34 times my brain was more sweet than dumb
34 times my brain was more sweet than dumb
Good job, brain
This is the last newsletter for April, and the last newsletter before I take a few weeks off. I’m going on a short hiatus to rest, focus on a couple other neglected projects, and make some newsletter improvements. More to come soon!
Birthdays are complicated. The milestone of turning another year older usually prompts me to obsess over signs of aging and whether or not I’ve accomplished enough in life. And, believe it or not, I don’t usually wind up thinking, “Wow, I do look young and I have accomplished a lot!” Nope. I veer far in the other direction, landing myself in a mental rut that doesn’t exactly sync up nicely with a day of celebration.
The year that Jamie died, I didn’t celebrate my birthday at all. I retreated to a cabin with my dog and told friends and family I didn’t want presents. It was nice to not have to grin and bear my way through a giant party, but it was lonely, too. Being alone on my birthday made an already tough year even tougher.
Last year, I also traveled during my birthday — this time to London. But instead of disappearing from everyone again, I held a party at my house prior to my trip for a couple dozen friends. It felt like old days. Except it wasn’t. It was nice to be reminded that I wasn’t alone, but playing hostess felt extra exhausting and the reminders of past parties were especially triggering for me.
This year, I’m opting for something in the middle. I’m leaving town yet again (travel and grief is a thing!) and heading home to Atlanta. I’ve invited folks for a casual gathering during the day and am later spending the evening with close friends and family. There’s no hosting required of me in either scenario, so I’m going to do my best to relinquish control, and enjoy the moment and all the lovely people I get to spend the day with. I’m planning to spend some time alone, too; that’s become a new and welcome birthday routine.
And I’m going to try and stay out of that mental rut.
In a few days I’ll turn 34, which means I’ve been blessed with two more years than Jamie was given. If I live as long as my dad, that means I’m already well past the halfway point of my life. Or I could be solidly within the first third of my time on this Earth. Who knows! All I know is that thinking about the temporary nature of life makes worrying about things like wrinkles and whether I’ve accomplished enough seem less important.
I’m planning to take the next month or so off from writing this newsletter. I need a break, and chapter 34 of my life seems like a good time to pause. I thought I’d take time now to revisit what I’ve offered in this newsletter so far. This is less of a reminder for you, and more of a reminder for me. A common theme of my essays is the importance of being kind to myself, because it’s something I struggle with tremendously. This is a good way to show myself that I can indeed be pretty wise at times.
Without further ado, here are 34 nuggets of wisdom from My Sweet Dumb Brain; in other words, 34 times my brain was more sweet than dumb:
I started this newsletter as a way to remind myself that I do have good advice and valuable experiences to share, even if I’m not always the best at listening to myself.
Instead of accepting that grief is part of life — that it’s the inevitable flip side of love — we tell ourselves there’s something wrong with the sadness we carry.
How old you are and how much money you make shouldn’t affect how you view and value yourself, despite what society tells us.
My pops taught me a lot of things over the years. Maybe his best lesson was that death is a great reason to keep on living.
Bad shit happens. Grief happens. Sadness happens. It’s all part of life. Good things happen, too. So does joy and love and happiness. They’re also part of life. By opening our hearts and accepting the tough moments, we allow ourselves to also experience the wondrously light times.
If there’s any silver lining in experiencing an overwhelming loss, it’s that it gives you a rare opportunity to hit the reset button on life.
Sometimes the only option forward is to find grace and gratitude in whatever you’re facing.
When I turn other people’s joys into my failures I’m personalizing my trauma.
Traditions may not last, and they certainly will change, but that doesn’t mean they’re pointless. They connect us with the people and places we love most.
It will never be perfect enough. And that’s ok.
Resilience is a lovely thing to celebrate, whether in movies or real life, and the sweetest celebrations come from the toughest journeys.
I need to give my present self some kudos for actually succeeding instead of punishing my future self for potentially failing.
As soon we find ourselves feeling comfortable, we inevitably get thrown into new situations that challenge and change us.
Instinctively, I knew that I needed to face the bleak and seemingly endless depths of grief in order to find light again. Even if I couldn’t imagine what that light would look like or when it would enter into my life, I understood a simple truth: I had to allow myself to feel worse before I could feel better.
Falling in love requires being vulnerable, a reminder that the things that scare us the most are often the most rewarding.
Developing good habits or quitting bad habits can be a difficult and frustrating process. In order for a habit to truly stick, you need to want to change the habit, and you have to give that process time and patience.
I feel uncomfortable being happy because survivor’s guilt tells me I don’t deserve it.
It’s better, and braver, to run towards the thing you’re scared of losing, rather than staying in a situation where you’re unhappy. In the end, staying put is the scarier and more depressing option.
New beginnings require patience and self-compassion.
