I love your writing and was especially delighted to discover your friendship with Jenny Boylan, whose memoirs I loved, too. I enjoyed your two books and then despaired that there wasn't a new one. And then I found you on Substack! Thank you for sharing your vulnerability and frustrations; they remind me I'm only human. Great writing. (Mice moved into my garage and ate ALL the macadamia nuts in my garage pantry. I live in the woods.)
So glad that I found here at Substack. After reading your two books and all of your essays, I worried that you weren’t writing anymore.
I turned my best friend on to “We Learn Nothing” years ago and it has become one of the solid gold reference books for our friendship, the way that mind-altering substances, seeing Goodfellas when it came out, watching amazing bands or watching Twin Peaks used to do.
It’s part of the glue that binds us and that is no small thing.
We’ve all worn the diaper, Tim
We’ve all worn the diaper.
I wish the best for your friend. They make everything better
Loved this one especially, thank you. And very sorry your friend has cancer. My partner went through 4 rounds of chemo for testicular cancer in the fall of 2021 and it was wretched, but endurable and he's cancer-free now thankfully. I'm sure she's getting all kinds of suggestions but I'd like to add to the list and saySea-Band acupressure wristbands really helped him with nausea at night (he'd sleep wearing them) in the later rounds of chemo. As did ginger tea and mint tea (any brand) and Tummydrops ginger candy and mint candy. Also, thank you for your writing. I love both your books, which I often return to. Whenever these essays show up in my in-box, I'm so delighted--it's an unexpected gift.
Love your writing Tim -- I've read both of your books. The dark streak seems to have become the palette, which I imagine must reflect something of the narrator's state of mind. I've been there, plenty. These days things have evened out, and perhaps it's a bit less exciting, but I'll take even over dark any day.
What comes after the feeble gray watery dawn, by the way (of course), is the redemption—"the return," carrying some new truth, and therefore, energy. Payback! I mean, that might be bullshit, sometimes, but my experience was that when I was "inside," it seemed like it would never pass, like nothing really mattered, like it would never be much more than gray, but once I found a thread that I could manage to start pulling that eventually resulted in something shifting, what I eventually came to see was that the view from the inside always _seems_ real—until it changes, and then I wonder what the fuck was going on there? as I look in the rear view, blowing smoke and laughing, and then turn up the radio and gas it for the horizon.
Tim, word puzzles are weirdly reductively brain soothing. What has it come to that a knowing a little trivia and vocab makes me so childishly triumphant ?
In any case I’m glad you write about Annie. I’ve always also been terrified of death, like actually screaming in the middle of the night out loud so my people come running and me knowing they will come and not being able to stop and simultaneously that there is NOTHING they can do about it and they will have to just go, leave, after witnessing my despair which triggers them deep down into their own existential despair which they keep so well fossilized. I always wondered why more of us didn’t just run around fucking crazy candy screaming, pointing out to purposely obliviated souls that we weren’t going to be here in 10,20 for sure 100 years. I did plant medicines including mescaline and other things (legally with an exceptionally experienced guide of over 30 years- you will need that for a container that can handle you cos you are a truth teller) , and even had to be double dosed to break into the psyche. There were monsters and many ‘deaths’ (exhausting) and this is for Annie… it’s not all yours this despair. It’s your shitty predecessors who dumped it on you before they departed. You’ll have to do figure that out in deep consciousness and more dark nights but you’re living that anyway every hour. Which means you’re incredibly courageous. You’re sticking around. That’s brave so you can handle it. The clouds will part and you may get some relief from the terror. I have, finally. Various ‘reasons’, ‘contracts’ become clear which kind of negate all the petty foolishness of life- you knew that anyway. But there is something bigger for Annie probably. (Michael pollan is doing a great disservice by just focusing on the epiphany element. There is Brave work to be done before. Everyone pretends a lot and he hasn’t dealt with his shit at all. He’s afraid. You’re not. You tell the truth and you can handle it. Love. And be among people who have lived with and through that terror. It’s a portal and it’s weird to live in both sides of it.
