"There is always another interesting essay to read on Substack, but sometimes I feel like too much of my mental space is colonized by people who are mostly strangers to me, regardless of the fascinating take they have on the latest headline."
Phew, you said it, Robyn. You said it. I feel seen.
This essay about the attempt to carve out one's own space as a creator speaks directly to the heart!
See what travel does to you?? It's hard to bring yourself back together when you've been away. The feeling of being split between various worlds takes so long to get rid of. But that crisp, clear, tongue-tingling Riesling is unforgettable, isn't it? I'd say it's worth it!
Wow, yes, the Riesling. The vineyards built onto those steep cliff faces. Some of the vines that were over a hundred years old. The winery with Herr Weyh telling us stories about the witch who used wine to cure people. The peach brandy made from the ugly peaches they grow among the grapevines, from peach trees brought to the valley by the Romans. The little courtyard and the flowers blooming and, yes, the taste of that Riesling. That experience made everything worth it.
"Perhaps what it boils down to is as simple as this—I want to bring the traveler’s gaze to my own life." Wow that sentence really resonated. So beautiful and insightful. And not because it fit me (my husband and I do not like to travel) but it seemed to fit you. And just writing this, it also reminded me that for about 15 years--very difficult years on our lives--what we did each night was read aloud to each other travel memoirs, because while we didn't like to travel, we really loved seeing the world through the eyes of people who could recreate the world through their eyes for us (and take us out of our not so fun reality.). And I realized some of my favorite posts from you are when you have created the world of your garden, or your small town, or your vacations. So whether it is the chair, or the world, or simply you needed a vacation and are not ready yet to end that vacation, I obviously do hope you keep writing these so I can keep reading.
I second this comment by Louisa. Whatever you decide is yours to decide, of course, but the very fact that you are reflecting more deeply in this way and raising these questions seems to suggest that the writer in you needs what she needs. The travel fed her in one way and now this period is feeding her in another. It will be interesting to see where it takes you.
Thanks, Betsy. I’m mostly talking to myself here. Talking through my thoughts in order to figure out what’s really going on. I’m not going to stop writing, but as with any relationship, it seems worthwhile to do a little gut check every now and then. Is this bringing me joy? And if not, how can I change that?
You describe very beautifully what happens to me every time I step outside my usual life. We traveled regularly up to the pandemic and haven't since -- at least to Europe. I have traveled across the country several times, the most recent being last week, for family deaths and health emergencies. These trips are not vacations or bucket list items but, nevertheless, have a powerful effect on how I view my world upon my return. The dislocation -- internal and external -- that comes with traveling is rich with discomfort and possibility. Even when I return to the writing and all of that, it is altered in some way that is usually very positive.
Also: I have found those things that are more difficult to avoid when one is trying to "be a writer" -- the social media, relationships, etc. -- are getting easier and easier to let go during trips and afterwards. Protecting that "mental space" becomes so important and precious when trying to actually write something meaningul. It's a tension that I don't always navigate well.
I definitely always appreciate travel for the way it provides an escape from routine. And, yes, also an opportunity to re-examine those routines. A temporary clearing of the slate and then rebuilding it from the ground up. That re-entry into normal life is always a disorienting space to be in.
Yes, I cleared out so much of my social media over the last few years. No more Twitter/X. I look at IG and FB once a day. It’s Notes, Betsy! It sucks me in and even without the Substack app on my phone, I can still look at it during the day or while I’m on my computer. And though I’ve turned off most of the email notifications, they still come through. It feels so demoralizing to keep having to fight this battle, but I guess that’s just life in the 21st century.
Oh Robyn, bless your weary pen—and your treacherous chair.
What you’re describing isn’t writer’s block. It’s soul recoil. Your inner compass is whispering, “No more hostage negotiations with the algorithm.” And good on you for listening.
The chair isn’t the villain. It’s the altar where you sacrificed joy to appease the Publishing Gods. But the cruise? The café? That garden beside the Rijksmuseum? Those were holy spaces. No SEO. No subscriber counts. Just fountains and light and the kind of laughter that doesn't need a newsletter to validate it.
Maybe you’re not done writing. Maybe you’re done writing from the wound instead of from wonder. The trauma-novel can wait. Let it stew. Instead, write about the cruise. The wrong museum. The waitress in Kehl. Write essays that smell like Riesling and sound like children in fountains.
You don’t need a new chair. You need to write like nobody’s watching—and if they are, let them get wet.
