13/100: What’s one of the toughest truths you’ve had to accept?

I started this piece a year after consoling a friend in the front seat of a Toyota Corolla. She was hyperventilating over the married man she’d fallen for. He admitted he loved her, but would never leave his wife or child. After days of crying and comforting, I told her he wouldn’t be her last, that she would eventually get over it, that this pain would be but a distant memory.

She waited a few weeks before calling me cold, telling me that’s not what friends say to friends.

Hindsight shows you how strong your own projections can be. I wanted a big sister so badly, piecing together the little scraps of wisdom I’d find in TV or movies. One cousin, tired of seeing me sleep and starve, told me I could do better than my current boyfriend, that there would be plenty of loves after what I thought was my first and only.

I clung to those words like a life raft.

I’m still accepting that not everyone needs or wants the same kind of advice or counsel, and that no amount of loving, yelling, or begging can fundamentally change anyone. I’m also accepting that it hasn’t gotten easier, and likely never will get easier, watching your people shrink, and deny, and destroy.

Are you not tired?

of standing for nothing
of falling for everything
of walking the 100 miles in Mary Oliver’s poem
suffering, repenting, on the soft of your knees
of making men your center
of only reaching for pleasure
of fighting yourself,
of fooling yourself
of blaming everyone else
of envy eating your insides
of your word being worthless
of affirmation without action
of changing your bio before your behavior
of posting a selfie
of posting a self-care quote
of counting the likes,
of refreshing the likes
of hiding the likes,
of praying they call you pretty
of weaponizing vulnerability
of pretending the mask will last
of pretending bridges build by aesethic will hold
of claiming your want legacy
of claiming you want community
of claiming you want accountability
of claiming you care
of laughing when they say laugh
of clapping when they say clap
of denying the dark
of never questioning
of rarely reciprocating
of being terrified to stumble
of being terrified to try,
of doing the same gotdamn thing over and over
hoping, expecting, demanding
a different result.

Are you not tired?

13/100: What’s one of the toughest truths you’ve had to accept?

Thank you for watching, reading, and listening. I’m looking forward to reading your answers to this one, friends.

“Save You / The Text I Didn’t Send”
Writer / Director: Nneka Julia
AD / Producer: Gabriel Freeman
DP: $eck
Music Director: Cortney Alexander
Talent: Jayani Jalese & Eros Alen
Extras: Nyla Blu & Deborah Raji

Pleasure is not one of the spoils of capatalism. It is what our bodies, our human systems, are structured for; it is the aliveness and awakening, the gratitude and humility, the joy and celebration of being miraculous. —adrienne marie brown

Joy, to me, is an act of surrender, the tender habit of attention, an essential, life-saving practice of gratitude and delight. I pay close attention to the things that move me and the people that move me. I spend time with those people, those things.

Here’s a week’s worth of small joys in the form of tastes, smells, humans, things, and thoughts that light up my life.

• The first sip of something bubbly

• Impromptu toasts

• Sexy stems on glassware

• My husband’s hands, laugh, writing, thoughts

• New book smell

• Palm fronds

• Highlighters

• Lime-washed walls

• G2 colored pens

• Mangoes!

• Cameras!

• Wide lenses!

• Editing personal projects

• Sour candy

• Soup

• Piping hot tea/coffee

• Frank Ocean

• Donny Hathaway

• Chunky sweaters

• Teaching

• Slices of light

• Pops of red

• Singing with strangers/friends

• Random acts of kindness

• Random acts of flyness

• Fresh snow

• Warm sand

• Ice cold beer

• Caiparhinas

• Handwritten anything

• Beautiful stationary

• Disco balls

• My mom’s egg rolls

• Watching people I love pursue their dreams

• My Oum Thy’s smile

• My Bong Bunna

• Seeing my cousins love eachother

• Sitting at the bar for a meal

• When my dad looks over his glasses at a WhatsApp message or crazy video, and full-belly laughs

• When my aunts yell, “Nne!”

• The clickity clack of a keyboard

• Morning pages

• Film photography

• Color-coding things

• Leafy rooftops

• Gisting with girlfriends

• Being loud with my lil’ brothers

• Impromptu adventures

• Long walks

• Lifting heavy

• Pickleball (just played today…I get it now)

• Any baked goods with vanilla bean

• Doodling

12/100: What is joy to you? How do you cultivate it?

I can’t wait to read what delights you.

Happy first day of Black History Month, and thank you for watching, reading, and listening. As always, I’m looking forward to reading your answers.

I stood at the border, stood at the edge, and claimed it as central. Claimed it. And let the rest of the world move over to where I was. — Toni Morrison

Everyone has their ministry.

Maybe yours isn’t a ‘get ready with me.’
Maybe yours doesn’t involve viral hooks or trending sounds.
Maybe you’re being called to share something else, something differently.

Please.
For yourself.
For all of us.

Answer the call.

It’s tempting to architect the perfect avatar. To hunt for numerical proof of what to make, how to look, and what to think. To strip the self of all salt and substance and wear a skin so palatable it bears no taste or texture. But your scraps won’t keep them fed, and their praise won’t keep you full. You’ll have to keep setting yourself on fire to feel something.

It’s also tempting to hide. To anonymously watch in annoyance as the vapid and viral get rewarded digitally, socially, financially. To use that as an excuse to be a bystander, a critic. But to try and be seen trying, regardless of vanity metrics, is the unavoidable antidote.

Octavia Butler urged us to make our own worlds, to write ourselves in. Whether we’re a part of greater society or not. Toni Morrison urged us to go to the edge, claim it as our center, and let the rest of the world catch up.

I don’t know your edge, or your world, or what you’d be doing if no one was watching, but I know that action on your own behalf, art on your own behalf, is how you reclaim the arena of your own life. I know that you have to make peace with authenticity and visibility not being synonymous, and keep going anyway. I know that you must plant your seeds and plant your feet and let both boos and applause become noise.

And please remember how many times the world’s been so painfully wrong.

Go claim your center, and answer the call.

Love,
Nneka

11/100: How does one live genuinely and authentically in a world that thrives on the opposite?

Happy New Year, Friends!

What call are you currently answering? How are you living your truth in a world that oftentimes encourages and rewards the opposite?

I hope you’re stepping slow and steady into 2026. I can’t bother to be rushed. Thank you for watching, reading, listening. As always, I’m looking forward to reading your answers.

This is little me.

