Subscriber perks! TV recaps! Depression! (OBSESSED #9)
New year, new OBSESSED.
On creative depression (or: the bad friend in your head)
Has it been a year already?
Nope! I’ve been writing this newsletter for three months. But last you heard from me was about four weeks ago, when I said I’d be back next week. And among my most dedicated OBSESSED babies, I’m sure four weeks without a dispatch felt like one year without food, water or love :(
The delay was unintentional. The tail-end of 2023 was tougher than anticipated — your girl got hit with some good ol’ fashioned seasonal depression, which might’ve been less “seasonal” and more “what happens after your first six months in New York when you don’t feel like you creatively ‘produced’ enough and overthink yourself into a fugue state of wildly toxic hopelessness.”
Let me first say that I truly, truly hate it when people who live in New York act like their struggles are wholly inaccessible to those who don’t live in this city. Or, like their problems are more important, because their problems tie back to New York City, which doesn’t matter more than other cities even though you can totally tell they think New York matters more than your city.
Everybody has struggles unique to their city, town, village. Such is the virtue of living somewhere! One struggle with my city? That, apparently, your first six months here are beyond exhausting. I probably had a dozen people tell me this. In this city, at any given moment, it feels like there are 200 events happening alllllll around you that will entertain, energize or otherwise change your life. And in plenty of instances, that’s sort of true? Because New York is dense as hell, and there really is always something great happening. Even if all 200 events are bad, you still get to walk amongst the fancy brownstones to attend the event, and that feels supremely magical. And if you aren’t experiencing some of that magic each night, it can feel like you’re wasting however much time you’ve got in this city. This is why, for so many, your first six months in New York wring you out: because you simply do not stop going, going, going until you’re gone.
This is, at least, what happened to me. From June to November, I made plans almost every night (this is not a brag — it’s an illness) and walked 10,000 steps a day. I charged $17 cocktails to my frail, wheezing credit card that begged me to think of the children. Credit card debt? That’s just a construct! If somebody wanted to grab dinner — even if their invitation was cursory or casual — well dammit, we had dinner. Oh, somebody I barely know has a 10 o’clock show on a Tuesday? Well by golly, I’ve got plans at 10 o’clock on Tuesday, even though that was the night I’d set aside to write! Nothing to do tonight? Why, I should make dinner plans with somebody! Anybody! I’m never going to die! (For what it’s worth, the Tuesday night shows were always excellent.)
So, despite our moving to New York in large part for my writing career, my first six months in the city were some of my most unproductive, creatively speaking. Aside from some half-written humor pieces, embryonic pilot ideas and a handful of so-so jokes, I didn’t finish the year with a ton of writing to show for my time here. I took stock of this in early December, and, embarrassingly, promptly freaked. Suddenly, I felt so behind — I was a FAILURE, a hopeless POSER, just another delusional WANNABE who isn’t cut out for this work and I’ll never get a JOB in the INDUSTRY.
This utterly cursed thought process — not to mention, the awful and capitalistic priorities fueling it — is pretty much the antidote to creating worthwhile stuff from a place of confidence and joy.
The first couple weeks of December were tough. I was capital-D Depressed. A day was impossible to slog through without a mid-day nap, and an early evening nap, and sometimes a late morning nap. Meals consisted of whatever was easiest to air fry, or candy. At best, I was able to be half-present for conversations. I went up on my antidepressants, temporarily, and more or less muscled through the remaining weeks until I went home to Houston to hang with my family, which is always restorative. (That is, if they’d want to hang out with me, on account of my being a FAILURE!)
And praise the heavens, Houston was restorative. And I’m feeling much better now, because I eventually snapped out of it and realized how brutal and toxic my mindset was. Alongside some journaling, weed walks (huge proponent of thoughtful walks after smoking a lil bit!), good conversations and therapy, it took sitting still for five seconds — less in a Depressed way, more in a Thoughtful Solitude way — to realize that, uh, that cruel horseshit is gonna leave me feeling paralyzed forever if I keep listening to it.