– Virgin Monk Boy
(Who once threw his laptop into a sacred river and called it “a digital baptism”)
This is so beautiful and pretty much a perfect encapsulation of what I’m feeling. Yes, exactly, no more hostage negotiations with the algorithm. And those were holy spaces. Here’s to less hollow spaces and more holy spaces. Thanks so much for this lovely comment which warmed my weary heart.
Robyn, you already have your baptism—it’s every time you whisper, “I want to throw this phone in the river,” but don’t. That’s restraint. That’s sainthood. That’s spiritual resistance with a side of sass.
The sacred river isn’t always literal. Sometimes it’s the bathtub. Sometimes it’s deleting the draft instead of doom-polishing it for Medium. Sometimes it’s a walk, barefoot, muttering, “May the algorithm choke on its own keywords.”
But if you do toss the phone, just promise me this: record it in slow motion. We'll call it liturgy.
As much as writing feels vital and satisfying, it's challenging. All the more so when I return to writing after not writing for even a brief period. What you're going through is difficult, and I trust your writing rhythm will return. This piece proved it's still within you, even if the process was bumpy, complicated and frustrating.
I feel every word of this. Thank you for finding your way to expressing it so well. For me, the “trip” was grief. My Dad died in 2020 which sent me on a journey that fundamentally changed my relationship to writing, being online professionally and socially, and my internal voice. Re: the “problem” of Notes; I too have reduced my social media to the levels you follow AND I too was having a problem with Notes, even though so much good comes of it! I ended up using the Freedom app to block it + NYT + my browser in my phone/ipad for blocks of time. In the end, it was just about removing access so I can develop new habits and it’s really helping. You can use it for free, but I think i can also share a 30 day pass. Happy to share. At first I resented paying money to reduce the features of my already-expensive phone. Don’t begrudge Freedom its $ — more, I was irritated I couldn’t “handle” it on my own. But i ditched that useless judgement, and it has really helped.
You’re exactly right, Asha. The vacation just provided this pause where I could see my habits and how much I did not like them. But they are so hard to break and that’s not because some failure of will on our part. They’re designed to be very hard habits to break. They’re designed to be addictive. So any tool that helps break that addiction is well worth it! It’s hard to put a price on mental peace.
"There is always another interesting essay to read on Substack, but sometimes I feel like too much of my mental space is colonized by people who are mostly strangers to me, regardless of the fascinating take they have on the latest headline."
Phew, you said it, Robyn. You said it. I feel seen.
This essay about the attempt to carve out one's own space as a creator speaks directly to the heart!
Thanks, Don. It’s a hard balance to achieve.
See what travel does to you?? It's hard to bring yourself back together when you've been away. The feeling of being split between various worlds takes so long to get rid of. But that crisp, clear, tongue-tingling Riesling is unforgettable, isn't it? I'd say it's worth it!
Wow, yes, the Riesling. The vineyards built onto those steep cliff faces. Some of the vines that were over a hundred years old. The winery with Herr Weyh telling us stories about the witch who used wine to cure people. The peach brandy made from the ugly peaches they grow among the grapevines, from peach trees brought to the valley by the Romans. The little courtyard and the flowers blooming and, yes, the taste of that Riesling. That experience made everything worth it.
"Perhaps what it boils down to is as simple as this—I want to bring the traveler’s gaze to my own life." Wow that sentence really resonated. So beautiful and insightful. And not because it fit me (my husband and I do not like to travel) but it seemed to fit you. And just writing this, it also reminded me that for about 15 years--very difficult years on our lives--what we did each night was read aloud to each other travel memoirs, because while we didn't like to travel, we really loved seeing the world through the eyes of people who could recreate the world through their eyes for us (and take us out of our not so fun reality.). And I realized some of my favorite posts from you are when you have created the world of your garden, or your small town, or your vacations. So whether it is the chair, or the world, or simply you needed a vacation and are not ready yet to end that vacation, I obviously do hope you keep writing these so I can keep reading.
I second this comment by Louisa. Whatever you decide is yours to decide, of course, but the very fact that you are reflecting more deeply in this way and raising these questions seems to suggest that the writer in you needs what she needs. The travel fed her in one way and now this period is feeding her in another. It will be interesting to see where it takes you.
Thanks, Betsy. I’m mostly talking to myself here. Talking through my thoughts in order to figure out what’s really going on. I’m not going to stop writing, but as with any relationship, it seems worthwhile to do a little gut check every now and then. Is this bringing me joy? And if not, how can I change that?
You describe very beautifully what happens to me every time I step outside my usual life. We traveled regularly up to the pandemic and haven't since -- at least to Europe. I have traveled across the country several times, the most recent being last week, for family deaths and health emergencies. These trips are not vacations or bucket list items but, nevertheless, have a powerful effect on how I view my world upon my return. The dislocation -- internal and external -- that comes with traveling is rich with discomfort and possibility. Even when I return to the writing and all of that, it is altered in some way that is usually very positive.
