When you stop drinking, the world brightens. It’s annoying.
In the first few months I was sober, every decision was an opportunity. If the bar or a bottle of gin was no longer the inevitable destination at the end of the day, that meant I could end up nearly anywhere else. Sobriety cracked open possibility. Everything had a weight to it. Clarity brought splitting headaches, an upset stomach, and the dizzying prospect of a wide and open future. It was too much pressure. I needed a homebase, a way to move forward that wasn’t destruction. I returned continually to a simple idea.
Every action is a spell.
This notion changed the way I brushed my teeth, cooked dinner, hugged my friends, fucked, played video games, made the bed, drove my car, went to the grocery store, dressed up, danced, called my mom, walked my dogs, weeded my garden, made my coffee, and it really changed how I wrote. Every task became infused with the energy I brought to it. I had spent my entire adult life deadening my experience with booze. Now I wanted to wake up every cell in my body. I cast each spell with gumption and purpose and longing so that it may grow to feed me and others. This was how I pushed past the pressure of sobriety and started actually living my life.
A spell is an exchange of energy. Anyone can do it. We are all witches if we want to be.
Every time I get on Twitter and scroll through hate reposts and lengthy takedowns and biting memes, I am whispering a spell to myself, telling myself that this is what I deserve, to feel not enough, to feel hated, to feel like maybe I deserve to die. The destination of social media feels inevitable. I do not deserve to feel the way Twitter makes me feel.
I am trying to do more things that feel new. It’s how I break out of old patterns, level up, burst through whatever ceiling keeps me pinned to the floor. When I try new things, the old things lose sunlight. They wilt. They die.
This newsletter is an attempt to cast a new spell. I will write it every week. I will not look at Twitter nearly as often. Every post will be a meditation on that week’s topic and will end with a little spell. I will post a new spell every week for exactly one year (52 in total) and then we’ll see.
I hope it brings you joy. I hope it makes you feel abundant. I hope it reminds you that we are all born of soil and water and fire and wind.
A Spell for Writing a Newsletter
Start early. Early is relative. You don’t need to rise with the sun. That’s rubbish. Rise when you are ready to rise. Feel the hardwood floors beneath your bare feet. Pad to the backyard. Let the dogs out. Breathe air. Remind yourself that we live on a planet that has the perfect mix of oxygen and nitrogen, and that your lungs have adapted to take in this perfect cocktail of gasses. Check on the dogs. Don’t let him eat that stick. Return inside. Feed the canines. A little kibble in each bowl topped with raw goat milk. Call it puppy cereal. Check their water. Make yourself coffee if that’s your cup of tea. Eat a banana. Think about how far the banana traveled, probably all the way from Central America. It came all this way to fill your belly. Spend your morning looking at the world with wonder. Think about what it would mean to share that wonder with others, especially in the midst of anti-trans legislation, climate collapse, white supremacy, and the erosion of reproductive rights. Make a place to write. Write there every day. Only write there every day. Even if it’s at your dining room table. Wherever it is, mold a space that is for your writing and your writing alone. This physical space is a sacrifice to the writing gods. They are hungry. The writing gods want your awe, your joy, your peace. The writing gods want your newsletter in their inbox every week. Give them what they want. Write the newsletter.
Note: I wrote this last week before the news of the Supreme Court overturning Roe v. Wade broke. I spent the weekend wondering if I should meet the moment and rewrite this first newsletter. Ultimately, I decided to keep it as is with the addition of this note. I was already planning on writing something on anger and another about body autonomy over the next few weeks. Plus, lots of really smart people are writing about what this decision means. This week I’m calling abortion clinics to see how I may be of service. This newsletter is about getting offline and making something happen in the world. I hope you join the movement for free and easy access to abortions in whatever way you can. If you want to donate money, consider giving to the National Network of Abortion Funds.
Thank you for sharing your practice in these difficult moments. I'm a fan of casting spells in my everyday life. All the best to you!