Things are worth doing even if no one is watching

Hello from the quake zone 🌎

As a resident of the Center of the Universe, New York City, I of course experienced the earthquake + aftershock that rattled our marvelous city on Friday. I was sitting in bed preparing for a work meeting, someone had just rung a doorbell in the building, and suddenly…everything was shaking.

When I tell you my first thought was “how is that delivery person doing this?” followed swiftly by “I didn’t know NYC had earthquakes?”…listen. It was a shocking experience! I was shook! Literally as well as figuratively!

Anyway, that was Friday. Now it’s Sunday. Time to move on, I suppose. This week we’ve got an odd one — it’s a week I should be running a Q&A, but for reasons I had to push that to next week, so this week you’re getting an essay. Kind of like an expanded “from the heart,” something I’m trying to do more of. Just focus on one topic and go ham. Let’s see where this leads us!

An essay on worthwhileness 🗣️

I think a lot about numbers, to my own detriment.

I think about numbers in terms of social media — how many followers do I have? Did I gain any, lose any? How many people liked my tweet, commented on my instagram, reposted me on threads?

I think about numbers when it comes to writing — how many words did I write today? How many queries did I send? How many rejected, requested a full and rejected, offered rep? How many books have I written, and is that too many or too few?

I think about numbers with this newsletter — how many subscribers do I have? How can I get more? How can I make this project that brings me so much joy feel like it’s actually having an impact, prove that it’s worth its while?

I spend a lot of time creating. I work diligently on my books, writing and then rewriting, again and again until I think they’re ready. I send out this newsletter every week, and that takes time, too. And sometimes, I wonder if it’s worth it — if it even matters; if anyone is watching; if I’m making the smallest of ripples in the ocean of the world.

This newsletter is genuinely one of my favorite writing experiments. I love connecting with authors for the Q&A issues, whether we chat on the phone or via email. There’s something so energizing about tapping back into the latent journalist in me and coming up with questions, playacting like I’m on a podcast when I get to chat with them live, and in general forging new connections and sharing about authors and works that mean a lot to me.

I’ve found so much fulfillment and reprieve in writing the biweekly “from the heart” sections. I love having a place on the internet that I own, where I get to decide what I publish and how I say the things I want to. And “from the page” gives me a chance to think over, synthesize, and repeat back the things I’m learning in my own craft.

I genuinely think I’m doing something pretty special with this newsletter. It warms my heart, and I think the people who read it tend to like it.

But I’m plagued by the thought that I should be reaching more people.

To be clear, it’s not a matter of not appreciating current subscribers. There are over 100 of you who get this letter in your inboxes every week, and I’m so utterly, unspeakably delighted by that.

But I have been running this newsletter for over a year, and in my darker moments, I’m plagued by the thought that if I were really a good writer, really good at this newsletter thing, my readership would be growing faster.

If you actually had something to say, people would want to hear it.

If you were better at saying the things on your mind, people would sign up to read them.

If you were more talented as a writer, people would share your words, they’d be compelled, they’d need to shout it from the rooftops.

If you were more than what you are, you would be better at what you do, and you would reap the rewards.

Being inside my own mind is so exhausting.

I think I’ve been having these thoughts since shortly after I started writing on the Internet. Or maybe I have them because of how I got my start — my first published personal essay was for Seventeen.com. Over the course a few months in 2015 and 2016, I had four essays published on the site. They did fairly well, I think, because up until 2017 or 2018, the Seventeen dot com Twitter account would reshare them regularly.

Maybe that set up unreasonable expectations for me. I was convinced I was on the precipice of something big: the start of my career as a personal essayist, journalist, novelist. I would be internet famous, with hordes of fans flocking to everything I posted, and they’d let me know they loved me.

That was in late 2015.

It’s now early 2024, and I feel like I’ve stopped and started and stopped and restarted my writing career more times than I can count, to the detriment of building a readership1.

Yet I still write. I work on this newsletter every week, and I find it worthwhile. I have over 100 subscribers, most of whom actually open my emails on a weekly basis. That number is smaller than 10,000, smaller even than 200, but it’s bigger than it was a year ago today. There is growth, even if it doesn’t move at the speed I like to think it “ought to.”

The truth is, I get a lot out of writing these newsletters. I get to talk to authors for the Q&As, for one, but I also think I’ve deepened my relationships with a lot of subscribers who I was already friends with. I’ve heard from people who felt seen by some of the stories I’ve shared, and that in turn has made me feel less alone. And every view is an ego boost, let’s be real.

I don’t have the platform I feel I need to at this point in my career, no. Not so much that I feel I’m owed it, but that I think for someone who’s been writing for as long as I am, I need to have a certain level of platform to prove that I have something worth saying. Like if I don’t, it means there’s something lacking in me.

That’s bullshit, though. That’s my insecurity and imposter syndrome rearing its head and trying to swallow me whole.

Everyone’s creative career looks different, takes different turns and twists, and progresses differently over time. Mine has been slow, lingering, and I’ve grown immensely over the years I’ve been writing. I will continue to write, share, and grow, and we’ll see where that takes me. Maybe it means I’ll hit 200 subscribers soon. Maybe I’ll ever break 10,000. Maybe I’ll stay where I am, with the people who care about me reading and reacting to my words.

It’s all okay. It is my journey and no one else’s, so I’m the only one who can judge it. And if I choose not to? Then, freedom.

Alla prossima 👋

If you’re looking for a tangible way to help out Palestinian families, Operation Olive Branch Palestine is a collection of mutual aid funding requests to help Palestinians seek refuge outside of Gaza2. This is a way to get your money and support directly to individuals on the ground, and could be crucial in saving lives.

Because, six months on, Palestinians are still being targeted, bombarded, and massacred by Israel. Tens of thousands of lives have been lost, and those who live are experiencing trauma the likes of which those of us who aren’t there can barely fathom. As you’re donating, don’t forget to hold your electeds in Congress and the White House accountable, reminding them that we need a permanent ceasefire as well as a dismantling of the oppressive regime that has colonized Palestine.

That’s all from me today. I hope you are well-rested, hydrated, and fed. Take care of yourselves and each other. Love you.

— Karis xoxo