Also: I have found those things that are more difficult to avoid when one is trying to "be a writer" -- the social media, relationships, etc. -- are getting easier and easier to let go during trips and afterwards. Protecting that "mental space" becomes so important and precious when trying to actually write something meaningul. It's a tension that I don't always navigate well.
I definitely always appreciate travel for the way it provides an escape from routine. And, yes, also an opportunity to re-examine those routines. A temporary clearing of the slate and then rebuilding it from the ground up. That re-entry into normal life is always a disorienting space to be in.
Yes, I cleared out so much of my social media over the last few years. No more Twitter/X. I look at IG and FB once a day. It’s Notes, Betsy! It sucks me in and even without the Substack app on my phone, I can still look at it during the day or while I’m on my computer. And though I’ve turned off most of the email notifications, they still come through. It feels so demoralizing to keep having to fight this battle, but I guess that’s just life in the 21st century.
Oh Robyn, bless your weary pen—and your treacherous chair.
What you’re describing isn’t writer’s block. It’s soul recoil. Your inner compass is whispering, “No more hostage negotiations with the algorithm.” And good on you for listening.
The chair isn’t the villain. It’s the altar where you sacrificed joy to appease the Publishing Gods. But the cruise? The café? That garden beside the Rijksmuseum? Those were holy spaces. No SEO. No subscriber counts. Just fountains and light and the kind of laughter that doesn't need a newsletter to validate it.
Maybe you’re not done writing. Maybe you’re done writing from the wound instead of from wonder. The trauma-novel can wait. Let it stew. Instead, write about the cruise. The wrong museum. The waitress in Kehl. Write essays that smell like Riesling and sound like children in fountains.
You don’t need a new chair. You need to write like nobody’s watching—and if they are, let them get wet.
– Virgin Monk Boy
(Who once threw his laptop into a sacred river and called it “a digital baptism”)
This is so beautiful and pretty much a perfect encapsulation of what I’m feeling. Yes, exactly, no more hostage negotiations with the algorithm. And those were holy spaces. Here’s to less hollow spaces and more holy spaces. Thanks so much for this lovely comment which warmed my weary heart.
Also, cannot tell you how often I say to my husband, “I want to throw my phone into the river.” Maybe I need my own digital baptism.
Robyn, you already have your baptism—it’s every time you whisper, “I want to throw this phone in the river,” but don’t. That’s restraint. That’s sainthood. That’s spiritual resistance with a side of sass.
The sacred river isn’t always literal. Sometimes it’s the bathtub. Sometimes it’s deleting the draft instead of doom-polishing it for Medium. Sometimes it’s a walk, barefoot, muttering, “May the algorithm choke on its own keywords.”
But if you do toss the phone, just promise me this: record it in slow motion. We'll call it liturgy.
Now go—write something wild and Riesling-scented.
—Virgin Monk Boy 🌀📿💻💦
Well...welcome back...
Lol. I am very happy to be home. Madison is sort of like a little European town, only without the good food.
I appreciate this piece because it’s simply about being human, in process and in the inquiry without conclusion.
Yeah, pretty much.
As much as writing feels vital and satisfying, it's challenging. All the more so when I return to writing after not writing for even a brief period. What you're going through is difficult, and I trust your writing rhythm will return. This piece proved it's still within you, even if the process was bumpy, complicated and frustrating.
I feel all of this!
I feel every word of this. Thank you for finding your way to expressing it so well. For me, the “trip” was grief. My Dad died in 2020 which sent me on a journey that fundamentally changed my relationship to writing, being online professionally and socially, and my internal voice. Re: the “problem” of Notes; I too have reduced my social media to the levels you follow AND I too was having a problem with Notes, even though so much good comes of it! I ended up using the Freedom app to block it + NYT + my browser in my phone/ipad for blocks of time. In the end, it was just about removing access so I can develop new habits and it’s really helping. You can use it for free, but I think i can also share a 30 day pass. Happy to share. At first I resented paying money to reduce the features of my already-expensive phone. Don’t begrudge Freedom its $ — more, I was irritated I couldn’t “handle” it on my own. But i ditched that useless judgement, and it has really helped.
You’re exactly right, Asha. The vacation just provided this pause where I could see my habits and how much I did not like them. But they are so hard to break and that’s not because some failure of will on our part. They’re designed to be very hard habits to break. They’re designed to be addictive. So any tool that helps break that addiction is well worth it! It’s hard to put a price on mental peace.