composed
In the last week or so I've been seeing the edges of a conversation on Twitter about Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas, and how the lyrics "through the years we all will be together, if the fates allow," should be followed by "until then we'll have to muddle through somehow"-- not "hang a shining star upon the highest bough"-- which was apparently written only because Frank Sinatra didn't find the original version jolly enough.
I have no opinion about this, but I do have a different holiday song lyric which is important to my personal seasonal wistfulness: it is from the decidedly cheery, seemingly innocuous Walking in a Winter Wonderland, which suggests that, in this Wonderland, we can and should "face unafraid the plans that we've made."
Ever December I turn that phrase over and over as I'm trying to make resolutions, or at least plans. When I look at the year I've set up for myself-- not what I hope to accomplish through resolutions, but the likely outcomes if I keep on this path relatively unaltered-- is that something I can face unafraid?
For years the answer was no. It was no because I wasn't medicating my anxiety, and it was no because I needed to quit my job, and then it was no because I didn't believe that I'd be able to keep making freelancing work. It just didn't seem possible.
A few days ago I was at dinner with friends and we were talking about the coming year: what we wanted to leave here, and what we wanted to bring with us into 2019. I said that I wanted to leave that uncertainty and self-doubt behind me: this gnawing sense that my plan isn't really a plan, isn't solid, isn't enough. For a long time the fear I felt in facing my plans had to do with the plans themselves, but now it's about my ability to accomplish them. Which is to say that it's no longer telling me anything useful. Instead, it's just me wearing myself down.
I know what I want; there's nothing to do but to go out and get it. I hope that you're facing 2019 as unafraid as is possible on our burning planet-- and if not, I hope this is the year that you figure out what you need to look to the future and think, "Okay. Let's go."
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One of the things I like about writing as a job is that, from a distance, you can track the directions my mind takes in the course of a year: the way I get interested in something, and then fixated on it. The way I pull a thread and then just keep on pulling.
For instance, I got a pitch about a SoulCycle / Milk Bar cookie collaboration and turned that into an essay about what "healthy desserts" promise us for Healthyish. Then, because I had learned a lot about various brands in the course of writing it, I did a report for Eater about how Halo Top is so successful in freezer cases that they can open brick and mortar shops as, basically, an advertising gambit.
All of last year's Kardashiana (and this year's) set me up to think more broadly about fame, branding and monetization: how Hello Kitty does it by licensing its name to food brands and how reality TV stars do it by putting their names on beauty products and restaurants. I wrote about how MLMs encourage us to monetize our friends groups but actually end up putting cash in the pockets of big organizations who do systemic-level work to keep people poor and struggling, and believing it's their own fault that they are that way.
I have no opinion about this, but I do have a different holiday song lyric which is important to my personal seasonal wistfulness: it is from the decidedly cheery, seemingly innocuous Walking in a Winter Wonderland, which suggests that, in this Wonderland, we can and should "face unafraid the plans that we've made."
Ever December I turn that phrase over and over as I'm trying to make resolutions, or at least plans. When I look at the year I've set up for myself-- not what I hope to accomplish through resolutions, but the likely outcomes if I keep on this path relatively unaltered-- is that something I can face unafraid?
For years the answer was no. It was no because I wasn't medicating my anxiety, and it was no because I needed to quit my job, and then it was no because I didn't believe that I'd be able to keep making freelancing work. It just didn't seem possible.
A few days ago I was at dinner with friends and we were talking about the coming year: what we wanted to leave here, and what we wanted to bring with us into 2019. I said that I wanted to leave that uncertainty and self-doubt behind me: this gnawing sense that my plan isn't really a plan, isn't solid, isn't enough. For a long time the fear I felt in facing my plans had to do with the plans themselves, but now it's about my ability to accomplish them. Which is to say that it's no longer telling me anything useful. Instead, it's just me wearing myself down.
I know what I want; there's nothing to do but to go out and get it. I hope that you're facing 2019 as unafraid as is possible on our burning planet-- and if not, I hope this is the year that you figure out what you need to look to the future and think, "Okay. Let's go."
-
One of the things I like about writing as a job is that, from a distance, you can track the directions my mind takes in the course of a year: the way I get interested in something, and then fixated on it. The way I pull a thread and then just keep on pulling.
For instance, I got a pitch about a SoulCycle / Milk Bar cookie collaboration and turned that into an essay about what "healthy desserts" promise us for Healthyish. Then, because I had learned a lot about various brands in the course of writing it, I did a report for Eater about how Halo Top is so successful in freezer cases that they can open brick and mortar shops as, basically, an advertising gambit.
All of last year's Kardashiana (and this year's) set me up to think more broadly about fame, branding and monetization: how Hello Kitty does it by licensing its name to food brands and how reality TV stars do it by putting their names on beauty products and restaurants. I wrote about how MLMs encourage us to monetize our friends groups but actually end up putting cash in the pockets of big organizations who do systemic-level work to keep people poor and struggling, and believing it's their own fault that they are that way.
For Healthyish, I profiled one actress (Dominique Fishback) and one chef (Claudette Zepeda-Wilkins). For Playboy, three actors: Wes Bentley, Joe Manganiello, and Madeline Brewer. I interviewed Karla Welch about styling Lorde and Justin Bieber.
I did a series of pieces for the LA Times about interesting people working in kitchens: Brandon Gray, now at Ace DTLA's Best Girl, and a butcher named Katie Flannery, and the hard-of-hearing sous chefs at APL. I wrote about chefs teaming up with farmers, like Louis Tikaram and Kong Thao's Szechuan peppercorn collaboration, as well as Roxana Jullapat getting flavor from artisanal flours for her pastries for Modern Farmer.
Probably the biggest, hardest thing I wrote this year was about conspiracy theories about celebrity romances for Buzzfeed. I was genuinely honored to profile Francesca Lia Block for LitHub. I had a lot of fun thinking about the language of "cult" beauty products for Racked (RIP). I wrote about what I learned canvassing for LA Magazine and the people who make boxing gloves for women for Racked. I reviewed a book about science and agriculture for Modern Farmer and recommended checking out the women writers you've been overlooking at The Paris Review Daily. I wrote about writing this Tinyletter and what doing things for free is worth for LitHub.
Happy new year, guys. Thanks for everything in this one.
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