Little existential crisis

You asked, I answered

I was a little unsure what would happen when I asked paying subscribers if they had any questions to ask me. But I should’ve known you would all come forth with thoughtful, interesting questions. I’m sharing the result of this AMA below with the full subscriber list, and I want to say thank you to paying subscribers who give me the luxury of time to write about all of this. If you feel inclined to join them, you can upgrade to a paying subscription here. 

I’m keen to keep engaging with readers to hear what topics you want me to write about. I am too tired and lazy to use Substack’s subscriber chat option with any discipline, so please do send me an email or put your ideas in the comments. You can always hit reply or email me rosiespinks[at]gmail[dot]com. I always read them and reply to most of them.  

Now onto the questions (and answers). 

Where did you move to? 

Many of you asked this, so apologies for unintentionally being cagey in my last edition. We moved to Leeds, in Yorkshire (in the north of England) where my husband is originally from. Leeds is a small-ish city and we live in one of its village-y suburbs. One of our criteria was having plenty of things that are walkable from our front door — cafes, parks, pubs, supermarket, my son’s childcare — but also access to bigger city stuff — gigs, nicer restaurants, my beloved John Lewis, places that are actually open on Sundays — within 20 minutes if we get in a car/on a bus. Yorkshire is also one of the most naturally beautiful parts of the UK, if not the sunniest. 

By US standards, Leeds is not actually that far from London, just over two hours by train. But in the UK, the North is psychologically and culturally very far from the South. So far, that distance has been palpable in terms of people's attitudes. My brother in law told me that the default in the South is for people not to say hello, the default in the North is to always say hello. Noticeably true!

One thing I’d love to hear on top of [your article about moving] — is there anything that you feel you are doing differently this time to learn from your previous experience and get a more sustaining benefit this time? (Chris)

Thank you for asking this excellent question! In The Friendship Problem I wrote about that feeling of friction in social interactions — that moment when someone says hello, tries to have a chat, asks you for a favor, calls you out of the blue, or asks to drop by unplanned. 

Like many of us, it’s become my default in recent years to turn away from those moments, thanks to all the macro and micro reasons outlined in that piece. So since we’ve moved, I’ve tried to really notice my own resistance. Instead of griping about other people’s behavior (so easy!), notice my own: Why am I shying away from moments to connect, even tiny ones? How is that “social atrophy” showing up in my actions? And how can I overcome my discomfort in those moments and turn towards the friction? It’s rebuilding that muscle.

I’m also doing all the practical things you’ve probably heard before: going to toddler groups, workout classes, frequenting local businesses, talking to my neighbors. I mustered the energy to join a friend-making app this week. But I’m doing it with an attitude of deferred results and lower expectations.

Someone I spoke to after that essay came out told me that they found their network/village after two or three years of actively trying to build it. It took a sustained effort over time, they said, but it was worth it. That was helpful for me to hear. Like anything else worth having, it doesn’t just happen.

What kinds of things amaze you. (-Eileen)

A few that come to mind: When the seeds I plant germinate as soon as I stop checking on them every day. When my kid says a new word. Also, the divine greediness with which he eats a croissant. The dedication with which my cat does whatever she wants, all day long. When the light hits the blossom trees. The patience my partner has for our son. How going for a stupid walk or doing ten minutes of yoga always makes me feel better, no matter how much I resist it. The fact that people pay me money these days to write whatever I want! 

I love your writing because I love your voice - how you've honed the way you bring your thoughts out into the open air through words. It's obviously a craft and a skill. So I'm curious to know which writers out there — short or long form — you read and admire, attempt to emulate, or just read to get into the mind-set of writing well. (-Philippa)

First of all, thank you! I never try to emulate anyone else’s writing, because I think you can always tell when someone is doing that. I’ve said before that before good writing comes good thinking, and the writers I love most these days are people whose thinking feels really distinct and needed in the world. More than writing words, they are filling imaginative gaps in the public conversation.

Some that come to mind: I love how

Sarah Wilson

thinks at expansive, systemic level about the world’s problems, and how

Heather Havrilesky

makes the personal painfully, vividly universal. I love how Rebecca Solnit writes with such deep compassion but also demonstrates an intimidating command of her subject matter. I never tire of

Katherine May

’s eye for the kinds of details that make life feel, well, alive. Ezra Klein’s byline appears frequently in this newsletter because he has the kind of good-faith, measured voice that makes the internet a better place to be a reader. I love Helen Lewis’ writing for The Atlantic because it’s so characteristically British: sardonic, funny, cutting, and usually very sensible.