She can’t pronounce Nneka (just yet) so she calls herself Nana. A nickname her parents still use today. She has big eyes, a head full of hair, and enough forehead for the both of us. She’s not a fan of dresses, but she is a fan of blue raspberry flavored anything, beating other kids in races, sparkly nail polish, and licking the sour off warheads til her tongue goes numb.

She also love babies, and hugs, and sprinklers, and art. She’ll spend hours on a drawing, or a construction paper mural, or a bead kit, or deciphering the instructions of an easy bake oven. When asked what she wants to be when she grows up she’ll lie and say things like pediatrician because adults seem to like lots of syllables.

She’s witty and silly and generous and smart.

And every day I get to remind her what we’ve become.

She’s the artist. I’m the one who refines.

All she asks for is time.

Time to think. Time to make a mess. Time to enjoy a thing without attaching art to commerce or some man-made metric.

She thrives with no obligation, no judgement, no deadlines. At her happiest when playing and indulging in tiny delights without guilt or punishment. I let her be curious, let her hands paint and mold and fiddle, let her restless mind do something slow.

We listen to old music, and watch old movies, we read, and dance, and shoot, and sing. We make silly faces, and order two desserts, and laugh until our lungs ache. I try not to rush her. Try my best reassure her. Try to remind her there’s room for her here. She’s safe here.

I know I don’t thank her enough for surviving, somehow. Miraculously, in a world that shames, and shrinks, and silences little girls like her.

Sometimes I can feel her fidgeting, tugging my arm, asking if I’m having fun, if I’m proud of her. To which I always answer, yes yes.

Before pressing on, taking her little hand in mine.

Love,
Nneka

10/100: : How do you honor, nurture, and make space for your inner child?

Thank you for watching, reading, and listening. I’m looking forward to reading your answers to this one, friends. Who was little you? How are you making space, honoring, nurturing them?

Progress and perfection can’t share the same seat.

Yet, you hesitate. Pacing the base of a mountain trying to measure it, when the truth you seek is in the climbing. The failing. The revision. The monotonous, mind-numbing one foot in front of the other. For what you seek will find you in motion, on the path, at the altar of persistence, of practice. When no one is watching, or wishing, or clapping.

And when your doubt and disappointment finally break, you’ll reach the peak to find progress asking, again, what’s the last thing you did perfectly?

I was on a boat in the middle of nowhere last month, dressed to fly fish, fearful I might make a fool of myself or break something. The rod was sleek, the line was thin, the bait was dazzling and delicate. Our guide paddled upstream, explaining the basics.

When I yell SET, he said, you can’t hesitate. You have to pull without thinking. Most people hesitate, and if you wait, you not only lose the fish but you tangle your line, making it even harder to act again.

I whipped half circles for an hour, and still, every time he yelled SET I’d feel my breath hitch and my wrists freeze. By the time I pulled, the fish was gone, my line twisting into a wiry knot.

You’ll catch one, he assured, just trust yourself and pull.

I was on that boat in the middle of nowhere because I’d tried and failed and persisted at something for 15 years. I’d taken shitty photos and videos and audio, I’d bartered for gear and corrupted SIM cards, I’d practiced on friends, and family, and anyone who’d let me. And I trusted that if I kept experimenting, iterating, and revising, one day I’d make work I admired.

Failure isn’t some moral or personal shortcoming. Failure is practice. Failure is data. Failure is a prerequisite, a gateway. It’s an inseparable part of the process. It means you’re doing, for there is no failure without an attempt. And with our brief and painful and wondrous time on this earth, I’d rather risk short-term embarrassment than life-long regret.

I whipped another half circle near a shady patch of stone and bush, dragged my line, and waited. Five seconds later, a tug. SET. A tiny fish dancing at the end of my line.

A reminder of how, with patience and persistence, you can set your feet and pull from this life, despite fear and without hesitation, what is rightfully yours.

9/100: How do you overcome the fear of failure?

Thank you for watching, reading, and listening. I’m looking forward to reading your answers to this one, friends. Big or small. When was the last time you overcame the fear of failure?

*Ah! I had to upload this again, ya’ll! Sorry for the double email in your inbox. Living the question on this one lol.

Your biggest heartbreaks are supposed to be romantic.

You end it or they end it, then you eat takeout in bed and cry in the shower for a season while your 1 to 4 closest friends piece you back together. TV and movies made you believe that the only person capable of ripping your heart from your ribcage, beating, begging, and bloody is a lover. The deterioration of platonic friendships was seen as far less entertaining.

Friendship where the magic of time, place, and proximity made two people inseparable. Dreams were shared, insecurities overlooked.

Moves, first jobs, firings, weddings, divorces, death. Birthday trips turned calls, turned texts, turned single sentence. Canceled calendar invites, story views, silence.

One less person to piece your memory back together, to piece you back together.

What TV and movies often leave out, with friendship, is that you’re holding each other’s hearts, beating, begging, and bloody just the same.

It’s become too easy to flatten years of friendship into sound bites that make me feel better. To tell you when they were wrong, why I was right, and how I outgrew certain people. But the more I reflect on the tiny parentheses of time we held each other, the only way we knew how, the more I realize the friends I’ve lost in adulthood have taught me just as much about myself, holding an unflinching mirror to the the finality of things, the necessity of conflict and communication, and what it even means to be a tender and true friend.

1. I’ve learned that eras end. Your friends will become a mosaic of time and place, circumstance and serendipity. A reflection of who you were, who you are, who you’re becoming. And as you grow and change, the areas of compatibility will expand with some and contract with others. You’ll hit different milestones, learn at different paces, shift philosophies, shed identities. Not everyone can stay, will stay. It’s perfectly normal to grieve some endings like a death, with all its souvenirs of joy and sadness, while feeling trepidation and excitement about the new friendships unfolding.

2. I’ve learned that conflict is inevitable. Mistakes in friendships will be made. By you, by them. But the hard conversations can still feel easy when you both make room for truth and tenderness. For an “I love you” and a “this fuckin’ bothered me.” For this, mercy and forgiveness must be foundational (and a sense of humor doesn’t hurt). I’m actively working on letting disagreements with the friends I call family build density, not distance.

3. I’ve learned that to have a friend, you must be a friend. And sometimes being a friend is imbalanced, inconvenient, annoying. Life will happen. Reciprocity won’t be 1 to 1. Your capacities will oscillate between bountiful and nonexistent. Can you find new ways to support and enjoy each other? Can grace and accountability coexist? Can you be there for each other when it matters?

4. I’ve learned that your people will find you. Trust that even after loss, there will be people you meet with whom you can be your sincerest self with. Where you can witness and be witnessed in all your multitudes. Where you both know that just by existing at the same time, you have, in fact, struck gold.

