Volume 2, Issue 100: Happiness
"My mother says I'm great, and it always makes me sad. I don't think she's being nice. I really think she believes that."
The very first one of these newsletters ran on May 6, 2016. I had grown frustrated, in the wake of the death of Google Reader and other RSS readers, with my inability to create a place where a theoretically inclined human might be able to find everything that I had written in a given week. Because I wrote (and of course still do write) for so many different places, I decided a weekly newsletter with links to my all my work would be an opt-in solution to the problem. If you want them, here you are.
This, inevitably, evolved into what the newsletter is now, which is a long, introspective, oft-rambling, Life-as-a-Loser-but-now-in-his-40s-esque essay—the Life As a Loser series stopped at 200, but we’re going to keep this going past that—with a smattering of links at the end that I assume most people never make it all the way down to. (I have never claimed to be a particularly effective marketer.) I have grown to truly love this silly newsletter of mine, and, if you promise not to tell any of my editors this, I’ll confess to you there are some weeks where I spend more time and care on it than I do any of my paid pieces. I wanted to become a writer because writing was the only way I could make any sense of a world that was too unwieldy and bewildering to make any sense of otherwise; I needed to write about what I saw and heard and experienced so I could look at it from some distance and try to make some logic of it. This is still the overarching strategy, and the only real point of all this noise. This remains the only thing I know how to do.
The world, however, has changed dramatically since May 2016, to say the least. As that world has changed, and inarguably gotten worse, I’ve struggled at times to keep a positive attitude about everything. I’m an irritatingly optimistic person, in the face of all available evidence, but that has become difficult to do in the last few years. This can’t help but be reflected in my writing: To pretend that the world is the way we wish it were, or to pretend that the woes of the planet are somehow irrelevant to a specific topic or construction simply to placate and comfort the intellectually incurious and walled-off, strikes me as fundamentally dishonest and, honestly, against the point of getting into all of this in the first place. I do not like writing about politics. I know many people, for perfectly legitimate reasons, ranging from personal decorum to simple self-care, do not like reading about them. But to ignore them in the wake of [looks around] all this strikes me as an explicit violation of the agreement between writer and reader. If we’re not looking at things how they are, well then shit, what are we even doing here?
That said: It can all become rather oppressive, and I’ve tried to always keep it in mind. No one wants life to be one ongoing dirge, even if that might sometimes be precisely what it is. I was trying to think of something special to do for this, the 200th issue of This Here Newsletter, and I think I want to take this opportunity to unapologetically focus on the happy things. The good things. The world can be so terrifying. But there is joy and happiness all around us, at all times. It’s OK to be scared, and worried, and sad. But this is still a gift we all get to share. I think maybe I want to spend this 200th newsletter reminding myself, and you, of that. Here are the good things.
The Good Things.
The fact that no matter where you go, there are doors that people keep open for you. Filtered through the lens of social media and electoral politics, it can seem as if we are a populace at constant war with one another. But this is not what it is like outside. People are … considerate. They really are. Even if it’s for no reason, we stop every day to be kind to people we have never met. It’s the little things, but the little things matter: They add up. No matter one’s economic status, race, age, religion, height, preferred sports team, there isn’t a single person who doesn’t pause, when they see you approaching a door that they are closer to than you are, and either hold the door for them or even open it for them entirely. There is no reason to do this. We are all capable of opening doors. I have never seen someone standing winsomely outside of a door unable to get in until someone comes by and rescued them. But we all do it. (Occasional exception: College students. But I’ll give them a pass.) We (usually) all say “Have a nice day” to everyone we have our short, banal interactions with, we (almost) all stand in orderly lines together, we (mostly) hand it over to kids when we catch a foul ball. We silently organize ourselves in this default state of kindness. We do not always sustain this kindness. But it is where we go first, without even thinking about it. We are capable of much cruelty. But we do not start out that way. There is hope in this. There is small joy in the comfort of small daily moments with strangers. We shouldn’t look past it.
The “Who Is…?” series. If you don’t have kids, you might not know about the “Who Is…?” series. It’s basically a series of books, about major historical figures, that are about 30 pages long and tell their stories in a clear, honest fashion that kids can understand. These books are not afraid to reveal the warts of these oft-revered figures—the Christopher Columbus one lets kids know just how much of a dick he was—but they also tell simple tales of regular people doing extraordinary things. My sons are obsessed with them, and they’ve thus become a handy way to introduce them to just how complex the world can be, and how they can try to make a difference in it. (I got William one about Pete Seeger.) There’s even a terrific Netflix show spinoff with Andy Daly, H. Jon Benjamin, John Hodgman and John Oliver. That this is the television that my children choose to watch, as opposed to the hours of my life I dedicated as a kid to watching a cartoon about Q*Bert, is a strong argument for humans continuing to progress and evolve from one generation to the next.
