I'm still trying to figure out the right feel for this newsletter (I refuse to say vibe). The approach I've taken thus far has been akin to keeping a public journal because that's the style of writing I'm most familiar with. And besides: I don't do a lot during the week that needs to be recapped. I work, see my kid, and keep to myself. There...you're caught up.

I don't really have a full schedule, which is by design. I get burned out pretty easily interacting with people and crowds, so I set aside as much downtime as possible. It's absolutely a point of privilege, I realize. I've been lousy about setting boundaries my whole life; so it's critical that I start to advocate for myself and take advantage of the free time that I do have.

This weekend, for example, I finished all of my errands by 10:30 Saturday morning. And aside from writing this and doing some things around the apartment, that's all I had planned. I was free to revel in my solitude until Monday morning.

For a long time, I couldn't decide if I wanted to be a recluse or a person who surrounded himself with close friends and family. I've done both. I'm from a family of 5. I've had roommates. I've cohabitated with partners and spouses. And every time I've done so, it burned me out.

I never caught on. I never picked up on the pattern because I thought this is what I had to do. Living alone is selfish, right? You're cutting yourself off from community and human interaction.

It took the pandemic to make me realize that I'm just not built for living with others. While we were all quarantined, I told my partner at the time that if we were gonna be cooped up for long periods of time, why not do it together? So we bought a house and blended our families. As time went on, I started to reckon more with my mental health and wondered if being surrounded by people all day wasn't actually detrimental.

Fast forward a year or so, and I decided to go to a hermitage for a few days. It was just me in a two-room cabin with nothing but books and a pen and paper. My meals were left at my doorstep every day so I did not have to interact with anyone. I was surrounded by woods, which made for lovely walks. I didn't say a word to anyone. It affirmed what I felt deep down, which was that my current living situation was untenable.

A few months later, I moved out and got an apartment in my old neighborhood, where I am to this day.

Aside from reckoning with hurting others in the process, I thought more about what it meant to be solitary and less about loneliness.

None of this should be interpreted as never wanting to socialize or date or live with someone again. I still get lonely and miss people. And I wish to spend time with others. It's saying that I've gotten more comfortable in my skin and - dare I say - more confident?

[insert hopeful tone here]

m u s i c b r e a k

CAN - Vitamin C (1972)

The world lost the great Damo Suzuki this week. He had a brief but highly influential stint as the singer for Krautrock legends CAN, before becoming a Jehovah's Witness and swearing off music all-together for a time. This isn't their best song, or even Suzuki's best singing. But it's certainly them at their most captivating.

And if you've got an hour to kill, I highly recommend this BBC documentary called Krautrock - The Rebirth of Germany. It's a great look at the scene itself in the 1960s and 70s, highlighting bands like CAN, Tangerine Dream, Kraftwerk, and NEU!.

Take care,

-AG