One month in: I hope you are enjoying this as much as I am

This site was an enticing concept for so long that I wondered how the reality could match my hopes. Thanks to you, it has been even better.

Note: This was mostly intended to be an update, and then it turned into a post and an update. If you’d like to read the whole thing, as I think through the process of writing and starting this site, that’s great! If you are in a too long/didn’t read mood, just skip to the “short month, big ideas” and “up next” sections below.

To be an artist of any kind, at least in my experience, is to live in near-constant conflict between self-confidence and self-doubt.

It is to believe enough in what you are creating that you think it is worth sharing with the world, only to finish it and wonder if it’s actually any good or worthwhile at all.

That release — when you show your work — is when you are most vulnerable. Until then, you can always keep changing, tweaking and updating. You can be frustrated by the process but gratified by the production.

This is how it felt about a month ago, as I prepared to launch this site. I was excited. I was nervous. I couldn’t wait to hit publish and make it official. I also had an internal voice saying, “There’s still time. Why publish anything at all?”

I think the true tension was an offshoot of the “paradox of potential” that I return to so often.

Though I haven’t set concrete goals or ambitions for this project, I have softer notions: To have a creative writing outlet (yes, aside from what I already have). To create some sort of community around ideas and shared experiences, which includes talking about the process of creating like I am right here.

To do something … great? … that I love? … that means something?

None of that is possible until you actually do the thing, but everything is possible when you haven’t done the thing yet.

All of this is a long, perhaps overly sentimental for something still so new, way of saying: thank you.

To the hundreds of you who have already become subscribers and the thousands of you who have already read the first handful of posts: I am grateful for all of you.

The volume matters some, but what matters far more is feeling like so many of you already grasp on a deeper level what I’m trying to say and what I hope to do here.

One of my favorite emails/comments so far is this: “I’m truly looking forward to following your essays, as I get the feeling you are capturing, and speaking honestly about, things lots of us are going through. And seeing (reading) what others are going through helps.” (Reprinted with permission from the writer).

Even though this site is far from fully formed, a lot of your early feedback has given me great satisfaction and insight about its direction.

Through this, I’ve made new connections and I’ve strengthened old ones.

To that end: I had no intention at the outset of doing a post like this, but it just felt right. My aim now is to do this every month: A pause for gratitude, to look back, to perhaps test out smaller thoughts and to talk about what’s next.

Much of what I’ve written about so far seems to fit into three fairly broad buckets: Being a parent these days; trying to navigate and understand our complicated world; and things I have learned after failing to initially understand the complexities of situations (aka being an idiot and hopefully evolving into less of an idiot).

Those things seem to be my sweet spot.

Life is great. Life is hard. Time moves impossibly slow and amazingly fast. The pace of change necessitates both getting comfortable with being uncomfortable and slowing down so it’s not all just a confusing blur.

Short month, big ideas

February is going to put me in a reflective mood.

The heaviest thing I’m already working on is a piece on my 10 years with multiple sclerosis, an anniversary that arrives in a couple weeks. My hope is that it will ultimately be an uplifting process for me (and you), but it’s not something I’ve really sat down to write or think about in a very long time.

Along those lines, I suppose this is as good a place to mention as any: I made a $100 donation to the National Multiple Sclerosis Society this weekend with the help of contributions from paid subscribers to this site.

Since February is a big one for me, I’m going to keep that spirit going. If there are any new paid subscriptions between now and the end of February, 50% of the proceeds will go toward another donation to the National MS Society.

But please also know this: Having an outlet to share my work, and hopefully continuing to build a community here, are far more important to me than paid subscribers. The words here will always be available for free because there shouldn’t be a barrier to join the community.

Up Next

One of my biggest concerns when I started this site was being able to keep up any sort of regular publishing schedule, so I gathered up and stashed away pieces like a squirrel gathering acorns in order to have them when I needed them.

What I’ve found in the last month is this: Generating new ideas and finding the time to put them onto the page has been a self-sustaining joy. It’s made me happier. It’s given me energy. It’s made my work at the Star Tribune better and helped me rethink how I’m teaching my class at the University of Minnesota.

So in addition to the post about my journey with multiple sclerosis, this is what I’m thinking about this month:

• Collecting my thoughts on the pandemic tend of “quiet quitting” and its underpinnings. (My process is often such that I won’t start something until I’ve thought it through to the point that it’s 80% written in my head when I start writing. I’m not there yet with this one).

• A light-hearted look at my 10 favorite kids movies (loosely defined as things we have let our kids watch) of the last 10 years, as my oldest daughter prepares to turn 10.

• The introduction of a “books that changed my life” series.

• The impact of constant interruptions — the term “context shifts” is now part of my daily lexicon — on our lives and our work.

I would also love to hear from readers. What’s on your mind that might make a great essay? Would you be interested in alternate formats like podcasts or virtual writer workshops on this site (not tomorrow, but eventually)? What books, articles and podcasts are already sticking with you in 2024?

Here’s to the surprises we will find along the way and the sincere hope that you are enjoying this as much as I am.