I'm sorry your friend is living with cancer. Mine is too. We've known each other since junior high. In many ways, we're still fourteen. She completed her radiation treatments for breast cancer last week. My friend, Susan Odgers, is a columnist who writes about disability for the Traverse City Record-Eagle newspaper. She's going to be okay; we all are.
I laughed my buns off at the mice fiasco. We live in the country, and yup, this happened to my Honda Civic in its engine compartment. I raced to the dealership, wondering if they'd fly out over the roof and onto other cars like small snowballs, causing drivers to frantically hit their wipers. (Accumulated snow on vehicles often does this while driving on Michigan roads in the wintertime. So, what the hey! It could happen with mice.) Destination achieved, the tiny furred bodies spilled onto and scurried across the polished concrete floor. The brave men in the auto bay chased them around like cockroaches, trying to stomp them dead with their boots. I ran around screaming, "Don't kill them, don't kill them, they're just little babies," before averting my eyes and escaping to the waiting lounge for a free coffee. I was simultaneously mortified, traumatized, and entertained to the point of nonstop laughing. An hour later, the deed was done. They didn't bill me, and the Honda got a free wash.
I really love your writing, Tim. You're one of the very few writers I do this weird thing with, since I was little... when I like a book or article very, very much, I actually slow down, even put it down, even walk away from it, because I don't want it to end. I want it to stay in front of me, as something to be enjoyed. I don't want to finish it. I do this with your work. I did finish this essay though. You inspire me with your honesty, humility, intelligence, compassion, and humor. Keep your chin up, fight the good fight. This too shall pass, as shall everything, as you allude to in your essay. XO
Beautiful. I'll watch for an update on your friend's progress (which her well for me from this stranger) and know in your heart that the mice will always be there. And so will the friendly helpful passersby!
I love your writing and was especially delighted to discover your friendship with Jenny Boylan, whose memoirs I loved, too. I enjoyed your two books and then despaired that there wasn't a new one. And then I found you on Substack! Thank you for sharing your vulnerability and frustrations; they remind me I'm only human. Great writing. (Mice moved into my garage and ate ALL the macadamia nuts in my garage pantry. I live in the woods.)
So glad that I found here at Substack. After reading your two books and all of your essays, I worried that you weren’t writing anymore.
I turned my best friend on to “We Learn Nothing” years ago and it has become one of the solid gold reference books for our friendship, the way that mind-altering substances, seeing Goodfellas when it came out, watching amazing bands or watching Twin Peaks used to do.
It’s part of the glue that binds us and that is no small thing.
We’ve all worn the diaper, Tim
We’ve all worn the diaper.
I wish the best for your friend. They make everything better
Cheers,
Mark
"What Comes After the Dark Night of the Soul?" My mistake was in thinking there is only one.
Beautifully told. My dad has brain cancer so I relate. Have fun making memories with your friend. Even if the circumstances do suck.
Great stuff, Tim. Thank you for this.
Little by little and all at once comes entropy. But something new is always growing and time keeps going and going.
Loved this one especially, thank you. And very sorry your friend has cancer. My partner went through 4 rounds of chemo for testicular cancer in the fall of 2021 and it was wretched, but endurable and he's cancer-free now thankfully. I'm sure she's getting all kinds of suggestions but I'd like to add to the list and saySea-Band acupressure wristbands really helped him with nausea at night (he'd sleep wearing them) in the later rounds of chemo. As did ginger tea and mint tea (any brand) and Tummydrops ginger candy and mint candy. Also, thank you for your writing. I love both your books, which I often return to. Whenever these essays show up in my in-box, I'm so delighted--it's an unexpected gift.
Tim, you are one of my heroes.
Fantastic. May the comfort we all take in feeling our own gray hours reflected by your wry and weatherbeaten self give you some comfort back.
Love your writing Tim -- I've read both of your books. The dark streak seems to have become the palette, which I imagine must reflect something of the narrator's state of mind. I've been there, plenty. These days things have evened out, and perhaps it's a bit less exciting, but I'll take even over dark any day.
