entering. By the time you get to the second go-round, you probably know—and know more about—what you don’t know, and are possibly more comfortable with that, at least in theory. And you come to a book the second or third time with a different hunger, a more settled sense about how far off the previously-mentioned great horizon really is for you, and what you do and don’t have time for, and what you might reasonably hope to gain from a later look.
Gradually, the creatives dressed like creatives are replaced by the rich people dressed as creatives, who express themselves by going to the right bars. The art form is pure, but it bears such a close resemblance to normal life that it’s sometimes difficult to tell someone who goes to the right…
Have this conversation constantly. It really is impossible to tell.