Love,
Nneka

8/100: What’ve you learned from the friendships you’ve lost in adulthood?

Thank you for watching, reading, listening. I’m so looking forward to reading your answers to this one, friends. Friendship loss is painful. I think we have a lot to learn from each other here.

(question asked by Ashley in 2021)

Dear Ashley,

Summer of 2018 I started a podcast called Passing Through. And I didn’t know it then, but it would change my life in more ways than one. The week prior I got rejected from an 8-week podcast incubator in New York and instead of shelving the idea, my then boyfriend now husband encouraged me to put it out. We recorded two episodes in his townhouse in Detroit and released it that weekend.

I felt the fear then.

What if no one listens?
Why would anyone listens?
What makes my story even worth listening to?

But the call to create was somehow greater.

Spring of 2019 we decided to do a live show in New York. Before we had an idea of structure, or run of show, we booked the venue. I signed up for an acting classes to practice hosting live, something I’d never done before.

6 storytellers shared a piece of themselves in front of 200 people in a theater on Bleeker Street that night.

I felt the fear then, but the call to create was somehow greater.

Spring 2025 we started production on Passing Through: The Highlands. One of the most thrilling and exhaustive creative undertaking of my life. From self-funding, to casting, to working with a crew, all of it was new territory. None of which would’ve been possible without the support of my husband, my brothers, my sisters, my friends.

I am still feeling the fear of this undertaking, but this time the call to create is undoubtedly greater.

Love,
Nneka

7/100: When was the last time you were brave?

Thank you for watching, reading, listening. I’m looking forward to reading your answers to this one, friends.

All of you are braver than you think.

**NOTE: I’ve gotten a few kind questions about the names I use in the beginning of the letters. They are all addressed to the individual who posed the question in 2021 and will continue to change, letter by letter, as we move through the project!

“First forget inspiration. Habit is more dependable. Habit will sustain you whether you're inspired or not. Habit will help you finish and polish your stories. Inspiration won't. Habit is persistence in practice.”

―Octavia Butler, Bloodchild and Other Stories

Dear Chineze,

I wish this letter could show all the shit you have to trudge through, mentally and physically, when flighting to make a positive change in your life. I wish it could show how there’s no shortcut, no quick fix, how it’s the weeds that grow freely while the garden you want requires effort. I wish I could articulate how annoying it is that even when you form the habits and build the disciplines, like any muscle, if you don’t consistently use and maintain it, it withers away as if it never existed.

I started practicing 3 disciplines with no finish line in sight, and after 3 years, they are still the ones that continue to shape me.

Morning Pages

Morning pages have changed my life and overall approach to creativity. They are 3 longhand (yes, they have to be longhand!) unfiltered early morning brain dumps coined by Julia Cameron in the Artist’s Way. I’ve been practicing them every day for almost 4 years, and they’ve provided clarity, inspiration, the words I need for a difficult conversation, the last shot in the video. Those pages are a place where you can be angry, jealous, arrogant, obnoxious. You can be joyful, hopeful, gentle. You can grieve, remember, release. Put all of yourself on those pages, and I promise you, if you don’t give up on them, they won’t give up on you.

Movement

The older I get, the easier it is to sit. My work requires tedious hours behind a desk, body hunched over a keyboard, fingers draped over a mouse. My decision to move my body every day is forging a relationship beyond aesthetics. Movement, for me, can be a CrossFit class, the rower we have in the basement, or walking around the neighborhood. It’s the least I can do to keep this mystery of blood, water, flesh, and bones intact. My mood and motivation shift after a tough workout, and it is the most visceral reminder that I can do hard things even when I don’t feel like it.

One Creative Act.

I have to make. This is my ministry. Whatever yours is, it probably involves some form of creation, whether you think so or not. Every day, I dedicate time to creating, whether it’s writing, shooting, shot listing, painting, or directing. Chipping away at bigger projects has humbled me. The process has made me a better person and artist.

6/100: What habits or disciplines have contributed most to your personal growth?

Thank you for watching, reading, and listening. I’m looking forward to reading what habits or disciplines have changed your life for the better, friends.

PS. My friends at Epidemic Sound gave me a code for 50% off for two months on monthly plans after the free trial expires: https://share.epidemicsound.com/nnekaMAR25

If you’re a creator or just like to make cool shit on the internet and don’t want to worry about copyright issues, this is a gamechanger <3

“I was waiting for
something extraordinary to
happen

but as the years wasted on
nothing ever did unless I
caused it.”

―Charles Bukowski

Dear Myra,

Every year, without fail, I learn you can’t force a lesson or rush a revelation. It takes seconds to read or hear something profound, but may take a lifetime of grappling with an idea or philosophy to understand it. Last year tested my convictions, my patience, and my ability to accept and let go.

I tried to narrow it down to 4 lessons for you.

1. Create more than you consume.
Create more than you criticize.
Create more than you compare.

I’ve admittedly, multiple times, sat in front of an empty fireplace and demanded heat. I’ve watched other people’s shiny lives through screens. I’ve seen something working for someone and wondered why it wasn’t working for me. I’ve projected. I’ve generalized, assumed. I’ve fed my fireplace with critiques and comparisons, then pressed my palms together, praying for a spark. Which is, of course, not how it works. All the extraordinary and serendipity you seek exists in the doing. And when you begin to use your gifts to serve others, you’ll feel all the warmth your life has to offer.

2. It’s been done before, but not by you.

I spent 3 days with some of the most talented people on the internet. Composers, illustrators, painters, writers, filmmakers, musicians. I’d never been in the same room with that many artists in my adult life. The last evening, we were split into teams of 3-4, and tasked with creating a short film in less than 12 hours (with a surprise 20k on the line). I was put on the only all-women’s team with the talented Amanda, Linh, and Tiffany.

While Amanda and Tiffany were animating, Lin and I took a gondola to the top of a mountain to shoot the last scene of our short. When we reached the top, two drones hovered above us. Every team’s full of equipment arsenal was being utilized. We could’ve easily become overwhelmed, intimidated. There was a 100% likelihood that everyone’s film would be amazing. In those times I remember that it’s been done before, but not by you. Not by me. There is something special about how you do things, how you say them, how you put them together. Don’t compromise your vision. The world needs to see you do it.

We ended up taking home a surprise 2^nd place.

3. We need each other.

If you desire community, it’s something you can create. If it’s not something you look to create, it is something you can become an active participant in. Growing the Craft & Release community with my co-founder Glynn has been one of the greatest joys of my life, and also my time in New York. I would’ve never met the incredible people who come to events, workshops, or co-working sessions if we hadn’t taken the risk and invited people in. I can feel it with every exchange, every embrace, every story shared. We need each other now more than ever.

