Making myself vulnerable
Slow-burning reflections on 2022.
Don’t forget The Ultimate Anti-Resolution Guide, introspective prompts for setting clear yearly intentions, is available free download now.
The audacity of vulnerability
I read something on the paid side of Austin Kleon’s newsletter that seemed fitting for where we are now. A period of time coined by Helena Fitzgerald as “Dead Week.”
Fitzgerald says instead of dreading Dead Week, she looks forward to it all year long. She frames Dead Week as a “nothing time” in which nobody really expects that much of you and nothing you do matters that much.
…Dead Week is the luxurious relief of giving up.
He goes on to say that rather than giving up he’s “letting go” and I agree with that language.
In the letting go of it all, I’m also taking inventory - symbolically and literally (Zac and I have some stuff to drop at the Goodwill this afternoon).
And in speaking of inventory, I’m reminded that saying “Zac and I” instead of "my partner and I” or even “me and my boyfriend” is also telling of a significant step.
Nearly 4 years since quietly deciding to pursue a relationship and build a life with someone else, I can confidently declare us a unit. A family, really.
And that’s a far cry from the ruthlessly independent, sterile self-image I clung to before. I much preferred to be seen as a high achieving, anti-sexual android than be outed as a regular person with serious needs and desires for love. The risk of adding gay/bi/queer to my list of identifiers was also too much for me to handle at the time. I didn’t have the imagination.
Fast forward to now. I’ve surrendered myself to caring and be cared for. I’ve taken the risk to choose myself and my family over mostly everything. Over my professional pursuits, my art, and my desire to make a me-shaped mark on the world. And even in the face of societal, political, and cultural opposition.
That’s the audacity of vulnerability that I’m still learning to live with. To see the unexpected, inconvenient, beautiful reality of who I am and embrace it every day.
It takes vulnerability not only to say how you feel, but to witness others do the same. Listening is an active sport, and practice is essential if you want to get better at it.
At work this year I was intent on developing my leadership skills, but I didn’t know what it looked like outside of business books. Turns out, it takes a lot of listening.
Holding space in 1:1s. Developing a coaching habit. Being radically candid. I was both grateful for and terrified at the opportunity to apply my head knowledge.
In the countless hours of paying attention, asking thoughtful questions, checking for my own biases and trying not to disassociate, I learned I’m capable of way more than I anticipated.
It is exhausting to be present. It’s also really rewarding.
I’m still figuring out how to create regular “focus” time that doesn’t put me to sleep.
I want to develop more ideas, more frequently, and share them in a more thoughtful way.
That means building back my stamina for uninterrupted, distraction-free deep work.
It also means to be seen trying, to not let perfect be the enemy of done.
My transition to Substack is a part of this. So thanks again for joining me here.
Liked and Followed
Endel’s AI-generated soundscapes continue to be my go-to for background comfort, whether I’m focusing or falling sleep.
I bought these Millennial olive oils. These Millennial knives and cookware. And look at this bucket of Maldon sea salt flakes.
Songs you might find me crying to by Benjamin Clementine, Kendall Morgan, and Zac Poor.
The outro to the Jacquemus SS23 show. You also might find me crying to this.
Works by Paul Mpagi Sepuya, Amy Sherald, and Ryan Pfluger.
Don’t forget The Ultimate Anti-Resolution Guide, introspective prompts for setting clear yearly intentions, is available free download now.
Question of the Day
In what ways have you made yourself more or less vulnerable this year?
As always, thanks for reading.
Until next time,
JP
