Notes On: Romanticising the Mundane, Things to Notice, Smashed Fear on Toast (the Millennial Midlife Crisis), and Poems For The Heart

And a huge thank you to you. I can’t believe I get to write this.

Dear Noters,

Let me tell you that everything in this world can be romanticised if you try hard enough. I am sitting on a train, trying to upload something important for a work email but the WiFi isn’t working. I haven’t eaten enough today. I need a coffee (and perhaps a cookie). I am very, very tired. And yet. I am sitting on a train watching clouds smudge into buildings and back again, overhearing conversations between people who love each other (‘can you pass me the crisps?’) and people who work together (‘yeah I don’t know, maybe they’re new?’) and people who don’t know each other at all (‘err, excuse me, I think that might be my seat?’). There’s a woman who keeps smiling at me, tentatively, across the aisle. I wonder if she’s thinking something along the lines of: I remember what it was like to be her age. Or perhaps she’s thinking about what she’s going to eat tonight. Perhaps I’m not the centre of her universe (shocking). Anyway, my point is, I’m on a packed train, travelling backwards, and still I am romanticising. Because my mind holds the key to contentment and my god, if I’m not going to use it at every chance I get. (More on this later).

Can you feel my excitement thrumming through the screen as you read this? Does it feel to you as though I might know you, and you me, because you have chosen to sign up and actually pay for this newsletter? Thank you for being here. Thank you for believing in me. Thank you for supporting me to do this. Thank you thank you thank you. (And if you haven’t joined the group chat, yet, please do. Every time I open it, I get this little flutter, like I’m talking to a crush. Because I kind of am. You are the most interesting, curious, talented, intelligent, funny group of people. I am obsessed with each and every one of you). This is a love letter, from me to you. I hope you like it.

First thing’s first: this newsletter will be slightly different to the free version. It’ll be in conversation with you, which means: I want to hear from you. I want you to send me messages and tell me what you’re going through and ask questions and tell me stories. Because – and I’ve learned this from experience – if you’re struggling with something (or loving something) you won’t be alone. We are all of us trying to get by. One of my closest friends often quotes this phrase that I just love: ‘the horrors persist, but so do we.’ We persist. We are persisting. But how to persist in beauty, in hope, in deep, expectant breaths? That is the question.