Issue 002 — June 2025
What is it, really?
I just turned 35 and somehow feel younger than I have in a long time.
Every now and then, we all fall into the trap of thinking we’re completely independent and capable of doing everything by ourselves. But the older I get, the more convinced I am that a confusing, seemingly-paradoxical add-on is true instead: we’re at once independent and interdependent on almost everything and everyone. Even the fiercely “self-made” among us are shaped by their culture, the people who raised them, their environment, and random coincidences (if those even exist). And so every choice they make is inherently rooted in pre-existing programming. Do we have the power to change our lives? Sure. But are any of our actions truly taken independently? I don’t think so.
The stories we tell ourselves can either become our superpower or our downfall. Personally, mine are both, depending on the day. But at least right now, I’m fairly certain my unhealthiest moments in life have been when I was convinced I was alone.
~ John
This song lives in that space between sleeping and waking, when you stir a few minutes before your alarm and cling to the stillness of night. The title came to me in that exact situation, when I was trying to remember a dream right after I woke up.
I rolled over, reaching for my partner, only to find she’d already gotten up to get ready for work. My hands found their way back under the covers to discover the heat from her body still warmed her side of the bed. Leftover body heat and half-remembered dreams share at least one thing in common: they’re fleeting. Maybe they also remind us what we have.
Your Side of the Bed
Life is smaller in the city
You introduced me to Kendrick Lamar
as we hurtled through the night
across the desert
wide open.
I was grateful you offered to drive
so I could roll the window down and stare,
slack-jawed,
At the explosion
of trillions
of stars
expanding above Arizona.
All the cliches about the Big Western Sky are true.
All the cliches about our smallness are true
but also false.
If we’re talking chemistry, those stars and I are the same.
The hydrogen and carbon erupting on their surface run through my veins
and flake off my skin.
Our star offered me life,
just as the swirling cosmos
offered our sun the same.
And so
we are parts of a larger whole,
appendages,
separate clauses forming compound sentences.
“But stars are not intelligent like us.” You said.
“I remember you was conflicted.” Kendrick replied as I looked for the horizon.
•••
Now,
I squint at the sliver of sky beyond the Chrysler building
and all our towers of babel
declaring us masters of nature.
Fools.
A prompt
How this works
I’ll ask a question that’s been on my mind lately. If you want, use the form to reply with your answer. It can be as brief or as long as you want it to be.
If you don’t add your name/email, your response will be completely anonymous. If you do add them, it’ll will stay between us.
Here’s your prompt
What’s something that’s not working for you anymore? And what would it take to leave it behind?