4. Service your soul.

Keep the appointments with yourself. The 3 long-hand pages in the morning, the walk to help you reflect, the one deep breath. Pay attention to the things that move you and the people that move you, spend time with those people, those things. Give yourself permission to adventure, to dream, to wander, to create. “Return to the well of yourself and begin again,” as many times as you need.

Love,
Nneka

5/100: Who or what was your greatest lesson last year?

Thank you for watching, reading, listening. I’m looking forward to reading your answers to this one, friends.

Dear Faith,

I saw the same people, at the same office, in the same small town for almost 15 years. I took the same two streets to my parent’s house when I moved back home at 23 to save money after a breakup. I ate at the same restaurants downtown and bought the same snacks from Trader Joe’s and wished the same thing every Sunday evening: that I could move away like the rest of my friends and start my life instead of waiting for it.

The extra income I saved from living at home allowed me to travel more frequently, so every chance I got I was gone. The destination didn’t matter, it was the leaving I was addicted to. I loved watching the same city, with the same people, at the same office fade to nothing from 30,000 ft in the air.

Then days would pass, the high would fade, and I’d inevitably have to come home. The hard truth I was running from is that everything normalizes. Even the travel, after a while, felt frivolous.

Shit, I thought changing boyfriends was the key until days turned to months and the new one was worse than the old. I thought money was the key until I started earning more and no amount proved enough. I thought more followers, a thinner body, better clothes, and maybe some awards might sustain it, but remember, Faith, human beings are insatiable.

Don’t get me wrong, new things can drastically improve your quality of life or be buffers to stress, but they cannot and will not keep you in a constant state of happiness. The contrast, the other emotions that live inside us, will still exist. The anger, sadness, jealousy and all the unsavory bits being necessary. The darkness is the only way you recognize real light.

And happiness, I’ve found, doesn’t live in the past or some distant future. It’s a feeling you can access through gratitude in the present.

3/100: How do you let go of the pursuit of happiness and learn to live in the now?

Thank you for watching, reading, listening. I’m looking forward to reading your answers to this one, friends.

—Nneka

Dear Jessica,

Saying “NO” wasn’t a big part of my upbringing.

Not as the Eldest daughter. The Ada.

It was always YES.

Yes, Mom.
Yes, Dad.
Yes, Sir.
Yes, Ma’am.

Yes to elders pinching the soft of your arm, demanding more drink or chinchin.
Yes to coaches that bench you and blatantly play politics.
Yes to biased teachers and shitty supervisors.
Yes to endless requests from siblings and cousins.
Yes, yes, yes.
Yes, you obey.
Yes, you comply.
Yes, you submit.
Yes, you don’t openly question.
Yes, this is how you show respect…to others.

Thankfully, with time, age, experience, and my personal boundaries bloodied by decades of obeying, complying, and submitting, I finally started asking the question: How do I show respect to myself?

"What you allow, you teach.”

At least that’s what my mentor in college told me. Back then I didn’t understand that the “what you allow” part requires a careful examination of all the cracks in your so-called boundaries where you repeatedly let things slip to save face.

Over the last 5 years, the cracks in my so-called boundaries have split at the center, causing me to take a serious look at my part to play in the erosion. And before rebuilding anything I’ve had to face the fact that I’ve wrongfully expected people to read my mind because if they were better friends, family members, and complete strangers they would change their behavior without their behavior having to be addressed. This wish upon-a-star-ass-thinking has proven to be both ineffective and unreasonable.

So that means I’ve had to open my mouth and use real words and say how I feel with clarity and assertiveness when I’ve practiced passivity to the point of blow-ups my entire life.

Advice I’ve found helpful:

1. Feelings of guilt and guessing how the other person will feel or react are all familiar waters on the path to clearer, healthier boundaries. Don’t let the initial discomfort deter you from having the conversation.

2. Make small shifts in your language when addressing a behavior. Instead of using “I’d like” use assertive language, “I want, I need, I expect.”

This boundaries shit is hard, but I don’t want to harbor unnecessary resentment anymore.

It eats away at your insides.

Love,
Nneka

2/100: How are you navigating boundaries this season? What advice would you give?

Thank you for watching, reading, listening. I’m looking forward to reading your answers for this one, friends.

Dear Nneka,

You were trained to wait for permission.
Praised for shrinking.
Rewarded for following orders. 

I know you’d love to believe this isn’t the case, but it leaks off your language and underscores your every decision.

You come from a long line of powerful women. Women who hid grains of rice in the corner of houses during the Khmer Rouge, women who fed the entire village with whatever they willed their gardens to grow during the Biafran war, women who fled to Thailand on foot and cleaned houses and changed diapers and pushed paperwork and took care of everyone and everything until their very last exhale.

All that power with no real freedom, taught to sacrifice and comply in order to survive.

That’s why you naturally play at artist, the one thing you know you were born to be with one hand dutifully tied behind your back, chained by cultures that crown incompetent sons over any deserving daughters.

And you’ve tried to kneel. Tried to convince yourself that the people around you could design a life you could happily live. That they were looking out for your best interest, your well-being. You nodded as they preached you be practical. Be patient. Be grateful. Be obedient. But kneeling hasn’t served you. And making their fears your own won’t save you. 

And no matter how hard you try to silence the call to create, the voice only grows louder.

And I hope as you’re reading this, you can hear nothing else.

I’m not writing to warn you or tell you what’s going to happen. But, I can tell you there is no cheat code. No hack. No way around. Every single day you will have to go to war with your conditioning. You must fight the false idea that you’re only deserving if someone says you are. That you’re lazy. Undisciplined. Uninspired. That you were born to be a passenger. You must forge a new identity through unapologetic action towards that which you deem worthy. And remember that in your hands are always two options:

COMFORTABLE DIMINISHMENT or UNCOMFORTABLE ENLARGEMENT

Choosing uncomfortable enlargement means facing the fear, the work, finishing what you’ve started: writing the books, shooting the films, growing the businesses, pubbing your art more than anyone else’s.It means venturing into uncharted territory. Both internally and externally. It means building courage and practicing patience and taking your gifts seriously.

It means action on your own behalf.

It will not be easy. Doing is uncomfortable. Commitment is uncomfortable. Accountability is uncomfortable. Any endeavor that requires a piece of flesh is uncomfortable.

