On Turning Two

It’s only when you stop and look back that you can see how you’ve grown.

It’s been two years, now, since I started writing on Substack each week. And so, a celebration of growth is in order. I hope everyone reading this finds themselves much transformed from where they were two years ago.

I’m not and never will be a salesgirl, and I doubt marketing myself will ever feel authentic. Nevertheless, this little publication keeps growing! It has more than doubled in the last year, and has expanded to reach people I have and have not met; people my age and decades older than me; people from all over this country and even some others.

No one wants to keep reading this, I think at least once a week. I should write about something more interesting and relatable. But, the beauty of an unsubscribe button means that no one who doesn’t want to read has to. My thoughts are not for everyone, and they shouldn’t be. Not everyone needs to care about or read this philosophical not-a-blog from some self-development-obsessed California girl who writes variations of the same themes for months on end. And, as it turns out, many people are interested, and how delightful is that. I am so very grateful.

I don’t really have goals for this newsletter, nor do I have goals for my life. If there’s one thing I’ve been learning, over and over in the last two years, it’s that I’m better off waiting and seeing what happens, instead of mentally figuring based on what I think should or might happen. If I had a goal, I suppose it would just be to trust myself and respond to what life brings. It seems a better investment of my energy to focus on building trust than on trying to control or plan.

. .

For reasons I’m not really quite sure of yet, I have to keep writing this. Maybe the reason is just because I feel like it. My body has continued to hold this arbitrary commitment I made two years ago—every Tuesday 7am PST—and far be it from me to stop now.

To paraphrase Elizabeth Gilbert: many artists kill their creativity by trying to make it pay the bills right off the bat. I’ve held this in mind since I began writing on the internet, and that’s why I take care of babies—I don’t want to be a sellout, and I don’t want to resent writing. I also know that to be a good writer, one must participate in life, and there is so much good life that happens while watching babies grow.

. .

In this particular order, here is what you, readers, have responded to the most in the past two years:

1. Anorexia & Me (to no surprise; mental illness is interesting to read about)

2. The Monotonous Fever Dream of the Internet (this felt cathartic to write, and connected me with many new people)

3. Divine Detachment (experience for the sake of it; the Zen Beginner’s Mind)

4. The Losses We Choose and the Ones That Choose Us (the memoir Lost & Found by Kathryn Schulz heavily inspired this; Schulz is a writer I greatly admire and aspire to)

5. The Tenderness of New Beginnings (the raw vulnerability of starting something new is universal, it seems)

And a shoutout to this piece, The Discerning Open Mind, because it is one of my own favorites. Staying critical and open-minded is a practice I am most dedicated to, and one I feel would bring transformation in spaces that dearly need it.

. .

I’m not in the business of convincing anyone of anything, nor am I interested in changing anyone’s mind. I don’t write to influence or impact or inform—I write because it’s how I make sense of the world; because I love words, and deeply value the free expression of them. I’m just trying to learn, and I write to sort through what I’m learning about: lessons like being here now, in my body; like trusting myself and life; like living for the sake of the experience itself; like loving for the sake of love itself. 

I’m proud of this little publication, not because people read it, but because it’s an honest representation of who I am and how I think. I chose the title Actual Honesty because that’s what I have always craved, as long as I can remember. It’s what the world needs more of: to go beyond fakeness and filters; to stop lying; to be able to trust that what’s being said is actually honest.

I really believe that honesty has the power to transform shame into love and fear into trust.

So—may we all experiment with that.

Maggie

p.s. I did turn on the option for a paid subscription a few months ago after receiving pledges for them. There are no extra benefits, except my appreciation, but if you feel inclined to sign up for a paid subscription, you can.