Hey, it’s me, Sarah. And this is Note to Self, a newsletter where I unpack whatever’s been in my notes app, tweet drafts, or group chat lately. Today, it’s ✨ the universe ✨.
One of my girlfriends told me that sometimes, when she’s writing about something in her life, she has to walk away before she can finish it because she’s still figuring out what she’s learning. It has taken me many adult years to learn this particular lesson — that is, to let something rest. In writing and in life, I often find myself attached to unrealized potential. I think, “But if I could just make this work, it could be really good!” And I think this over and over again, as I prod and push and copy and paste and cut and copy and paste and command z and delete, ad infinitum. The truth is, sometimes it does work but more in writing than in life. Most often, I end up with a painfully strangled idea, relationship, or outfit. “You tried too hard and you fucked it,” I announce to my oddly dressed reflection.
I keep all of my drafts for this newsletter in one document. At the time of writing, it’s 68 pages long. Most of those pages are half-concepts: a few stumbling paragraphs about any given topic, rants I needed to exorcise but will never share, tender memories I’ll probably share when I’m feeling braver. Sometimes, a thought will sit withering for months in that document, but as I’m working on something new, I’ll return to an old paragraph and give it a proper home.
Not that any of you asked, but I’m proud to report all of this. In the past, so much of my relationship with writing has been shaped by a secret, pernicious fear that every time I feel good about what I’ve written, it will be the last time. It’s this very belief that has led me to fixate on an idea, shutting out the possibility of all others, until I’m left with nothing. Or at least, nothing good. When I started this newsletter a few months ago, I could have never imagined that I would have over 60 pages of ideas in various states of development, simply vibing in a google document. Nor could I have imagined that I would remain unbothered about what, if anything, those pages might become.
In short, I’ve learned that it is not just about “killing your darlings,” it’s also about knowing when to leave them alone and trusting that you’ll find your way back to anything worthwhile.
In the winter, I started writing one such potential thing. I had my friend Sophia over for dinner, and we spent the evening on my couch, reconstructing the narrative arc of our friendship. Technically, we met freshman year of college. I have a vivid memory of Sophia making Jello shots in her dorm room with only an electric kettle, an empty Costco tub of Red Vines licorice, and the pure ingenuity that only college freshmen possess.
Despite this incredible first impression, we didn’t become friends. Instead, we orbited one another for years as little more than minor, recurring characters. That is until, eight years after we met, we found ourselves living in the same city again. I had just moved back to New York from Amsterdam. There had been a pandemic, we had new jobs, and we had freshly broken hearts. After years of missed opportunities, Sophia and I finally stood still long enough to touch, and we have since become regular, plot-altering characters in each other's stories.
Surveying my life, I notice that many of the most important characters are people I danced around for years. People I’d meet in one context, and then again in another, maybe several times over several years. “Oh hey, so good to see you,” I’d repeat to someone who would later change my life. Somehow, I kept finding myself in different rooms, with familiar faces, at increasingly long odds, until we finally clicked into place. By some benevolent force of the universe, I was given as many chances as it took.
I let this observation sit in my long draft document for months, but I kept thinking about it. And because it was on my mind, I couldn’t stop noticing it everywhere in my life. The connectedness of it all, I mean. I kept looking at the people, things, and opportunities around me and tracing them back to a series of seemingly unrelated events and choices, including some of the worst of my life. Consistently, I saw that when one thing was taken out of my hands, another would fall in my lap. A relationship ended but, in its place, 10 new friendships bloomed. I lost a beloved job, but I found a lifestyle change that made me healthier and happier. In fact, all the good things I have in my life now, I have because all the lives I once thought I would have didn’t work out the way I imagined. As with writing, the harder I tried to force the narrative, the more violently I was humbled. By contrast, when I have managed to let things go with grace, I’ve been instantly and eternally better off. And I’ve been surprised, too, by how many things have found their way back to me when I least expected it. The universe, it turns out, is a much better writer than I am.
I understand this is all rather trite and saccharine. I’m reminded of a scene from Sleepless in Seattle, where Meg Ryan’s Annie tells her mother that fate and destiny are just things we invented because we don’t want to admit that everything is accidental. A minute later, as she’s trying on her mother’s wedding dress, it rips and Annie gasps, “It’s a sign!” Her mother answers, “But you don’t believe in signs.”
Lately, uncanny coincidences have become a palpable, and frankly laughable, presence in my life. I can almost feel an invisible hand at the small of my back, nudging me into the right places at the right times.
A few weeks ago, I was sitting on a concrete block in the Brooklyn Navy Yard, watching the neon pink sun sink into the Manhattan skyline. I was feeling restless and anxious so I looked up at the lilac clouds and whispered, “Give me a sign. Something obvious, and I swear I’ll listen.” I walked home and stopped at the wine shop on my street. As soon as I opened the door, I saw it: an old favorite with a beautiful blue label in the back of the store. It’s a chilled red blend from Oregon and it’s called, bluntly, DO NOTHING. “That was fast,” I thought.
Despite my proclivity to meddle, I resolved to listen. I knew, deep down, that it was time to let go of the thoughts swirling in my head, so I tried. Days later though, the restlessness was back. I went to a morning workout class and made dinner plans with a friend. I spent the day running errands, trying not to think too much but, alas, by the time I was walking to dinner, there was a tightness in my stomach and an itch in my fingers. It was the familiar, anxious urge to tinker and prod — to do something.
My friend was sitting at the bar when I walked in. We hugged and I fumbled under the counter for a hook to hang my purse. As I leaned forward, I saw the waiter pouring a glass of wine for the couple seated behind us. I had never seen it in a restaurant before but I instantly recognized the beautiful, blue label. It was a chilled red blend from Oregon called, DO NOTHING.
I mean, what more can I say about that?
This week, I celebrated two years back in New York, making it six years total. Sometimes, I feel like I’m walking around on top of all my old lives: going to bars that used to be other bars, running into old coworkers, and people I used to kiss, and acquaintances to whom I’ll say, “Oh hey, so good to see you.” I like thinking about how all the unforeseen turns of the past brought me to these moments, and wondering where the unforeseeable turns of the future will take me from here. But god, it makes me restless waiting.
It’s easier with writing. I can throw things into a document without needing to know how they’ll turn out just yet, if ever. But that took practice, to be fair. My natural instinct was to force it. So in life, I am practicing. I am trying to find stillness when I feel restless. I am trying to remember that all I can control are the choices directly in front of me. My only choice after that is to let things unfold and have a little faith in the meandering narrative voice of the universe. In short, I am trying to do nothing.
xx,
Sarah
brb going on a search for this bottle to emulate these vibes
Funny how the universe sends you something you need to read at just the right time.... <3