New Year, New Way to Force Myself Into People's Lives

If you’re like me, your initial response to things that feel forced is resistance.

Or maybe minor reluctance. Bored ambivalence? (I know ambivalence means having mixed feelings or contradictory ideas, but we all want it to mean that we don’t care either way. Can we all, unitedly and unilaterally, just agree to change the meaning of this word? Just by collectively deciding it? And by virtue of a mental, virtual handshake? Great. There. It’s done. We did it. Great work, everyone.) I am an observer and examiner and, as a scientist, I like to take careful and calculated measures before deducing: This trend is sound! And I welcome it in.

Enter the Substack newsletter where you need look no further than your inbox. I have been using caveman ways of blogging since blogs were first invented. Though I love change, I’m also pretty lazy. But—know what else I like? Forcing myself into people’s lives. Examples:

1. I gift things to people things they’d never ask for or even think of. Things like Christmas paper chains of essays I’ve written. You know how there are all these new kinds of advent calendars? This past December I got myself a tea light advent calendar. I loved it. Well, I’m going to be the one that creates a new advent calendar of PERSONAL ESSAYS UNBIDDEN. If that doesn’t scream holiday spirit, what would. (they were Christmas-themed, in my defense)

2. Another example is a photo I took and decided to deliver to neighbors for the holidays. “Oh, that’s cool,” you think. “A little 4x7 snapshot, postcard size.” No. It was an 8x8 print. I thought past the absurdity of this and rested on the idea that the bigger it was, the more likely people would be to keep it, maybe even frame it, which is what my imagination tells me people did.

3. Once at a gathering of a large group of people sitting in a circle, guests were invited to bring a favorite item to gift to someone else as a way to introduce oneself. You would stand and explain the item, then draw a name of attendees to present it to. Not only did I bring a book of poetry but also a homemade booklet of my own poetry and, given the public nature, it was kind of like, Everyone’s watching! You have to act like you’re totally into it! See, I know what I’m doing.

In summary, the image of people having some weird thing of mine in their homes gives me great egotistical joy, but really, I do strive to be worthy of one's time in some way.

Enter: The newsletter.

My plan: To send you weekly things of my heart. Funny things, sad things, honest things, weird things, but all real and true Jen things. I know no other way. To keep you guessing which Jen thing you’ll get today as you open your inbox to something hopefully slightly better than perpetual Gap Factory sales and Amazon updates (though, those things do have their place).

Essays, letters, poems, photos. My hot take on a dumb moment. Pointing out the absurd. Word vomit disguised as funny commentary, a frustrated pronouncement, or general and alchemical attempts to turn nothing into something which, *cracking knuckles* is kind of my forté. Forced into your inbox and your life. A new friend! Or frienemy, which I’ll also take, and which can make things interesting. I’m not terribly controversial, but I am quite impulsive, even in writing.

Eventually I may charge some money for my words, but for now you can be blessed for free. Or have in your home as a sort of white elephant gift (maybe to regift to someone you know? This means feel free to pass it on).  

When I thought about a photo to add, I briefly considered and then discarded the idea of a current, nice-looking photo of me. Because if I truly want to present myself honestly and authentically, this picture captures exactly who I am inside: A 13-year-old slamming some Pops, psyched for her city-league basketball game in a jersey and her best chambray button-up. If this girl speaks to you, click on that subscribe button and let me be your JenPal.

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