call me rishmael

for im using metaphors to process life once again

I am disappointed with myself, and harbor a small pit in my stomach with the knowledge of how long it has been since I last wrote. Originally, in December 2022, while pickled in unemployment, I set a goal to write a newsletter entitled “This week in Rishi’s life.” 

At the time, I worried that each week would be too uneventful to warrant a newsletter. Now, I understand the problem is the opposite. Each day is much too eventful to fit it in. But the desire to write exists, and the ache in my chest to put my thoughts to the keyboard grows in resonance and creeps through my muscles like a vine, and now, at 8pm on a Friday night, I finally feel able to slip away into text. I don’t think I ever expected to be able to keep up with a weekly schedule, and I think it’s a good thing not to try. 

Sometimes, the fallibility of routine fills a tiny iconoclast in my head with glee. It’s the part of me that rubs its hands together when submitting to vices or indulging taboo. If I grew up Christian, I’d consider this the sinful part of my soul. However, as an aimlessly spiritual individual who is mostly just invested in overall self acceptance, I don’t view this part of me with contempt. Rebelling against structure and submitting to a lack of control feeds my craving for novelty, and my desire to be consistently and primarily motivated by passion. I live to be surprised, and my compass is my heart. 

The world is moving increasingly fast. I recently started meeting with a financial advisor, to get my affairs in order, and now I can’t stop thinking about “inflation.” To say that feels like I’m throwing a rock at the last standing glass sculpture of my identity as a child. There’s no turning back now that I’m approaching fiscal responsibility.

If I may present a reductive definition of inflation (accurate insofar as it helps make the point of this personal newsletter and is not to be corrected in the comments): the price of things is constantly going up. Once the average price of things increases, it is unlikely that it ever goes substantially downwards again. Thus, money in your bank account is worth less every day, and you should attempt to grow your surplus income at a rate higher than inflation. 

And so begins the rat race, an ongoing event I’ve been keen to reject entirely. I’ve often wondered why my peers would throw away our earliest years in this life toiling for companies that don’t care about them, towards future fulfillment that will constantly escape them so long as they look for it. Collecting checks that they lack the taste and perspective to spend well. I used to feel like banging my head against the wall and screaming to anyone who would listen: don’t you see that none of this matters???? Don’t you see that we should just have fun?!?!?!

Companies must keep growing, prices must go up, we have to keep working. Day by day, we lose bits and pieces of our life in pursuit of “keeping up.” Googling “inflation explained to a five year old” was a shot to my temple. But my financial advisor is helpful, and I will give you her contact information if you want it.

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Currently in Los Angeles, the writers guild is on strike, fighting to steer the entertainment industry away from crashing fully into the iceberg it’s headed towards: one where it’s completely unviable for anyone to pursue a creative career in any capacity at all. Many of my friends are out of work right now, and the pace towards our dreams is crawling, if it’s moving at all. It leaves us unable to look to the future and see a very pretty picture. Some could argue it forces us to be present. But here’s an unpopular argument against being present: sometimes the present really sucks. 

And yeahhhh yeah, I know being present with the things that suck is ultimately how you get past the troubles sooner. But god I miss freely embracing positive delusions about the future. Some people say that thinking about the future inherently = anxiety. Thinking about the past = depression. But I can’t say that I always agree. What does it mean, then, to reminisce? What is the practice of hope?

I’ve been searching for respite from the endless loop of existentialism. I do not wish to wait for Godot. I think it’s natural, when considering the greater forces of the world, to end up in an existential place. But I don’t see much utility for the practice. I can fester with questions of where is this all going, and what’s the point? But when I come back to the present, there’s oftentimes laundry that needs to be done. An email to send. A script to read. A friend to reply to. A set to run. A decision to make. And nothing Camus can tell you will help get that shit done. 

Since the last time I wrote, I’ve started rehearsals for a play, and also for a short film that I’m really excited to shoot. Where writing feels like soaking my brain in a warm bath, acting lights a fire within me. Being in a rehearsal room is where I feel the most alive. I can tell you exactly why: as a person who is more apt at dealing with abstract concepts than the tangible world, there is no other place where I feel as properly utilized or appreciated. The ability to speak almost entirely of the immaterial, but then realize those discussions in the most physically all encompassing manner possible, throwing your entire mind and body into an event, is a life changing experience every time it happens to me. To play a character with other actors playing other characters almost feels like the safest possible way to see into each others’ souls. As a result, I’ve been more assured about the cure to existentialism, which I believe is to follow your heart or something.

Because I think the big existential questions primarily serve as a distraction from the small qualms. The small qualms may ultimately all be resolved by the making of small decisions. But we need guidance towards these small decisions, and where do we reliably find that? Small decisions become matters of emotion that come with seemingly high stakes, creating the drama of our everyday life. While our existence might not matter on a large scale, the little decisions we make, that ripple and impact all those we know and touch, those matter a great deal.

Among the logical part of my mind that weighs every choice against each other, looking for perfect harmony, comes a part of my soul that knows what it wants. That is consistently and foremost, even on the smallest scale, motivated by passion. It’s a new priority of mine, to save my head with my heart, instead of the other way around. These are difficult waters to navigate. I owe my life to the possession of a reliable compass.