As my lungs filled with air, my heart filled with gratitude. How lucky am I to be able to breathe? How often do I even consider my breath?
As much as I learned from Jamie while he was alive, I’ve learned even more from his death.
When you’re in a tough spot, your mind tends to dwell on negative things. At least mine does; it wants to roll around in negative talk and thoughts all day long. But even amid all that negativity — after lots of tears, why-me’s, and desperate texts to friends — I can eventually find something to feel thankful for.
Being mindful, like most other healthy things in life, is an incredibly difficult thing to do consistently.
Failing is ok. Telling yourself that you’re a failure is not.
Life is less about trying to balance the good and the bad, hoping that it all evens out in the end. It’s about appreciating the good, learning to weather the bad, and being grateful that we get to experience it all in the first place.
There’s very little you can control in life, but you can control how you respond to things.
I find it telling that I don’t question the purpose of life when I’m at my highest moments. Or even when I’m at my perfectly ho-hum middle moments. It’s in the dark moments, when I’m not looking for an answer as much as I’m looking for an escape from pain, that I question my existence.
I have to learn how to rely on myself, and embrace the things I love.
Thinking back on difficult times can be painful. It’s easy to push those thoughts aside for whatever pressing thing you’re facing in the moment. It can be empowering, too.
We circle through the same problems, questions, and habits, again and again. And while it might be discouraging to find yourself facing a familiar challenge, it’s important to remember that you’re constantly leveling up. You’re exploring those issues from a higher step, with all the wisdom and experience and grit and humor you’ve accumulated along the way.
The line between anxiety and excitement can be deceptively thin.
When we open our hearts to someone, we open ourselves to the possibility of love and joy — and, by default, loss and pain. One day we’ll leave or be left by the people we care about most, either by choice, circumstance or death. The fragility of it all is frightening. But that same fragility is what gives life and love meaning.
Instead of asking what if, it’s better to focus on what is.
The most important thing you can do is be kind to yourself.
Thank you for reading along. Just like birthdays, this newsletter is much better with friends.
xoxo
KHG
A few ways to show some love
I figured my birthday was a good time to offer up some ways to support this newsletter and my budding career as a writer. I’m not planning to do this all the time; don’t worry. But I do think it’s important to remind people that creative work deserves to be compensated!
Here are a few different ways you can show your support:
Buy me a coffee! This one’s simple and straightforward. I’d like to get paid for my work! Or, at least, make a little extra cash to splurge on a fancy drink every so often. I’m on Venmo (@katie-hawkins-gaar) and PayPal (katie.hawkinsgaar@gmail.com).
Follow along. This is a small but helpful act. Having a decent reach on social media helps when I’m pitching my work to editors. Follow me on Twitter (@katiehawk) and Instagram (also @katiehawk).
Clap your (virtual) hands. Again, a small act. Audience size helps me out! You can follow My Sweet Dumb Brain on Medium. If you’re a Medium member, clap for any of your favorite past essays. Those (free to you) claps translate to a little bit of cash (for me and any guest writers), so thanks!
Tell your friends! I always include this reminder, so why not once more? If you like this newsletter, please encourage a friend or two to subscribe.
Most of these tips apply for any writer/artist/musician/creative person whose work you appreciate. If this reminds you that you’ve been meaning to tell your friend how much you’ve admired their art lately, go for it! And send them $5 for a beer via Venmo while you’re at it. It really is such a fun and unexpected gesture.
Good job, brain
I'm currently reading: “The Body Keeps The Score: Brain, Mind, and Body in the Healing of Trauma,” by Bessel van der Kolk. I have recommended this book to practically every person I’ve spoken to in the past week. It’s incredibly well researched, incredibly well written, and incredibly fascinating.
I’m currently inspired by: Journalist Lyra McKee, who was murdered at 29. She wrote this beautiful letter to her 14-year-old self in 2014. It was poignant then, and is simply heart-shattering now.
I'm currently aiming to: Be kind to myself. I can be a real jerk sometimes.
Additional resources
I have only one resource this week, but it’s a good one. If you’ve ever felt like everyone is succeeding but you, I strongly recommend you take some time to read this. This essay — How I Stopped Sitting Around All Day Seething With Jealousy of My Peers — is a long, wonderfully inspiring, and honest read.
For your sweet dumb brain
Going through past essays and finding things I was proud of was a surprisingly effective confidence boost! Why don’t you list 10 ways you were lovely, kind, and smart this week? And why not do it the week after that? Pro-tip: If you’re struggling to come up with reasons on your own, it’s helpful to stash away nice things that other people have said about you. Search through your email inbox or text messages for some compliments and save them to a folder to help boost yourself up on a gloomy day.
My Sweet Dumb Brain is written by Katie Hawkins-Gaar. It’s edited by Rebecca Coates. Photo by Maite Tiscar on Unsplash.