Illinois men’s basketball. I grew up watching every Illinois basketball game with my Dad on WCIA Channel 3, back before there were ESPN-Plus or Big Ten Network games; the local station showed all the games because the local station understood what the community wanted most, what tied it together. The reason Illinois basketball has such a loyal, intense fanbase, even when the team has been terrible for a decade, is because of that investment: We all obsess over the team now because we were all indoctrinated. When I think of growing up, Illinois basketball is honestly one of the first things I think of: Efrem Winters, George Montgomery, Ken Norman, Steve Bardo, Tony Wysinger, Tom Michael, Matt Heldman, Kiwane Garris. To have Illinois basketball thriving again—and seemingly set up for an extended resurgence—has an effect on my mental well-being that is so positive that it’s honestly embarrassing to admit out loud. I will watch the NCAA Selection Show like I am eight years old again, filling out my brackets by hand and staying up all night reading about every player on every team. But now I get to do this with my own son.
Having family near. From the moment that I graduated from high school until two years ago, if I wanted to see my parents, it either required getting on a plane or driving for a very long time. This was the way both of us wanted it, and neither would change a thing. It worked out. But now that I am a father myself, and now that they are retired, we live in the same town (or same county, anyway) for the first time in nearly 30 years. They have a swing set in their backyard and a pinball machine in their game room. My father is helping me coach a Little League team and is a handyman for several small businesses around town, including my wife’s. My mother loves having the boys sleep over, always has tips and remedies every time they get sick and has made new friends with people at the gym and at the health center. I can go over and watch an Illini game with them any time I want, and sometimes we go out to dinner and drink too much and talk about the old days. This was something I did not have in my life for many years. I am grateful to have it now. I will not take it for granted. None of us should.
The nobility of voter inclusion. If there’s one thing that everyone should be able to agree upon, it’s that our system is more representative and more effective the more people vote. (Suffice it to say, not everyone actually agrees on this.) But to see the efforts put forth by good-hearted people to make sure that everyone gets to be included as part of the process gives me hope for the future … and is the way, I’d argue, out of this mess. I’ll be early voting this week here in Georgia, and it will be easy for me to vote. It should be that easy for everyone, and it is not. I’ll take this opportunity to encourage you to give to Fair Fight, which has made signing up new voters its foremost priority. Or just register yourself if you haven’t.
Charities that do the work. There is something almost overpowering about spending time aiding those who simply need your help. There is no overarching political viewpoint, and no judgment of the circumstances involved. It’s just one person helping another one. This is something I used to do semi-regularly and have fallen away from as I’ve gotten older and busier and more harried. But that is no excuse: There are people just as busy as me who find time. There is pure goodness in that basic act of giving your time to help someone that you do not know. Millions of people do it every day. It blows me away. It makes me wish I did more.
The transformative escapism of the movies. I watch stuff on Netflix, you watch stuff on Netflix, it’s fine, no judgments, all good. But I always advocate for the experience of shedding all your attachments, all your crutches and addictions, at the box office and giving yourself up to a great movie for two hours. Roger Ebert said that “movies are a machine that generates empathy.” They take us to a place we’d never be able to go otherwise, and they allow us to see the world through eyes different than our own. (They also sometimes blow stuff up real good. I will not pretend that is not also a substantial selling point.) To temporarily shed their daily burdens, some people meditate, some people go to church, some people drink, some people do whatever works for them. I go to the movies. Even bad movies leave me invigorated. They always leave me wanting more.
This specific charity: Cure SMA.
How much truly great writing there is to read on a daily basis. It blows me away. So man people are creating so much good work, under increasingly oppressive conditions. I come away a little smarter and a little more understanding every day. About essentially everything.
This dog, which is the perfect dog:
This:
My family is happy and it is healthy and it is well and together. My children are smart and curious and rambunctious and kind. My wife is driven and playful and brilliant and better than I deserve and having a moment of professional success that is long overdue and the culmination of a decade of hard work and dedication. (And she’s just getting started.) These are the people who live in my house and who depend on me and whom I depend on, and they are currently happy and well-accounted for. This is the fulcrum around which everything else can pivot. Without this the whole machine breaks down.