What comes after the feeble gray watery dawn, by the way (of course), is the redemption—"the return," carrying some new truth, and therefore, energy. Payback! I mean, that might be bullshit, sometimes, but my experience was that when I was "inside," it seemed like it would never pass, like nothing really mattered, like it would never be much more than gray, but once I found a thread that I could manage to start pulling that eventually resulted in something shifting, what I eventually came to see was that the view from the inside always _seems_ real—until it changes, and then I wonder what the fuck was going on there? as I look in the rear view, blowing smoke and laughing, and then turn up the radio and gas it for the horizon.
Tim, word puzzles are weirdly reductively brain soothing. What has it come to that a knowing a little trivia and vocab makes me so childishly triumphant ?
In any case I’m glad you write about Annie. I’ve always also been terrified of death, like actually screaming in the middle of the night out loud so my people come running and me knowing they will come and not being able to stop and simultaneously that there is NOTHING they can do about it and they will have to just go, leave, after witnessing my despair which triggers them deep down into their own existential despair which they keep so well fossilized. I always wondered why more of us didn’t just run around fucking crazy candy screaming, pointing out to purposely obliviated souls that we weren’t going to be here in 10,20 for sure 100 years. I did plant medicines including mescaline and other things (legally with an exceptionally experienced guide of over 30 years- you will need that for a container that can handle you cos you are a truth teller) , and even had to be double dosed to break into the psyche. There were monsters and many ‘deaths’ (exhausting) and this is for Annie… it’s not all yours this despair. It’s your shitty predecessors who dumped it on you before they departed. You’ll have to do figure that out in deep consciousness and more dark nights but you’re living that anyway every hour. Which means you’re incredibly courageous. You’re sticking around. That’s brave so you can handle it. The clouds will part and you may get some relief from the terror. I have, finally. Various ‘reasons’, ‘contracts’ become clear which kind of negate all the petty foolishness of life- you knew that anyway. But there is something bigger for Annie probably. (Michael pollan is doing a great disservice by just focusing on the epiphany element. There is Brave work to be done before. Everyone pretends a lot and he hasn’t dealt with his shit at all. He’s afraid. You’re not. You tell the truth and you can handle it. Love. And be among people who have lived with and through that terror. It’s a portal and it’s weird to live in both sides of it.
I'm sorry your friend is living with cancer. Mine is too. We've known each other since junior high. In many ways, we're still fourteen. She completed her radiation treatments for breast cancer last week. My friend, Susan Odgers, is a columnist who writes about disability for the Traverse City Record-Eagle newspaper. She's going to be okay; we all are.
I laughed my buns off at the mice fiasco. We live in the country, and yup, this happened to my Honda Civic in its engine compartment. I raced to the dealership, wondering if they'd fly out over the roof and onto other cars like small snowballs, causing drivers to frantically hit their wipers. (Accumulated snow on vehicles often does this while driving on Michigan roads in the wintertime. So, what the hey! It could happen with mice.) Destination achieved, the tiny furred bodies spilled onto and scurried across the polished concrete floor. The brave men in the auto bay chased them around like cockroaches, trying to stomp them dead with their boots. I ran around screaming, "Don't kill them, don't kill them, they're just little babies," before averting my eyes and escaping to the waiting lounge for a free coffee. I was simultaneously mortified, traumatized, and entertained to the point of nonstop laughing. An hour later, the deed was done. They didn't bill me, and the Honda got a free wash.
I also want to say, I especially love the story of Zaid. As usual... immigrants--they get the job done. :)
I really love your writing, Tim. You're one of the very few writers I do this weird thing with, since I was little... when I like a book or article very, very much, I actually slow down, even put it down, even walk away from it, because I don't want it to end. I want it to stay in front of me, as something to be enjoyed. I don't want to finish it. I do this with your work. I did finish this essay though. You inspire me with your honesty, humility, intelligence, compassion, and humor. Keep your chin up, fight the good fight. This too shall pass, as shall everything, as you allude to in your essay. XO
Beautiful. I'll watch for an update on your friend's progress (which her well for me from this stranger) and know in your heart that the mice will always be there. And so will the friendly helpful passersby!