Telling stories is the thing I am most interested in. But I also know that journalism demands a great deal of a person, as you’ve written about. I was wondering if you would have any advice for me as someone hoping to start out in this kind of career. (Anon)

With the state of journalism as it is now, I’m going to be honest: I think it’s quite hard to make a proper living as a journalist right now. (Don’t just take my word for it: see here, here, and here.) There just aren’t enough jobs, and freelancing just hasn’t been financially viable without outside/alternative income streams for some time now. That’s not to say it’s impossible. I do think there are people who really have the appetite to make journalism their vocation, their calling, their identity — way more than a job. I used to be like that, but things changed for me. 

My experience of journalism’s business model was that it doesn't really allow for the kind of slow, metabolized thinking you mentioned in your longer question — unless you are in the very plum positions. That’s why it’s important to define why journalism is the particular path you want to take to telling stories, because there’s no guarantee you’ll ever reach that nirvana of being paid a liveable wage to write five carefully-reported 10,000 word pieces a year. 

Don’t be all or nothing about it. It’s not “I’m a full time journalist and storyteller" or “I have to get a real, boring job and never share stories with the world.” There are a million ways to build your skills and meld the two. 

I’ve spent a decade and a half trying many different formulas for combining my passion with how I pay my bills. I think it’s best to think of your career like a pie chart. A big portion of it is going to be paying your bills, possibly in a boring, un-interesting way. But even if one small slice of your pie is work that lights you up and feeds your creativity and curiosity, you’re doing well. Substack is currently that slice for me, and it’s up to you to create and define yours. Maybe over time, it will get bigger, you will make some more money from it, or it will become your whole pie. Maybe not.

No matter what happens, you will have done something that makes your life richer and more interesting and connected along the way. I promise you that is a worthy pursuit, no matter the size of the resulting slice. 

What about your life now would most surprise your 20 year old self? (Frankie)

I love this question. When I graduated high school, my senior quote in the yearbook was this: “Flawed brilliance is better than perfect mediocrity.” How delightfully pretentious! I definitely embarked on my 20s with that mindset. I was all go, determined to prove to the world that I was not like everyone else. I think my 20 year-old self would be very surprised that ambitious path would only last a decade before it flamed out.

These days, I’m interested and even a little bit envious of people who have lived in one location their entire lives, and who have amassed a deep, embodied knowledge of that place. Relatively quiet lives of contentment and ease seem super cool and aspirational to me these days. Twenty year old me would roll her eyes. 

My question is for your choice of the word ‘kid’ for your son, your child, and blessed heir to the throne. (Diane)

To be honest, I haven’t given this much thought until I read your question! I suppose I think “son” or “child” sounds too formal sometimes, and he’s no longer a baby, so that doesn’t sound right either. To my ear, “kid” sounds like a term of endearment, and there is no deeper political or linguistic reason for using it other than that. I will probably start over-thinking this now, though.  

Any thoughts on those of us in our early 30's who are wondering what and where life is going. Not sure on career or where to live ... little existential crisis. (Jamie)

Your question is the raison d’etre of this newsletter! I am obviously still figuring this out, but here’s a list of the top themes I’ve noticed from writing this newsletter alongside navigating my own little crises (plural). 

-While you’re mired in your ongoing existential crisis, don’t miss the small things. They are in fact the big things. My son’s curiosity about the world has a way of jolting me out of these valleys of overthinking, and it’s one of the best things about having a kid. 

-Lean into complexity. Be skeptical of anyone who tells you that there are right, just people and wrong, evil ones. Life just doesn’t work that way, unfortunately. Look for nuance, always. The real work is finding compassion for people you disagree with.

-Don’t link your job to your identity or self worth. Sometimes you just gotta perform capitalism so you can find meaning elsewhere, you know what I mean? In order to do that successfully, you have to learn to build strong, energetic boundaries with work. 

-Embrace your human limitations. If something persistently feels too much, you’re constantly trying to outrun yourself, you're battling against your energy levels every day, you have an illness you can’t kick, don’t assume something is wrong with you. Assume something is wrong with the conditions you find yourself in. Your body’s so-called limitations are like little clues leading you to a better place. I’ve learned that finding ways to accommodate them, rather than steamrolling or ignoring them, makes my life much better. 

-When it comes to making big decisions about what to do with your life, here’s the practical advice I always return to: When you think about doing something — a career move, a relationship, an opportunity — does it make your body want to contract or expand? You really have to feel into your body’s immediate reaction here, and override your head’s opinions. Often, the option that makes you feel a physical sense of ease and expansion will be unexpected and not the sensible or obvious choice. In my experience, that is further evidence that you should take that path.

Thanks for reading. If you enjoy this newsletter, it helps a surprising amount if you forward it to a friend or two, or leave a like or comment below. If you’d like to support me further, you can update your subscription to paid here. All content is free for all subs, but paying subscribers allow me the time and space (aka childcare!) to explore these themes. It means a lot.