"I died and went to work"

Welcome to the inaugural issue of the Mostly Invisible newsletter. This is a monthly email to share some timely thoughts and what I've worked on in the last month. I do hope that you enjoy it.

It’s not spring yet in Virginia. Freezing temperatures remain. Piles of leftover snow from late January’s storm linger in the perpetually shady spots.

In a baseball sense, however, spring is here! In Florida and Arizona, players are taking batting practice in shirt sleeves. Eager beat reporters file daily reports about prospects, injuries, and contract disputes. My inbox and podcast app are overflowing with previews, predictions, and hot takes. Opening Day is less than four weeks away.

This is usually one of the most exciting times of the year. Opening Day is a holiday for me - no work, no appointments, only baseball. By then, I’ll have committed the lineup of every team to memory, prospects included. This is who I am.

Except this year, it isn’t.

There were hints of this last spring, but I brushed them aside. An exciting World Series rekindled my enthusiasm just enough to get through the winter. This year, the numbness returned - and this time I couldn’t ignore it.

I’m not entirely sure what changed, only that something did. Baseball was never fandom for me - it was identity. The analytics, the history, the long grind of a 162-game season filled something deep. I don’t understand what that need was, but baseball met it.

I’m in a different place now. A decade of personal growth has brought me other identities, other priorities, new things I want to do and make. I don’t think I need baseball to be part of who I am anymore - and I’ve made peace with that. I want to be baseball-adjacent: games on the radio, the playoffs, a glance at the standings now and then. A supporting role, not the central one.

Baseball brought me here. That’s enough. It’s time for a new season.

Here is a numerical breakdown of all the things I wrote this month, in order of what I believe to be their quality.

1. Choosing Zero, Mostly Invisible. Temperature scales aren't discovered - they're designed. The choice between Fahrenheit and Celsius reveals how technical standards embed human values.

2. Assumed Audiences, Mostly Invisible. A bluegrass front-man's signature line taught me something about writing for the internet: tell your readers who you're writing for, then write for them.

3. Waginston, Mostly Invisible. My relationship with George Washington began with a bridge, not patriotism. Here are a few stories about the man that make me laugh out loud.

4. A Small Bet, Mostly Invisible, After years of writing privately, I'm making a small bet on sharing publicly - claiming a corner of the web as an act of connection and creative rebellion.

The eastern face of the Sierra Nevada, taken along US 395 near Lee Vining, California, on January 4, 2024.

Best,

BK