But it’s the only way we start a new sentence, that eventually builds a paragraph, over and over, filling the page—our lives—until the chapter changes.

So every day, give yourself the permission to pick up the pen and go to work on a life no one could ever write you.

Love,
Nneka

Thank you for watching, reading, listening.
Very, very excited to read your answers for this one, friends.

1/100: If you had to write a letter to your younger self, preparing them for this year, what would you say?

And with each passing year, I find it doesn't matter how much you've missed, how long it's been, or who you think is watching. You have to give yourself permission to begin again, and again at whatever you deem worthy of your time, your life, your pursuit.

I started this newsletter as an extension of the Letters From A Stranger 100-day project. An unfinished project. One I plan to begin again with a caveat revealed in this introductory video:

Though the questions remain the same, the answers have surely changed.

I’d love to move through this project together, with this space serving as the headquarters. We’ll use threads to dive deep into the questions, video/podcast features to mix things up, and monthly BTS/resource round-ups for paid subscribers.

All films will also live on my YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/nnekaj

This is no small feat, but I’m confident we can do it together.

Closing questions (if you’ve made it this far!):

What’s your name?
Where are you writing from?
What are you creatively procrastinating on?

My name is Nneka Julia. I’m writing to you from Brooklyn, NY and I’ve been dragging my feet about finishing the Letters from a Stranger 100-day project for 2+ years, but here we are! One step at a time.

I can’t wait to meet all of you, again, along the way.

Warmly,
Nneka

6/2: 33 days until my 33rd birthday. What a blessing to be alive this long. No wishes, no predictions. I only look to keep my word to myself.

6/9: “Finish something. Anything. Stop researching, planning, and preparing to do the work and just do the work. It doesn’t matter how good or how bad it is. You don’t need to set the world on fire with your first try. You just need to prove to yourself that you have what it takes to produce something. There are no artists, athletes, entrepreneurs, or scientists who became great by half-finishing their work. Stop debating what you should make and just make something.”
—James Clear

If you’re bored with the current landscape of trending sounds and templated content, I beg you to make something different. there must be a counterweight. your art is worth creating, worth sharing.

6/10: "I was waiting for something extraordinary to happen, but as the years wasted on, nothing ever did unless I caused it.” —Charles Bukowski

July

7/1: I know I want the first shot of the “To The Few” print video to be an overhead shot, me looking directly into the camera, opening my eyes. That’s how writing the piece felt, like an awakening.

7/2: “You are under no obligation to remain the same person you were a year ago, a month ago, or even a day ago. You are here to create yourself, continuously.”
—Richard Feynman

7/16: I heard someone say, “Do it raggedy” and it’s become my new motto. Do it scared, do it tired, do it raggedy, do it now. The time will pass anyway. Consistent, raggedy attempts will always beat no attempts at all.

7/30: Yes, community is overused but Glynn and I want to build a community for artists beyond the screen. We’ve been to a few shows around the city and are talking about putting together a live storytelling event in October. I know we can do this shit better than everyone else.

August

8/5: Are you not tired?
Of standing for nothing
Of falling for everything
Of walking the 100 miles in Mary Oliver’s poem
suffering, repenting, on the soft of your knees
Of making men your center
Of only reaching for pleasure
Of running from discomfort
Of fighting yourself
Of fooling yourself
Of blaming everyone else
Of envy eating your insides
Of your word being worthless
Of affirmation without action
Of changing your avatar more than your behavior
Of begging strangers for validation
Of posting a selfie
Of posting a self-care quote
Of posting a selfie and a self-care quote in a photo dump
Of counting the likes
Of refreshing the likes
Of hiding the likes
Of hoping it makes you whole
Of weaponizing vulnerability
Of pretending the mask will last
Of pretending the bridges built by aesthetics will hold
Of saying “it’s not that deep”
Of claiming you want “legacy”
Of claiming you want “community”
Of claiming you want “accountability”
Of claiming you care
Of laughing when they say laugh
Of clapping when they say clap
Of denying the dark
Of never questioning
Of rarely reciprocating
Of being terrified to stumble
Of being terrified to try
Of being terrified to be seen
Of doing the same gotdamn thing over and over
hoping, expecting, demanding
a different result
Are you not tired?

8/21: “What would happen if one woman told the truth about her life?
The world would split open.”

“I am working out the vocabulary of my silence.”
―Muriel Rukeyser

September

9/11: I was at dinner yesterday on the outdoor patio of an overpriced Italian spot in Chelsea. There were two friends to my left, smartly dressed, grays sweeping their shoulders.

The woman took a bite of her bread, paused, asked the man across from her,
Did you let love in? 

He nodded, eyes fixed on the black pepper bits in his olive oil. 

Good, she said, never breaking her gaze. Because I’ve spent the majority of my life chasing people and things that didn’t want me and rejecting those that did. Nothing and no one was ever enough. It’s something I wish I would’ve learned sooner: how to let love in.

9/30: Paris was perfect. Actually perfect.

October

10/4: How many warnings must you receive from philosophers, elders, guardians, and gurus that you must be mindful of the quality of the hands that clap?

10/15: If you’re going to make shit that sticks to people’s ribs you have to go against the grain.

10/19: We wrapped up our first live show yesterday. This was just an idea a few months ago. A conversation. Scribbles on notebooks. Release 001 was a dream actualized! And we’re just getting started.

10/20: ”The biggest lie that jealousy tells us is that we have no choice but to be jealous. Jealousy strips us of our will to act when action holds the key to our freedom.” —Julia Cameron

November

11/4: “There are going to be people in your life who change your trajectory. They’re going to walk into your life for a moment, a lifetime, or anytime in between. And they’re going to disrupt something in your life. They’ll challenge you, they’ll shake your beliefs, they’ll trigger you, and then stand by you as you work through your healing. These people will teach you and be taught by you. You’ll dance and play. You’ll see the softer sides that others ‘don’t get to see. They’ll lay down markers on your life’s timeline. Markers that roar “I was here.” Pre me. Post me. They’re the life changers. The good type of change. Not the one that takes you away from yourself… but the one that brings you home. “—Vienna Pharaon

11/10: I’ve started my “streak.” Actions that ground me, bring me back to center. The “streak” will consist of 3 small and simple disciplines:
1. Morning pages (3 pages of longhand brain drain per day)
2. Movement (30 min or more of movement per day)
2. Creation (1 creative act per day)

Cortney has a calendar to put Xs on. I’ll ask him tonight if he can print me one, too.

December

12/1: The day you start doesn’t matter, the decision does.

