Returning From A Leave Of Absence

An anchor lets you see the river move.

Been a while.

I think the thing about trauma and pain is that most people aren’t lucky enough to know that it’s coming. But one day you feel it and you know.

I’m not going to spend any time on my absence from VFD because that isn’t the point and I don’t owe you my life. But for a moment there my world was clouded up with sadness, and I needed somewhere soft to put myself, and that wasn’t in the endless scroll of the latest VC-funded internet startup (read: Substack) trying to convince everyone that email wasn’t invented 50 years ago. Oh, we’re innovating alright: new ways to tell each other we’re worth it. I took time for myself and I don’t regret it.

I will tell you that this mess coincided with me catching some God Awful Flu — not COVID — though I’m inclined to tell you from personal experience that it was worse, and in a combination of mealy-mouthed depression and actual, real-life sickness I lost about 7 kilos and a few pant-sizes and everyone I knew seemed to also notice that, yes, my cheekbones were a bit tighter and my shoulders a bit pointier and my pants a bit looser and perhaps for the first time in my life after the seventh or eighth time hearing you’re looking skinny I felt what it must be like to be a woman in this world or thereabouts. I don’t envy it.

I wish I could tell you I had some sort of revelation or moment of clarity, but I am lucky enough to have lived and to continue living a life where I have the tools around me to deal with great sadness or pain or suffering or just general struggle. My brain worked through it, and leant into it, and realised that to get through things I had to feel them entirely and fully and purposefully and without regret. And so I did.

And now I’m here again. What did I miss?

Elon Musk is railroading himself into oblivion, as much as a billionaire can. There are theories to the way his brain works and what causes the spasmodic flailing in both real life and online, but I can’t bring my mind away from the possibility that, for the select few billionaires and Very PowerFul People in the world who can manipulate the world, maybe $55 billion is an OK price to pay to destroy the fourth industrial revolution’s version of the public square.

Twitter is [X] now, and while not dead it is pacing away in toiled movements. Even Dr Frankenstein would admire it. But what do you think? Sure, it doesn’t look like that company is being driven to any sort of jackpot major feature. But Elon Musk is still a billionaire, living a life you couldn’t comprehend. Money means different things to different people, and when you have enough of it you can bet your ass it means almost nothing. The only thing left to care about is power.

And I’m not sure I know what the weight of power is anymore. Used to be obvious, and could be now, too. But even those in high places seem desperate to stay at the front of train. More than ever, every rich kid from Silicon Valley wants their platform to look like everything else. Threads, WeChat, X, TikTok Text… it’s enough to make you want to cry. There was so much potential and we watched the rich and powerful piss it away. But what’s new, eh? That’s the deal. Who told you all this would be fair? Their desperation doesn’t seem to come across in any sort of real way that I can point towards, other than that sort of stale smell that surrounds people when they’re circling aimlessly but with purpose, like an ant trapped in the rain, feet wet and confused. They know where they should be but can’t help feeling like they’re not gonna get there. That’s the thing about power: it’s made to be traded. And like all good trades, eventually you’ll run out.

I don’t know. What am I, delusional?

At least the news cycle seems to be slowing down — a consequence of fragmentation. A lot harder to keep the whole world in on the joke when you’re dropping the punchline on eight different platforms. Maybe that’s a good thing. I’ve always been bullish about the return to print, as if the increased policing of the internet and, well, general dullness of it all would turn the world’s youth in any other direction. But that’s a hard horse to get running. I’m working on it. I think it feels better.

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In my brief hiatus, I did find time to profile YouTuber Michael Messineo for New York Magazine. You can read a digital edition of the story here, or pick up the July 3 issue (it’s the one with RFK Jr. on the cover, Christ).