I had a series of online journals when I was a teenager when that kind of internet writing for the masses was new. First, I had a Diaryland page, then a Livejournal, and then several more serious Wordpress pages.
Oh, how I miss that writing.
Online diaries were very similar to the writing platforms we have now, like our very own Substack. Strangers from the internet could visit public posts by URL or you could limit the visibility to just your subscribed friends. People could comment but, overwhelmingly, your audience consisted of a handful of friends who also had online diaries and already knew the context of all of your stories.
What made the difference between writing online diaries and writing on today’s platforms is everyone’s favorite word: content. I am desperate for a place where I can write what I need to write and not worry about 1) expanding the reach of my audience, 2) creating a coherent content theme for the entertainment of said audience, and 3) providing value through my writing.
I guarantee you that there was very little value offered to anyone else in my online diary days.
But every time I have tried to write in the past few months, I have been plagued by thoughts like, “but what does this have to do with your core message” and “is this on brand for the kind of work you want to do?” The answer is always no.
Of course, I know that people generally enjoy developing parasocial relationships with writers. I also know that people will take whatever they need from what I have to say if they are the people who need to hear what I have to say.
In other words, I don’t think that I have to be so precious about my writing.
Sometimes I miss the absurd whimsy of my earliest internet writing self. She didn’t care about branding or the pressure to reply to comments—she just wrote for an imaginary audience who laughed at all of her jokes.
I want to tell you about what’s going on in my life. What I’m thinking about. The books I’m reading. Places where I find faces-in-things. A memory that reminds me of something I’m working through right now.
In my heart of hearts, I know that I went away too long.
You know how it goes with a friend you haven’t seen in a while. So much happens in a life and when someone asks, “How’s it going?” there’s too much to say in a relationship that’s standing on shaky intimate ground. Do you want to know about how I’ve been struggling with grief and a recent ADHD diagnosis or should I stick with how time flies and the kids are all grown up? Social norms suggest that there is only one right answer and it doesn’t have anything to do with emotions.
So, I have returned, my proverbial tail between my metaphorical legs. I come bearing intimacy, an offering to know me better.
I don’t have an agenda. I couldn’t tell you what this newsletter is about. It’s stories and news and a dispatch from the edges of my life’s work: to tell stories for good.
You may have noticed the name of my original diary: tobosoqueso. I read Don Quixote in my high school Spanish classes and the book immediately took hold of my heart. I recognized myself in the character of Alonso Quijano, an ordinary man who believes (and tries to get everyone else to believe) in the extraordinary. He decides to be a knight errant, so he is. Toboso is the Spanish town where his lady love Dulcinea lives. And “queso” is Spanish for cheese. At 16, these words made a lot of sense together.
I have carried a sense of wonder and a nearly unshakable faith that the impossible could be made real my entire life. In tribute, I chose “The Quixotic” as the name for this dispatch series as a space to share more about my quest toward using stories to change the world for good. Quixotic is a word that means “exceedingly idealistic; unrealistic and impractical” and I want my writing to be a love letter to anyone else who recognizes that as a reason to move forward, not back down. Bring on the idealistic and the impractical! Let’s dream about it together.
As with any good quest, I don’t know what I’m going to find along the way. I trust that you’ll manage your own inbox and notifications so I can stop worrying about spamming you. I might use the Notes or the Podcast part of this platform, too. The form is still a bit of a mystery. I just know that I’ve never been the kind of storyteller who waits for the ending—I have to tell it as I go.
So, let’s go.