12/13: If you’re in a circle of people who’re afraid to be seen trying it’s worth expanding beyond it. Nothing can grow there.

12/26: Day 50. I have not missed a single day of executing on all 3 disciplines. I’m so damn proud of you.

12/31: I’m so thankful for how this year has unfolded, for what has yet to unfold. Every trial and tribulation, every triumph, has been a blessing. I’m ending the year with a level of clarity I didn’t know existed. I know what I must do. I know what I must do.

If you’ve made it this far, thank you.

If you’ve made it this far, please keep the notes, and the scribbles, and the rambles, and the photos, and the good, bad, ugly. With each passing year, I’m starting to understand Derek Walcott’s poem “Love after Love.” Feasting on one’s life isn’t just about savoring the good bits. All that we were, all that we are, is what makes it a feast in the first place.

I have so much planned for this space in the next 365, including finishing the project that started this lovely lil’ corner of the internets.

Your support means the world.

Stay tuned,
Nneka

I’ve pretended. I’ve suppressed. I’ve worn ill-fitting masks and ill-fitting titles. I’ve felt my own creative callings and laughed. I’ve felt my own creative callings and listened. I’ve made a living as an artist for the last four years, slowly withdrawing from illusions about who I thought I was and what others wish I would be.

Large steps, I thought.

But nothing like this. Nothing like the beginning of last year.

Julia Cameron calls it a cracking. Creative emergance. When “going sane feels just like going crazy.”

I was in my office struggling to write when I pressed record. Ugly crying through the first few lines of “To The Few.” I scheduled an email to myself for January 1st, 2024 with a file of the raw recording attached and a note saying, I love you. I’m proud of you.

This was only the begining of forming new relationships with doubt, fear, and discomfort. This was only the begining of a creative clarity I didn’t know was possible.

I’ve spent the last few weeks compiling photos, lines from my morning pages, voice memos, notes from books, and scribbles from notecards into a 2023 year in review. A snapshot of things that struck me enough to notice.

I hope the frustration, joy, passion, and hope serve as a mirror to your own humanity.

Thank you, always, for being here.
—Nneka

January

1/1: “I am a talented person.
I have a right to be an artist.
I am a good person and a good artist.
Creativity is a blessing I accept.
My creativity blesses others.
My creativity is appreciated.
I now treat myself and my creativity more gently.
I not treat myself and my creativity more generously.
I now share my creativity more openly.
I now accept hope.
I now act affirmatively.
I now allow myself to heal.
I now accept creative recovery.
I now accept God’s help unfolding my life.
I now believe God loves artists (and me).”

Affirmations from “The Artist’s Way” that I transcribe at the end of my morning pages every day. Three years ago, upon reading them, I wept.

1/9: You think shaming yourself to the point of inaction is what you need? Stand up. Forgive yourself. Put one foot in front of the other.

1/11: I don’t know what our relationship as women will look like moving forward, but it’s about time I taught her how to treat me.

1/18: You don’t have to make the same things as everyone else but you do have to commit. You have to decide. Action is what moves providence, not planning or pontificating.

1/21: Build confidence, build momentum, build the life you want to live, and give yourself some fuckin credit along the way.

February

2/1: It’s easier to pretend, to mask, to hide. To anonymously watch in annoyance as the vapid and templated gets rewarded digitally, socially, financially. To use that as an excuse to be a bystander, a critic.

To try and be seen trying, regardless of vanity metrics, is the unavoidable antidote. Action on your own behalf, art on your own behalf, is an integral part of reclaiming the arena of your own life, to possessing your own soul.

So decide what you like, not what you’d like to like, and (please) go do that shit.

2/2: All of this is temporary.

2/10: Morning pages is a practice I want to continue for the rest of my life. Evidence of my fortitude and fickleness. I was just crying into a microphone two weeks ago and now I feel more invigorated than ever.

2/26: On the call today she said she doesn’t use social media much. “I have real work to do and another app is just a distraction from my destiny.”

March

3/1: It’s dark but you have the skillset. It’s dark but you have everything you need to create. It’s dark but if you keep going, the light on the other side will be like nothing you’ve ever seen.

3/10: "You must cultivate activities that you love. You must discover work that you do, not for its utility, but for itself, whether it succeeds or not, whether you are praised for it or not, whether you are loved and rewarded for it or not, whether people know about it and are grateful to you for it or not. How many activities can you count in your life that you engage in simply because they delight you and grip your soul? Find them out, cultivate them, for they are your passport to freedom and to love.” —Anthony de Mello

3/21: Portugal in 3 days.

3/24: The first day, Wilma teaches you a word. It bears no direct translation, the syllables too heavy with sentiment. Saudade: a yearning so deep, so bottomless it splits “I miss you” at the center, or any such phrase too tinged with expectation. “Saudade,” wrote Manuel de Melo, “is a pleasure you suffer, an ailment you enjoy.” It’s a sweet sadness you stitch to your chest, a wound willingly left open. Proof you are capable of both sides of the human coin: joy and suffering. Maybe it’s what the shores of memory are made of, you think, the unseen edge holding everything together.

3/25: Now, how does one live a life worth longing? It has to be less about accolades, more about little successive acts of attention and surrender. Coming face to face with finality. Of things. Of self. So that the light brushing cobblestone and the curve of a smile and the breast of the bird circling rust colored roofs at what feels like the top of the world in Porto should not be mistaken for routine. You are a living breathing thing amongst living breathing things living the point between longing and looking forward. And you feel it. The other side of ache, watching the sun fall on the first day with two friends and a thousand strangers.

3/30: It’s funny, you know? Finally realizing the person you’ve been waiting for is you.

April

4/4: I am dedicated to making and sharing art every single day. This is why I am here. This is why I am here. What is inside me must come out.

4/5: 6 months in Brooklyn! Life. Changing.

4/11: Today Cortney said, “you are not the worlds middle child.” He’s right. It’s been extremely difficult shifting the idea that I’m the perpetual middle child (and eldest daughter) who has a sister to raise and brother to praise. “You are your own,” he said.

May

5/4: Posting on these platforms has never been the final act of creation or the most important act of creation. But it feels like it. It feels like it. It fuckin’ feels like it. I’m glad I can be honest here. Ten years ago these apps felt like, “Wow! a place to share my photography. Maybe 10 more people other than the friends I already shared the photo with might see it.” It’s not as enjoyable anymore, and I hear this calling. I feel this itch to create something beyond short form, beyond the phone screen.

5/9: There will always be distractions along the path, but one must not falter. Keep the pace.

5/27: Nothing in vein. Every inch matters. Every action compounds.

