I Have Questions
I Have Questions
Like who are you and why are you here? Not existential questions by the way.
He nīnau kaʻu. I have a question.
Who are you?
Maybe two questions: Who are you? And why are you here?
This Substack began as They Keep Telling Me I Should Write My Memoir. Today, after 52 weeks of writing memoir, I dropped the last two words. My first readers were people who already knew me. Some of them more recent friends who had no idea what I was doing in my 30s. Some dear longtime friends who accompanied me on various of these adventures. I kind of know who you are and why you were reading “my memoir.” I guess you were curious. You wanted to know “who are you?” about me, the stories I never told you before.
My Substack has over two hundred subscribers, and more readers who follow a link from social media but have never subscribed. And so I now I am the curious one.
Who are you? And why are you here?
I know a whole bunch of you came from my Always Inspiring friend Matthew Ferreira so I am guessing you are real estate professionals. But again I ask, confident that some of you will take the time to answer: Who are you? And why are you here? We all get a ton of emails so I am especially curious what were you hoping for when you signed up to get one more weekly email competing for your time and attention.
My apologies if this sounds a bit like a dating app prompt. Although I am not at all sure that is true, since I am terrified of dating apps. Maybe thatʻs because I already get too many followers and friend requests from handsome men of a certain age who clearly are bots. Maybe itʻs because as a real estate professional I spend so much time each day conversing with people who found me online, read one of my blog posts, and then decided to call or email or text me. And I have to figure out who they are and build a connection. They have to figure out if they want to meet me face to face.
Not what I want to spend my evenings repeating.
By the time the sun sets on an average day the only being I wanted to converse with is the dog. And our conversation is pretty scripted. “Ganesh, do you want your dinner?” The answer is always an enthusiastic “yes”. And a few moments later as he licks his lips and looks at me with those big brown eyes, I ask him “Was it good?” Although usually that comes out as “Isch guet gsi?” - if you read last weekʻs post you can guess why I speak to my Weimaraner in Swenglish, a weird mixture of Swiss German and English. Heʻs not fussy about his dinner, by the way.
My dog Ganesh also has questions. He is an old man but has always been a thoughtful guy.
And yet, I must not be entirely burnt out on conversations because it feels weird to have spent 52 weeks writing without having been in conversation with most of my readers. Iʻm just talking at you and I talk too much.
There is something else. In the years I have been writing about, I was living through a period of big questions in my life. Major transitions during which I thought I found some answers, and then was forced to discard those and stay with the questions. Questions are important. They bring us into relationship. They guide us to expansion or contraction, framing the possibilities before us.
And right now, thirty years later, I have sooooo many questions. Big ones and small ones. Here are a few of them in no particular order:
What do I feel compelled to write about next?
Why did I insist on closing the memoir when I did?
Did anyone really get anything out of my writing this year other than the entertainment value, for people who already knew me, of learning surprising things about my past?
What do I feel compelled to do next in my life beyond writing and real estate? I probably have 30 years of vitality and productivity left.
Why do I keep buying eye makeup and retinol creams and never finding what I feel really works for me? (Although I highly recommend Valerie Monroeʻs How Not to F*ck Up Your Face for great questions and answers on this topic.)
Why do women feel we have to wear makeup and plump up those wrinkles anyway and why do we think it is weird when men do?
I find myself feeling increasingly uncomfortable using the word “ally” but I do not know a better word to refer to myself with respect to the people and causes I am committed to support. Is there a better word?
Why are we teaching and allowing young people to base their opinions on the “facts” and opinions of others (influencers, authorities, The Internet) and failing to teach and allow and interest young people to wrestle with big, important questions for themselves?
How do we encourage ourselves as adults to trust we can find our own answers to questions, to be willing to change our mind about the answers, when the algorithms just keep reinforcing what we think we know and like in an endless amplifying loop?
Is the iPhone 15 worth it?
Are skinny jeans really not cool anymore?
And why am I inside at my laptop on a gorgeous sunny day when I could be hiking or whacking weeds or saddling up my horse?
Feel free to attempt an answer to any or all of the above in the comments. Right after Who are you? And why are you here?
PS - Suleika Jaouad who writes The Isolation Journals wrote an awesome Ode to the Humble Question this past week. Her prompt was to write some questions for deepening connection with another person. I love prompts that do this! Please share your favorites!