This is something I’m writing about more deeply in an essay (more on essays in a bit!) for OBSESSED that also gets into the many, many ways capitalism fuels those feelings and priorities and definitions of success. But for now, the name of the game is focused mindfulness. We’re tryin’ to thoughtfully spend our time based on our values and what we want, both in the immediate moment and, also, further out. Because the goal here, ultimately, is to build a fulfilling creative life — not achieve professional or commercial success. It’s never been about that! But another tough thing about being in the city? How many “industry” opportunities are all around you. Yes, it’s magical, and inspiring, and makes it feel like anything is possible. But honey, if that becomes your main motivation for doing any of this, you’re fucked.
How OBSESSED will be different 2024
While in Houston, I also thought about OBSESSED, and how to shape it into something that lets me be more creative each week, versus being concerned about rigidly adhering to a format or hitting a certain work count each week.
So, big update: I’m now allowing readers to become paid subscribers. This was at the urging of many friends, despite my irrational discomfort with asking readers (many of whom I know and love) to send me a couple of their hard-earned bucks in exchange for (what I hope is) an enriching creative product. To be clear: nobody has to become a subscriber! I’ll still be sending out weekly dispatches for zero bucks, and will be overjoyed if you read! I’ll also be sending out a lot more content that’s exclusive to subscribers, though. For this to be sustainable and grow and become something bigger and broader, it really does take support. And I thank anyone who offers it immensely!
What OBSESSED paid subscribers can expect
In 2024, I’m giving OBSESSED the freedom to be whatever it wants to be in each (totally and completely free!) weekly dispatch. No more “tweaking the format.” There is no format, honey! Each dispatch might look pretty different week-to-week (but they’ll all absolutely be shorter than they’ve been up to this point). I might write about an episode of television, or a particularly insane column from a dipshit blowhard, or marriage or manners or the timeless allure of donuts.
With shorter weekly dispatches, I’ll be able to offer the following exclusively OBSESSED subscribers:
Weekly television recaps!
Exclusive essays, twice a month (during months without TV recaps)!
Mmhmm. That’s riiiiight! *Oprah voice* I will be writing weekly television recaps! And I’m pumped as hell! We’ll be starting with TRUE DETECTIVE (!!), which premieres on January 14. Recaps will be sent out the following day. Jaws will be pulled off the floor the day after. I can’t wait!
Some other shows I’m planning to recap, depending on their release schedule, if such a thing sways your decision to become a subscriber:
The Regime (HBO Max) (Extremely pumped for this.)
Fallout (Prime) (Not as pumped, but it’s certain to be a pop culture moment, so.)
Agatha: Darkhold Diaries (Disney+) (Also, doesn’t “Darkhold Diaries” feel like the second-best idea pitched at a meeting among folks who aren’t good at ideas?)
The Veil (FX) (Watching because I live to see Miss Moss make her little expressions.)
The Penguin (HBO Max) (Ugh, hate including two Marvel properties but THE PENGUIN will be starring Colin Farrell and, subsequently, my little boner.)
With OBSESSED’s weekly dispatch shortening up, I’ll also be able to write more deeply about certain subjects that are meaningful to me in subscriber-only essays. Those essays will look like ones sent out in regular ol’ dispatches in 2023, including this essay on marriage and this one on Taylor Swift. During months where there isn’t any TV to recap, I’ll publish these essays twice a month.
The first essays exclusive to subscribers? Honey, it’s about Saltburn, and it’ll drop into your inbox next week!
Lastly, if you’re already a paid subscriber — my goodness, thank you. THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU. Money is, famously, a limited resource, and most people I’ve met enjoy having as much of it as possible. So, I don’t take it lightly when you opt to give me some of yours. I may even take it too seriously! Your generosity inspires me to bring my full self here, and to deliver something you’ll hopefully find affecting, helpful, or infuriating, but in an invigorating way.
If you aren’t a subscriber, you can become one by clicking the button below. I’ve set the minimum subscription cost at the lowest sum that Substack will allow.
OK, that’s it for now! Here’s to a supremely good 2024 for anybody reading this, and a cursed century of suffering for those who like to stand out from a crowd.
Love you,
Cara