I made a short to accompany “air and light and time and space” by Bukowski.

I hope you enjoy it!

Happy Monday, Friends.
—Nneka

You are born alone. You die alone. The value of the space in between is trust and love.”
—Louise Bourgeois

Internal Resonance:
How did it feel to write and publish this? Did it make me feel alive, both intellectually and somatically? Did it feel like something no one else but me could have created? Did it feel true to who I am, and who I’m becoming? Did the content of this writing matter to the deepest parts of me, beneath all of the cultural stories about who I think I should be and what I should do?”

External Resonance:
How did people respond? Did I strike an emotional nerve? This goes beyond easy, legible metrics like pageviews or social media likes, or even comments, which are at best hazy approximations of external resonance. It’s about looking for signals that something genuinely MATTERED to one or more humans, and elicited a response that’s out of proportion with the average digital interaction. Lots of likes is an okay-ish signal. Lots of comments is a clearer signal. A small handful of comments or private replies from people saying they’ve never felt so seen or understood by a piece of writing – that’s the kind of thing I’m trying to discern and quantify here.

Understanding these two metrics matters more than anything I’d find in a traditional analytics dashboard. What I’m optimizing for isn’t growth, certainty, or control. It’s not the maximization of short-term revenue, reach, or influence. Instead, I’m chasing connection – both with myself and with others. I’m trying to design an infinite game, where I spend my days working on things that bring me alive, hence the internal resonance score, and connecting with a relatively small handful of true fans, hence the external resonance score.

—Rob Hardy, “Measuring What Matters”

“— you know, I've either had a family, a job, something
has always been in the
way

but now
I've sold my house, I've found this
place, a large studio, you should see the space and
the light.
for the first time in my life I'm going to have a place and
the time to
create.'

no baby, if you're going to create
you're going to create whether you work
16 hours a day in a coal mine
or
you're going to create in a small room with 3 children
while you're on
welfare,
you're going to create with part of your mind and your
body blown
away,

you're going to create blind
crippled
demented,
you're going to create with a cat crawling up your
back while
the whole city trembles in earthquakes, bombardment,
flood and fire.

baby, air and light and time and space
have nothing to do with it
and don't create anything
except maybe a longer life to find
new excuse
for.”
—Charles Bukowski, “Air and Light and Time and Space”

**Everything, even the most beautiful things, normalize. Creative Muscle isn’t built in the most aesthetic place with the newest equipment and unlimited time/budget. It’s built under pressure, with practice, using whatever you have, however you can. regardless of heights reached, awards won, or followers gained, everyone will eventually regress back to their mean. Waiting for the perfect time, setting, or lightning strike of inspiration will only lead to atrophy.

So make the shit you want to make.
Need to make.
Now.

“The thing is to stalk your calling in a certain skilled and supple way, to locate the most tender and live spot and plug into that pulse. This is yielding, not fighting.”

—Annie Dillard, “Teaching a Stone to Talk”

“I think the real question is, “What if I have gifts and abilities and in this lifetime I never find the courage to use them?” That is the real question, the real tragedy.”
—Julia Cameron, “Vein of Gold”

“An endeavor achieved without delay, wrong turnings, occasional blank walls and a vein of self-doubt running through all, leading eventually to some degree of heart-break is a thing of the moment, a mere bagatelle, and often neither use nor ornament. It will be scanned for a moment and put aside. What is worthwhile carries the struggle of the maker written within it, but wrought into the shape of an earned understanding.”
—David Whyte

“Watch your life as if it were a film. Absorb everything. What you see, hear, and feel will stamp every alphabet of your work.”
―Nikky Finney

The last few weeks have been incredibly busy but fruitful.
Lots of updates to come.

Happy November, friends.
—Nneka

"When you’re accustomed to privilege, equality feels like oppression.”
—Clay Shirky

“In a time of drastic change it is the learners who inherit the future. The learned usually find themselves equipped to live in a world that no longer exists.”
—Eric Hoffer

"Always take the initiative. There is nothing wrong with spending a night in jail if it means getting the shot you need. Send out all your dogs and one might return with prey. Never wallow in your troubles; despair must be kept private and brief. Learn to live with your mistakes. Expand your knowledge and understanding of music and literature, old and modern. That roll of unexposed celluloid you have in your hand might be the last in existence, so do something impressive with it. There is never an excuse not to finish a film. Carry bolt cutters everywhere. Thwart institutional cowardice. Ask for forgiveness, not permission. Take your fate into your own hands. Learn to read the inner essence of a landscape. Ignite the fire within and explore unknown territory. Walk straight ahead, never detour. Manoeuvre and mislead, but always deliver. Don’t be fearful of rejection. Develop your own voice. Day one is the point of no return. A badge of honor is to fail a film theory class. Chance is the lifeblood of cinema. Guerrilla tactics are best. Take revenge if need be. Get used to the bear behind you.”
—Werner Herzog

**I always read this before I shoot. After ten years of carrying around a camera, I still get nervous shooting around people. I can vouge, however, that it’s ALWAYS worth getting the shot, it’s always worth bringing your vision to life and consequently building up a rich reservoir of confidence.

“You are not responsible for the world—you are only responsible for your work—so DO IT. And don’t think that your work has to conform to any preconceived form, idea or flavor. It can be anything you want it to be.”
—Sol LeWitt

“The purpose of art is not the release of a momentary ejection of adrenaline … but rather the gradual, lifelong construction of a state of wonder and serenity.”
—Glenn Gould

“It’s impossible to please everyone. The question is whether you’re disappointing the right people.”
—Adam Grant

“The most regretful people on earth are those who felt the call to creative work, who felt their own creative power restive and uprising, and gave to it neither power nor time.”
—Mary Oliver

“People travel to faraway places to watch, in fascination, the kind of people they ignore at home.”
—Dagobert D. Runes

**Listen…Lol, I wish this wasn’t true. There are fascinating people all around us, all we needith do is take the time. Ask the questions. Watch. Listen.

"Listen carefully to first criticisms made of your work. Note just what it is about your work that critics don't like...then cultivate it. That's the only part of your work that's individual and worth keeping. What the public criticizes in you, cultivate. It is you."
—Jean Cocteau

**I think of this in terms of what the public doesn’t necessarily “notice” or “praise” about your work as well. In the age of algorithms and niches, machines want to see fixed art from dynamic beings. Cradle and cultivate the shit that makes you feel alive, virality or not, the right people will find you. YOUR people will find you. Trends don’t attract tribes.

