Dear Jen: How does it feel to be 37?
A letter to myself on progressing in age and my latest reflection on holding the joy and the sadness of the world.
It's an important issue of Thursdays with Jen. After 45 newsletters over 5 years, I have migrated from TinyLetter to Substack. Along with the migration is a new concept.
For 25 years, I have kept it up the practice of short-form writing because it allows me to refine my thinking, practice intellectual agility, and interact with community. For that long stretch of time, I wrote what was on my mind, which varied from my hate-watching Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory to life as an Asian American woman amid a global pandemic. Now, I'm interested in the next challenge — of crafting and reacting to what others throw at me.
I invite you to participate in this project, which is both a writing generator and community builder — in the form of a stereotypical Dear Abby-like column. Thus, Thursdays with Jen is now...Thursday Letters with Jen. What a significant branding change!
Here's how it works every first Thursday of the month.
You:
Have a question.
Want an answer, but don't quite care about the absurdity, practicality, or banality of said answer. In fact, you're not interested in a high-quality response or even a mid-tier quality response.
Are acting in good faith and do not want to intentionally get me cancelled.
Fill out this extremely amateurish Google Form that looks like it was designed by an overworked and underpaid preschool teacher being asked at the 11th hour to coordinate their own teacher appreciation potluck with no money nor support nor actual appreciation.
Wait and see if I select your question for response.
EITHER: Receive and read a newsletter containing an answer to your submitted question.
OR: Feel disappointed and neglected when I do not choose your question and thus enter into a cycle of anxious attachment premised on childhood abandonment issues. I'm really sorry about that. I hope your parents did the best they could given the personal, financial, and social limits of what they had.
I, Jen:
Anxiously monitor the spreadsheet option of the Google Form for someone — anyone, even a bot — to submit a question.
I respond to a submitted question in whatever way I want and try to include a hand-drawn graphic to visually illustrate my thinking.
Repeat this cycle each month.
Become a slave to money then I die.
End the newsletter.
Get reincarnated into what I was always meant to be — a hastily designed Google Form for a preschool teacher appreciation potluck.
Here's an example of a question I submitted to myself and then responded to:
Dear Jen #2: I heard you turned 37 this week! How do you feel about turning 37? Sincerely, Jen #1
Dear Jen #1: Why, thank you for the birthday wishes! Like every birthday, I, Jen #2, reflect on the experiences of getting one year older, creeping towards perimenopause, coping with my inevitable erasure as an aging woman in American society, and casually perusing casting calls for The Golden Bachelor as my long-term retirement plan. But as the old adage goes, "Asian don't raisin" (until we do), so it isn't actually so bad.
That said, this birthday is an interesting mixture of wonder and wondering. I am simultaneously thrilled about what is to come/who I am becoming and also extremely concerned about the circumstances of the world. We are on the verge of a fraught general election year. We are mired in cycles of war. We are experiencing levels of catastrophic wealth inequality. We are all very much a part of the aforementioned, whether we acknowledge it or not. Also, I feel physically great, relieved that my family is still in good health, and enjoy a nice little dollop of whipped cream atop my iced coffee each morning like the elder millennial that I am. Like, what the hell? How can I reconcile the drastically different realities of what I experience versus the pain of what a lot of the world is enduring at the moment?
There are days when I cope by thinking, "I'll control what I can actually control." Then there are times when I think the small stretches of life within my purview are not enough — almost futile to the extent that it is morbidly funny. The problems seem too big, the powers that be feel too formidable and elusive, and the incentive structures of our world appear far too fucked up. So, that's how I feel about turning 37. I am sitting with all of the aforementioned feelings with less of an inclination to solve, but to move through the undulating ritual of experiencing joy and fear at this age. Most of all, I don't shame myself for my feelings nor do I curb my joy — from my perspective, there’s no scenario where having fewer joyful people in the world is helpful. That said, it feels like a privilege to still be able to feel it all and to not succumb to understandable apathy and numbness. I am still very fired up. For that, I am thankful to still be here and 37.
Thanks for your question,
Jen #2
Dear Jen #2: Your response was really sad and didn't really provide any helpful guidance. Best, Jen #1
Dear Jen #1: I'm sorry. If you're not satisfied, try asking a more trite and whimsical question on this Google Form. For now, here — have a hand-drawn graphic on me:
Click here for a larger version of the above graphic.
Take care and see you on a first Thursday of the month,
Jen
PS: Don't forget to submit a question!