who up and radically accepting

this title works because im typing this at night but might not make sense when you read it in the morning

I am really tired. This is the busiest I’ve been in recent memory, and recent memory has been busy too. It feels like school again. I knew it was coming, that May would be challenging. I’m mostly unscathed, or at least I’m a normal amount of scathed, and less scathed than I would’ve been in college. But I am tired. 

Housekeeping: I was on set for four days this weekend. The first night, we ended at 11pm, and I swung by a friend’s birthday party. I was conflicted about attending after the party after the shoot, with the knowledge that an intense few days on set were coming up. Maybe there will be a time where I turn down a social event for a night of better sleep before an important obligation, but it can’t be right now. Although we ended up shooting till 1am for the next three nights, I do not regret the decision. There is always time to celebrate a friend. There has to be. 

The rest of this week has included rehearsals for the play I’m in and spending time with friends who are visiting from out of town. There’s a particular magic when it comes to seeing a friend who you haven’t in a while. You need to package and present your emotional state in a coherent and comprehensive way, and compare it to the last time you spoke. These reunions are beautiful checkpoints. Progress is saved. 

Does my writing make it sound like I’m constantly miserable? I judge my prose (and thus, my personality) for giving off that impression. I envision people opening their inbox, seeing my name, and feeling a twinge of pity. Not this again. But honestly, whenever I hear someone state explicitly: “I am miserable sometimes/oftentimes/right now,” I feel a little bit lighter. Misery loves company. Misery needs company. I am miserable sometimes, oftentimes, and maybe even right now, though I’m not entirely sure. 

When I sit down to write, I use metaphors and analogies to beat around this specific bush: I have been going through it. A bit over three months ago, I went through a breakup with who I felt was “The One.” The entertainment industry, my chosen field, is on strike for what feels like the future of creativity in general. A future I have stake in. And as sad as I ever get about those two things, I am constantly reminding myself to prepare for the fact that soon, one of my loved ones will pass away. I’ve never had more questions. 

Too much has been said about the phenomenon of living through your early 20’s in America, but it hasn’t been said by me, so I’m gonna say some stuff about it. I think it’s unique and harrowing to spend this specific phase of life tasked with letting go of your unhelpful practices of the past, while aiming towards the quintessential moving target that is “the future.” Having neither what you cherished before, nor what you deeply desire just yet. There’s a positive spin on this as well: now begins the practice of exercising choice, and maybe none of this is unique to being 23.

Sometimes, when thinking about the decades that lie in front of me, I try to predict which chunks of life will be harder than which other chunks. Classic fool’s errand type stuff. There are good and bad sides to any phase of life. Spring brings about flowers and pollen allergies, the summer throws pool parties and administers sunburn, the fall comes with crisp air and discomfort, and the winter can speak for itself. It’s been useful to remember there has never been a moment in my life that didn’t come with a balance of pain and pleasure. Even as the circumstances and environments around me have changed, there has never been anything but the push and the pull between those two sensations in the never ending present moment. 

brrrr. chilly. i always need 1 picture in these things idk

However, amongst my current predicaments, in my current environment, these experiences do not feel balanced. As I said, I’ve been going through it. I’ve woken up nearly daily with a weight in my chest. But recently, in an extremely humbling fashion, which reminded me of the banality of my problems as just some guy in gen zed, I was recommended an episode of “Binchtopia” that really helped me out. 

I’m very dedicated to keeping these newsletters as short as I can, so I will link the episode here and paraphrase a few of the takeaways that have been the most helpful for me. A lot of them come from a discussion of Radical Acceptance by Tara Brach, which I will now proceed to tactfully butcher:

1. The experience of being alive is to be constantly ripped apart. 

I remember that my sadness is normal and unescapable. Dark clouds and a sense of humidity are just part of the atmosphere, and not a small one either. There is a lot to mourn; and to mourn fully, whenever we can, is a priority. And because of this mourning comes our ability to feel the sweet sensation of relief. 

2. Some quote about fire that I don’t remember exactly but that I wanna talk about anyway.

Small tangent: Last August, I was on set for this short film called “Saltwater.” It was the film that recently premiered in Wisconsin. The film was significant to me because it was the first time I worked with Indian actors and crew members who were older than me. I remember they had a raw, vulnerable conversation about their upbringings and their art. Their hopes, dreams, insecurities, that all fuel and heighten one another. 

This past weekend, I was on a set of primarily Indian actors, all my age. We had a very similar conversation about the sense of suffering that comes with pursuing dreams that feel out of reach. We discussed the great pain that comes with great love. I felt an uncanny sense of communion with that memory from Saltwater, that we are walking the path of our elders. 

This quote about fire had something to do with identifying with the blackened char left behind by beautiful flames. That’s probably a misrepresentation of the quote, but it’s the image that is conjured when I try to remember. It makes me think about the areas of loss in my life that I’m currently experiencing: heartbreak after true love, forced distance from my personal ambitions, and the anticipation of great grief. The fire I feel for each of these subjects burns bright. My sense of romantic love, self actualization, and familial loyalty rage within me. But on occasion, amongst circumstances that are out of my control, yet completely necessary, these fires are doused. And I sense my likeness in the blackened char left behind. 

I speak a lot about the beauty of the mundane, of the benefits to routine, and I think part of that comes from the great pleasure of control over smaller flames. To light the stove and cook a meal, then safely turn it off. To burn a candle and breathe deeply, and then blow it out. Small sources of passion to keep us warm, to keep us safer, and ultimately protected from larger fires. 

3. I remember the last quote because it’s easy to google: “To live in this world, you must be able to do three things: to love what is mortal; to hold it against your bones knowing your own life depends on it; and, when the time comes to let it go, to let it go.”

They lose me in the third line. I do not know what it is to let it go, nor to let it go. But I understand that all that I love is mortal. And I know what it is to hold these mortal things against my bones, knowing that my own life depends on them. I know what it is to be miserable sometimes, oftentimes, but I am not miserable right now. A small fire burns inside me, hoping that when you read these words, we will get a little lighter together. From there, perhaps, we rise.