If you told me ten years ago, when I first picked up a camera, that my first print available for purchase would be poetry, I would’ve laughed until I cried. But life has a funny way of making room for our gifts, for cracking our carefully crafted plans into a million tiny pieces and binding together something more beautiful than we could ever imagine.

I wrote “To The Few” at the beginning of the year when I needed it the most. Over the last few months, I’ve worked with the amazing artisans at Coeur Noir in Brooklyn, NY to breathe new life into the poem in letterpress form.

It’s a true beauty, ya’ll.
The US edition is limited to a run of 500.
Available for pre-order now!

To The Few Print

"To The Few"

I HOPE...
you realize the problem is, you think you have time.
you learn to discipline your disappointment.
you greet triumph and tribulation with the same smile.
you create more than you consume.
you create more than you criticize.
you create more than you compare.

I HOPE...
you edit your life ruthlessly and frequently.
you forgive yourself ruthlessly and frequently.
you realize that what you are will never happen again.
you make the shit you wanna make whether people like it or not.
you pub your shit harder than anyone else’s.
you work harder on yourself than you do on your job.
you sew without expectation and reap without complaint.
you realize that patience is an active process.
you realize love is an active process.

I HOPE…
you learn that habit beats inspiration.
you realize four walls can’t hold you.
you give your grief the respect it deserves.
you realize you are never alone in how you are feeling.
you realize you’re full of wounds and still standing.

I HOPE…
you understand it’s been done before but not by you.
you don’t compromise your vision.
you learn to surrender to your dreams.
you don’t leave the arena to the fools.
you know that you and your work and your voice are needed, now
more than ever.

Pre-Order Now

Limited Edition “To The Few” Print

In a US edition limited to 500, the “To The Few” print merges the beauty of letterpress with the power of poetry. Crafted in collaboration with the artisans at Coeur Noir, each line is meticulously printed on premium cardstock using traditional letterpress techniques.

-Premium pearl white cardstock
-12 x 18 inches

Shipped in a protective sleeve and rigid mailer, ready to be framed and displayed.

Pre-Order Now

To everyone who shared “To The Few,” reached out, saved, reposted,
THANK YOU. Your support truly means the world.

Write the words you need.
Someone else might need them too.
–Nneka Julia

I. 20 Something / Will it ever be enough?

We’d been on our phones for the last 3 hours. Scrolling, editing, liking, commenting, comparing. She’d barely touched her dinner, taking tiny, toothy bites of the same fry for the last twenty minutes. This was typical on shoot days: eight hours, three locations, and an agonizing obsession over the “perfect” picture. An obsession I once thought was a marker of greatness, not a byproduct of crippling insecurity. 

Shit, maybe it’s both. 

I knew she wouldn’t be able to enjoy our dinner until after she posted, which didn’t stop me from ordering another mango mojito and a side of shrimp. Whenever I’d grumble about food getting cold she’d tell me I didn’t understand, that my livelihood didn’t depend on it. It made me question if I could care as much as her. If I could make the internet my everything. Could a static grid of images host all my hopes and fears, friends and enemies, successes and failures spun into lessons about future successes? Could I make an app a place where I feel the most seen? Even if who people were seeing was only a fragment, a shard of one-dimensional glass held to the light of a thousand smartphones, a carefully curated image of my own making. 

Hands shaking, she opened the app, scrolled, selected a picture, vacillated between two captions for ten minutes, groaned, pressed post, squealed, refreshed the flashing row of red notifications, and exhaled.

Will it ever be enough? I asked, ripping a shrimp from its skewer.
Will what ever be enough? She mumbled.
If you take the perfect picture, what amount of likes and comments will be enough?

She scoffed at the question, eyes sharp, shaking her head. 
No amount, she whispered. That’s the point. 

II. 30 Something / Did you let love in?

I was at dinner yesterday on the outdoor patio of an overpriced Italian spot in Chelsea. There were two friends to my left, smartly dressed, grays sweeping their shoulders.

The woman took a bite of her bread, paused, asked the man across from her,
Did you let love in? 

He nodded, eyes fixed on the black pepper bits in his olive oil. 

Good, she said, never breaking her gaze. Because I’ve spent the majority of my life chasing people and things that didn’t want me and rejecting those that did. Nothing and no one was ever enough. It’s something I wish I would’ve learned sooner: how to let love in.

Maybe that’ll be us one day, I thought. Former friends, once close, bearing our truth over bread about what we wish we would’ve learned sooner. 

Memory is a funny thing. These scenes are a decade apart. The moment I overheard the sharply dressed woman speak two things she wished she would’ve learned sooner it felt as if I was transported back to that dinner in my 20’s. A reminder, for me, that there’s still much to learn along the way, and on the path we can choose to carry an open heart and internal scorecard that no external validation or condemnation can taint. 

Happy Monday, Friends.

– Nneka

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Happy Monday, friends.
—Nneka

“The problem is that we cannot imagine a future where we possess less but are more.”
—Charles Bowden

“What would happen if one woman told the truth about her life?
The world would split open.”

“I am working out the vocabulary of my silence.”
―Muriel Rukeyser

“Words are to be taken seriously. I try to take seriously acts of language. Words set things in motion. I’ve seen them doing it. Words set up atmospheres, electrical fields, charges. I’ve felt them doing it. Words conjure. I try not to be careless about what I utter, write, sing. I’m careful about what I give voice to.”

“Not all speed is movement.”
—Toni Cade Bambara

**Step by step, slow and steady, dust yourself off and stay in the race.

“Absolutely unmixed attention is prayer.”

“We have to endure the discordance between imagination and fact. It is better to say, “I am suffering,” than to say, “This landscape is ugly.”
—Simone Weil

“Everything we make, everything we do, is a bid for bearing our transience.”
—Maria Popova

“There is nothing more provocative than minding your own business.”

"If, after spending time with a person, you feel as though you've lost a quart of plasma, avoid that person in the future.”
—William S. Burroughs

**Audibly LOL’d at the quart of plasma. I’d be lying if I said I haven’t felt this a few times this year.

"For nothing is fixed, forever and forever, it is not fixed; the earth is always shifting, the light is always changing, the sea does not cease to grind down rock. Generations do not cease to be born, and we are responsible to them because we are the only witnesses they have. The sea rises, the light fails, lovers cling to each other and children cling to us. The moment we cease to hold each other, the moment we break faith with one another, the sea engulfs us and the light goes out.”
—James Baldwin

"The only people I would care to be with now are artists and people who have suffered: those who know what beauty is, and those who know what sorrow is: nobody else interests me.”
—Oscar Wilde