behind the paywall
"why do you publish these thoughts for the world?"
There’s a cafe in my city that is essentially a barista tucked into a garden. The velvet green couches in the back corner are the perfect setting for a 3-hour conversation that passes far too quickly, surrounded by so many plants I cannot name and the wafting smells of fresh croissants and drying flowers.
We were wandering through so many topics, but one of my favourite ponderings from the morning came at the intersection of all our interests: communication, science and writing. I’ve often wondered why we don’t get more communication training as scientists, because one of my strongest grievances with this space is how incomprehensible our body of knowledge is. I am so grateful that my process of learning to write has evolved organically, and that I was never really told to stop writing the exact dialogue that unfolds in my mind because people tend to enjoy it. Unlike my (in)ability to draw, which was definitely ridiculed by my teachers in school, I have never shied away from putting words on a page.
I was thinking out loud about all the different ways we use writing to connect, from the research papers that we mechanistically write (although even this is getting better), to the way we approach research questions to begin with, and then the diversity of content that now exists in the world. I said this very newsletter is an intersection of a journal, a blog, science paper reviews and more recently, movie or TV show recommendations haha. Drawing inspiration from diverse places and people, mediums and content means I am not just a reflection of my own experiences but an amplifier for the many things I come in contact with.
Take these extracts from a poem that I felt deeply by Harry Baker called Wonderful.
you are the most improved you that has ever been.
life is too short to eat celery.
life is too long to feed jealousy.
and life is likely just the right length to need therapy.
may you be seriously silly.
may you be wickedly kind.
may you be brilliantly dumb sometimes,
and yet stupidly bright…
may you be powerfully vulnerable,
or at least mightily soft.
These words, which live in a battered and bruised Field Notes book that fits perfectly in my back pocket when I’m out and about, have echoed through me for over three months now. I found myself sitting in a meeting recently where I wanted to parrot the language that others were using, these really technical terms about a sport I can barely comprehend… before I reminded myself to be brilliantly dumb: to lean into my naivety, to ask the ‘silly question’. There were also moments where being stupidly bright stood out the most: mentioning things that others may have not considered because my mind went off on a tangent.
I’ll come back to the thread of why I publish these newsletters, but I wanted to detour via my notebook. I am the kinda person who loves those “everyday carry” videos on YouTube, fascinated by what people choose to take with them everywhere they go. I usually have multiple pieces of technology available to take notes and yet, I still carry this battered little A5 notebook that I once got for attending a coaching event. It’s simple with a black cover, lined paper (not my favourite) and now, it’s falling apart despite only using 1/6th of it. In a similar way that these newsletters are my thoughts amplified online, this book is decorated in a way that captures my essence: covered in stickers (I mean, tattoos are like, permanent stickers in a way), oh so many song lyrics painted across the covers, and a few swear words in sharpie along the seams.
I always find it hard to delineate what should go where. Do I take notes on my phone? Do I type this out so I can keep up with what is being said, verbatim? Do I write this down as dot points or lines? All in the same pen colour? Do I highlight this, redraw it, quote it with my little calligraphy pen that I don’t know how to use? What happens if I write it down and then don’t bring the book with me, do I need to recreate that in my digital notes too? I am now realising that many of these thoughts have likely never crossed your mind and I am very sorry in advance if this paralysis by analysis becomes something you notice in your own world too. I think the key point here is: none of it matters, so in a way, all of it matters.
When I write things down, when I draw in the margins, when I connect the dots between thoughts or see common themes emerging across pages (and therefore days or months), I am curious again. When I’m bored, I go back through the pages of notes and start sketching in the spaces between, to fill the page in a satisfying way but also to be seriously silly. I am noticing of late that these moments of (re)discovery are kind of the point. At some point, this thing resonated with me. Maybe it will again, maybe it won’t. Both sides of that coin are so interesting. Why/not? A friend of mine describes his papers as his thinking, that pulling it all together in a manuscript is the thinking itself - that the target of wanting to share these thoughts with others is the goal they need to organise their thinking. I love that sentiment, and I think that brings us nicely back to the fourth wall I’m breaking here: why do I publish these newsletters if they’re deeply personal, somewhat reflective and generative at the same time, and quite sporadic?
Resonance.
As you may have guessed from my above description, music means a lot of me. I am always taken aback when I learn that some people don’t hear the lyrics in songs, that they just float along with the music..!? I have a collection of lyrics that live permanently in my mind, and one person that has always captured my whole heart and mind in their work is Jon Bellion.
See, I’ve got GPS on my phone, and I can follow it to get home. If my location’s never unknown, tell me why I still feel lost.
How on earth can lyrics like those just walk past you, I could never. This song came out in 2014, and I still remember every word. I’ve used that quote as a prompt for reflection over the last 8 years as I’ve moved all over Australia, and I’ve witnessed his evolution as an artist and composer ever since. So when I received an email about his upcoming song which included the thought “I’ll never be an artist”… respectfully, my dearest Jon - fuck off. What a world we live in, that someone so brilliant can deeply believe this thought. The context behind the song is incredible, but what captured me the most is that he kept trying to give it to other people, like it wasn’t a part of his soul. Like it could just be covered by the vocal cords of another without consequence.
I think this is maybe why I write, and why I hit publish. I could say it’s my way of thinking through making and doing, but I think it’s also maybe a series of proving to myself that I am an artist in my own way, that the mantle of ‘writer’ can sit squarely on my shoulders. The powerful vulnerability that I channel each time I sit down to craft one of these posts has led to some incredible interactions that would not have manifested without the discomfort and doubt and drive to do it anyway. A friend recently told me that they still think about talking to strangers - which was published 8 months ago. I’ve had people walk up to me at conferences and quote this newsletter. I even had someone who was excited to meet me for the first time after reading these blabbering posts!? My own father (Hi dad!) was so lost in the content that he accidentally renamed the newsletter ‘The Tough Garden’ and you know what, I love it.
So yes Jon Bellion, when you make music like this or even when you don’t, you are an artist - and by extension, I guess that makes me a writer. Again, to quote Harry Baker:
The very fact that you exist makes everything a bit more magic.
Like many others on the Substack platform, I pondered if/how I should monetise this project. I’ve always struggled with this, because I am terrible at valuing my own time. I will spend hours writing and reading and corresponding, and my ability to write has been crafted over more years than I care to admit. So in the spirit of opening my heart and mind, I am removing the paywall from all of my posts. It’s a hard enough time to exist in this world, and I wanted to wholeheartedly thank those of you who choose to spend your hard-earned money on me. In a way, you are one of the reasons I could even write an edition like this one, as your faith in me fuels my drive to keep writing. The option to become a paid subscriber will remain, but please know the idea is that it equates to a virtual cup of coffee, it buys the time for me to sit and think and write without constraints, and it means I can sometimes travel the world and meet some of you. I’m infinitely grateful for you regardless 🙏