I couldn't write very often in 2020. I had to confront the self-help myth I believed: we need to pursue productivity at all costs, and optimise ourselves at every turn. In doing do, I learned that writing less is better for me.
Without Twitter or Instagram, and a newsfeed blocker on Facebook, it can be hard to connect with what’s topical, so I was delighted to hear that David had started a Substack. David’s work lights up my inbox because he and I share a particular interest. In his greater quest to understand human motivations, David seriously scrutinises conspiracy theories.
What's it going to be? A choice that happened or a choice that you made?
Anne is as fiercely determined as Christopher in The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time. She’s as kind as The Queen in A Bug’s Life. She’s as funny as Mark Watney in The Martian, if not funnier. She’s as humble as Samwise in The Lord of the Rings.
How do you look at what you used to think, who you used to be, with kindness and curiosity rather than disdain and embarrassment?
Honestly, sometimes writing is like thrashing in a rip. No idea is a good one. I can’t concentrate. Then I get frustrated with myself, which makes it even harder to write... I have found that if I’m struggling to get anything coherent out, usually one of two things has happened, so therefore one of two things needs to happen.
Excellence can be measured many ways. But how do you measure the best blog post of the year? The kindest random act for a stranger? The most generous networking introduction? The most beautiful film? The most heart-warming meal?
Not the movie. A thing. THE thing. A place, an achievement, a title, a certain amount of money, an experience. That thing we desperately want. The desire to be in the next place.