5 Months, 0 Strategy, 1 Breakdown (Per Week)

When I launched this newsletter five months ago today, I had some... ideas.

Big ones. Naïve ones. Sparkly, delusional ones.

I imagined building a devoted audience of strangers who would forward my work to other strangers until I became some kind of mysterious, beloved email cult leader. I figured it would all just kind of happen , like an effortlessly charming indie movie where the main character blogs their way to spiritual enlightenment and a book deal.

Anyway, here’s what I thought would happen, and the cold, weird, hilarious reality of what actually did.

Expectation: “People will find me. I am a rare and precious voice. They will know.”

Reality: No. They will not know. Because I am actively hiding.

I thought if I wrote things that were thoughtful and honest and funny, people would somehow sense it. Like newsletter bloodhounds. Or that scene in Ratatouille when the critic tastes the food and has a memory flashback.

Turns out, that only works when you also tell people you exist . Which I have not done. At all. My strategy so far has been: publish regularly, and then immediately throw my phone in a drawer like the NSA is watching.

If someone stumbles upon this newsletter, it is either divine intervention or a typo.

Expectation: “I’ll be chill about the stats. I’m not doing this for validation.”

Reality: I now have a PhD in Refreshing Substack’s Dashboard.

Before this, I thought I was immune to performance metrics. Above it all. A purist. A writer of the people.

But the first time someone unsubscribed, I stared at their name like I was trying to solve a murder. I remember where I was. What I was eating. The weather.

I’ve now refreshed my analytics page more than I’ve called my mother this year. I track open rates like other people track their fantasy football leagues. If someone doesn't open a post, I assume they've either died or finally realized I'm too weird.

Expectation: “Once I get into the groove, I’ll tell people I know. Maybe even post about it.”

Reality: Hahahahahahahahahaha. No .

I have told exactly zero people in my life (besides mom) that I write this newsletter. It’s not shame, it’s fear. The moment someone I know reads it, they will say something perfectly supportive like, “Hey, I liked your latest piece!” and I will implode into a small pile of self-doubt and delete my entire archive.

I would literally rather get a root canal on live television than watch someone I know read one of my posts in real-time. If you're reading this and you do know me: no you don’t.

Expectation: “This will be a fun creative outlet.”

Reality: It is a relentless creative obsession that I absolutely love and cannot stop.

I post every single day . No breaks. No missed sends. I am a newsletter monk. A digital ascetic. I have rearranged my life around my deadline like it’s the Sabbath and I’m a one-person publishing cult.

Is it fun? Yes. Is it satisfying? Often. Is it a little unhinged to care this much about a free internet column that goes out to a small group of quiet readers and one guy named (REDACTED) who never clicks “like” but opens every email instantly? Yes. But I live for it.

This newsletter may have started as a side project, but now it’s a ritual, a spiritual practice, and possibly the only consistent thing about me.

Final Thoughts

So, no: I didn’t go viral. I didn’t become a media darling. Oprah has not, to my knowledge, subscribed.

But I’ve built something. And more importantly, I’ve stuck with it . Five months of showing up, writing through the doubt, and pressing “send” even when I was convinced it would land like a brick in a puddle.

And that? That’s way better than what I imagined.

To You, the Reader

Okay, dropping the sarcasm for a second. Just this part. Really.

Thank you.

If you’ve been reading along, whether since the first post or you just wandered in recently, I want you to know how much that means to me. In a world overflowing with content, the fact that you choose to spend even a few minutes here, with my words, is something I don’t take lightly.

This newsletter started as an experiment, a tiny corner to put some thoughts into the world without overthinking them to death (well, not too much). I didn’t know if anyone would read it. I definitely didn’t expect anyone to keep coming back. But some of you have, quietly, consistently, without needing bells or whistles or perfect headlines. And that kind of trust? That’s rare. And it’s everything.

Writing every week has become one of the most grounding and meaningful parts of my routine. I care about this little project more than I expected to, not because of numbers or growth or any of that, but because it connects me to you .

So if you’ve ever opened a post, smiled, nodded, laughed, or just didn’t unsubscribe, thank you. Truly. I see you. And I’m grateful you’re here.

No jokes. No punchlines. Just that.

And Now… An AMA (Because Why Not?)

To celebrate 5 months of writing and 5 months of not telling my friends I write, I’m opening the floor to an Ask Me Anything . A totally optional, mildly chaotic opportunity for you to ask questions I may or may not answer.

You can ask me about the writing process, the behind-the-scenes panic, or anything else you’ve been curious about but too polite to bring up.

I’m emotionally prepared for your curiosity. (Just barely.)

Questions You Can Ask:

“Why did you start this thing?”

“What’s your writing process like, besides ‘spiral then publish’?”

“What’s been the hardest part about doing this every day?”

“Do you have a favorite post? One you regret?”

“What keeps you going?”

Questions You Cannot Ask:

“Have you thought about turning this into a brand?” (I can’t even turn my groceries into meals. Please relax.)

“Couldn’t you just simplify what you do?” (Yes, but then who would overcomplicate it for the people who get it?)

“Have you considered launching a YouTube channel?” (Yes, if you’d like 37 minutes of me blinking at a camera and asking if my voice sounds weird.)

“Why aren’t you leveraging cross-platform content?” (Because I’m busy leveraging silence, avoidance, and the power of selective visibility.)

Is this newsletter humor, fiction, personal essay, educational, or commentary?” (Yes.)