Check In #1 : Self-Interrogation and Travelling Through Time

Coping through crisis and revisiting the teenage diary

Hello kind readers,

As I’m entering month 3 of being on Substack, I thought it might be nice to start occasional check-ins - some more conversational moments to break up the usual rambling streams of consciousness I come out with.

As much as I love writing those pieces, it sometimes seems a little overfamiliar just mailing digital diary entries directly to someone’s inbox, y’know?

So welcome to the first quarterly check-in, I’m really grateful to have you here.

It also feels pertinent to start now to see how everyone’s holding up at the moment.

Because this is… brutal.

I find myself torn by not wanting to occupy space in a discourse I feel unqualified to offer any meaningful contribution to, and stressed by the thoughtless infographic-sharing that’s become ‘Instagram activism’ - but to continue on as if nothing is happening feels unforgivable.

The inhumanity of the genocide happening before our eyes in Palestine (and resultant anti-semitic vitriol) is horrendous beyond words, and the feeling of utter powerlessness is pervasive.

I’ve seen a lot of posts floating around like; ‘How to stay hopeful in a darkened world’ and ‘How To Stay Grounded - Finding Calm in Dark Times’ which are thoughtful and poignant, and a deep comfort because jesusfuckingchrist what the fuck do we do.

But at the same time something about it has been nagging me deep, which I couldn’t find the words for until a friend sent me ‘The obsession with self-care in a genocide is deeply colonial’.

My mind feels on an endless loop of:

How can we be silent and ‘protect our energy’ without actively tuning out the cries of people begging for help? How can we be so far removed from our own humanity that we are centering the narrative around our courage to disengage from others’ pain? But then what good is gorging on the relentless 24/7 agony around us until we’re choking on the sickness of our own hopelessness? And how can we ever demonstrate effectively against a government so poisoned with greed and depravity?

I don’t have the answer, and I’m not sure this spiralling self-interrogation is even useful but that’s where I’m at right now. If you’ve been feeling similarly then I highly recommend subbing and reading the below post by Zeba Blay, which offers prompts for further questioning, and explores the duality of continuing everyday life during a world-changing crisis.

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Now there’s no easy way to pivot to ‘other news’ from something like this, but…

Alongside catching up with you guys I thought it could be neat to do a kind of small summary at each of these checkpoints. The story so far is:

In this period I wrote 7 posts, and currently have 248 subscribers.

I spent a lot of time drafting a guest post which I need to get my ass into gear about so hopefully I can gush all about it here next time.

But I did publish posts about gathering together my past selves for a town hall meeting, the relentless journey to stop making people fancy me, why nothing will ever taste as good as the coffee in FRIENDS, and the time a table and chairs gave me an existential crisis.

I also wrote about going on tour, and last week had the joy of receiving a lovely, warm response to the post: The Traces We Leave When We Dream Out Loud.

Being in a band has had the most transformational impact on my life, and it felt extremely cathartic to write about it freely and honestly, and begin to process some of the complicated feelings I have around it all going tits up.

I actually received one very kind DM from a generous person who likened the post to reading Daisy Jones and the Six (!!) which made me squirm a little with delight. I’m a great fan of Taylor Jenkins Reid’s books, and despite approaching the TV adaption with cynicism, I’m unashamed to confess I utterly devoured that too, from start to finish and twice over.

As a child, making music was something I always romanticised, and despite getting to know the reality of it pretty well throughout my 20’s, I still can’t help but be enchanted with any tales of rock n roll superstardom - however cliche. It’s the form of escapism my inner child seeks most, and lately, I’ve become really into the business of indulging her.

From the same post, I was also lucky to hear from a few people who used to read my old blog, the one that I gave up to prioritise making music.

And I guess this is what made me want to poke my nose around in there again, for the first time in years.

Reading back on some of my oldest posts was deeply surprising, mostly because many were good, and I don’t ever remember feeling like I was good. And some were so blindingly misguided and foolish they made my eyes water a little.

I even found one from 2014 where I’d felt overcome with grief of war upon discovering a friend of mine was due to have been on a passenger jet that was shot down over Ukraine.

After a while reading though I had to stop, feeling a layer of sticky discomfort coating my skin like one of the Stranger Things kids in the Upside Down.

But ultimately, however young and naive, I was surprised by how alive she remains to be, the heartbeat of her words still thumping through the ether like an electric little pulse through space and time.

A friend (and fellow substack writer) recently suggested I could make a feature of reexamining the posts of my youth with my now grown perspective, something like those Time Capsule interviews Billie Eilish did with Vanity Fair over the years.

And while I’m not sure about that just yet, I did find a piece of writing I feel compelled to share today, as it clung to me like a shadow as I passed through the spooky annals of time.

And although I’m now in a much more secure and happy place, surrounded by wonderful people and a partner that younger me would never believe, plus I couldn’t think of anything I’d like less than a stranger tapping me on the shoulder in a bar as I was trying to read a book…

I still kind of relate to how I felt about loneliness at 23:

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From The Archives:
The Problem With Loneliness

16th February 2016

The problem with loneliness, is that no-one likes to hear that they're not enough. 

You can't tell a friend, because they'll feel instantly inadequate. You can't tell a stranger, for they'll fear it’s contagious. 

The problem with loneliness is that it's something nobody wants to hear, yet something you so desperately need to be heard. An unwelcome truth we sacrifice our sanities to avoid confessing. 

The problem with loneliness is that seeing more people and doing more things is often not the cure. In a room of ten thousand, no-one is more alone. 

It is so little to do with how many friends you actually have. Instead, the deepest most important part of your soul becomes isolated and calcified, no longer able to move with the fluidity and freedom it previously used to dance with the souls of others.

The problem with loneliness, is that home extends no further than the place you lay your head and a plug socket near the bed.

Towns and cities just mean coffee shops by day and wine bars by night, sat in the window with a book as the rain leaves a light condensation on the inside of the glass, your eyes reading the same sentence over and over again, believing the answer will undoubtedly lie in a sudden tap on the shoulder which never comes.

The problem with loneliness is that independence seems an opposite, yet they are perfect partners of the cruellest kind. Just because you remain capable of flying solo, it doesn't mean you always want to. A lone wolf still howls at the moon to hear the call of his brethren. It's just now the echo falls on deaf ears.

But the biggest problem with loneliness remains its greatest virtue;  you can never unacknowledge it.

No experience on earth isn't improved tenfold by being shared. And once you've realised you are a lonely person, conversation and connection become the most valuable currency.

An experience shared among people that just ‘get’ you is the greatest gift you could ever receive.

Catching the eye of a like-minded soul glimmering half-obscured amongst the bustling crowds is something close to divine.

But until then, we wait.

And the problem with loneliness is, we must wait alone.

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Thanks for stopping by on this disorganised brain dump, I hope it was somehow a good use of your time.

I’m also on the hunt for some amazing new Substacks to subscribe to, so please feel free to shoot me a message or drop a comment below - even if it’s to plug your own :)

Lots of love and speak soon,

Katie x