People like you allow me to make a living at the one thing in the world I’ve ever truly loved to do. I do not know what would happen if I didn’t have people to write for. I imagine everything I write being addressed to the ideal reader, someone who may not necessarily see the world exactly like I do but is above all willing and open to listen … as long as I remain willing to do the same. I write more freely and easily than I do just about anything else in my life; it’s the only thing that truly makes the world slow down and make a little sense to me. I would not be able to do it if if were not for you. So thank you.
I know this was all probably a lot for a Saturday morning. But there is goodness everywhere. There is so much we all have to be thankful for. We’re lucky … we’re all so lucky.
Maybe I’ll do this every 100 newsletters. May we all be so fortunate as to be so fortunate in 2023.
Here is a numerical breakdown of all the things I wrote this week, in order of what I believe to be their quality.
Likely 2020 World Series Winners, Drafted, MLB.com. My colleague Mike Petriello and I have a new series where we go back and forth drafting theoretical teams, or scenarios, against each other. Mike is one of the smartest baseball people I know, so I’m always going to lose this battle, but it’s still a blast to get to do. This week, we took turns picking the most likely teams to win the World Series this year. We even went all the way down to the bottom; at one point, I got to pick between the Tigers and the Orioles, which is always exciting. More of these coming.
Bernie Sanders and the Vermont Reds, New York. I took a look at Burlington Mayor Bernie Sanders’ attempts to bring a minor league baseball team to his town, and what we might learn about the Democratic front runner from that experience.
Harrison Ford Movies, Ranked and Updated, Vulture. [growls gruffly]
The Thirty: Best Promotions For Each Team, MLB.com. This bobblehead collector is a sucker for stuff like this.
Five Players Who Should Rebound in 2020, MLB.com. Alas, Matt Carpenter is not on here.
Debate Club: Best DC Universe Movies, SYFY Wire. There … aren’t that many good ones.
PODCASTS
Grierson & Leitch, we discussed Call of the Wild, Emma, The Act of Killing and The Hospital.
Seeing Red, weekly shows have begun! Bernie and I run down what Spring Training has taught us so far.
Waitin' Since Last Saturday, an oddly bountiful harvest of football news this week. I also groused about UGA baseball fans.
MAILBAG
We take one question a week around these parts: Send yours to williamfleitch@yahoo.com. This one comes from Westby from Denver.:
I'm curious as to whether you always envisioned Catch to be a YA novel and if so, what inspired you to go that route. I'm equally curious as to whether you've ever considered writing another YA book.
Kind of an odd question, I'll grant you, coming from a 37-year-old dude, but there you have it. Thanks for your time and for your work.
If anyone here doesn’t know Catch, it’s my second book, and first novel, which came out way back in 2005. (You can still buy it here.) The photo above is from my book party in New York that year: I can instantly spot that as a 2005 photo because my mom’s hair was growing back after chemo. (And I’m kind of tubby, with a bad haircut.) I had never thought to write a novel, Young Adult or otherwise, but a smart YA editor named Kristen Pettit, at Razorbill, had read my writing and thought I could maybe write a good one. She put in the time to sit down with me and map out the entire story, and basically held my hand through the entire process. I didn’t know anything about the YA world, and my strategy was just to write a regular novel that just happened to be about someone young. What I’ve learned about the YA world since then, frankly, makes me unlikely to want to do another one.
But it was still a great experience, and I’m proud of that book. There’s a certain segment of the reading population that knows me exclusively from that book, which is always sort of amusing. Catch came out right when Deadspin launched, so it has always felt like something from the Before part of my life rather than the After one. I’d be too nervous to try and sit down and read it now, but every once in a while, I’ll get an email from someone who is writing a high school class project on it. I always find it very sweet.
But no, the next book is not YA, and that world is so insular and so full of self-sabatoging psychodrama that I can’t imagine wading back into it again. My favorite piece of trivia about Catch? It has three blurbs. One from John Green (who was just about to become the biggest name in YA publishing), one from the late Ned Vizzini (who was just about to become a best seller) and then the one we used for the cover, which came from … A Million Little Pieces author James Frey. For about three weeks, it was very cool to have a James Frey blurb on the cover of your book. And then suddenly, violently, it wasn’t.
ONGOING LETTER-WRITING PROJECT!
I really can’t overstate how much joy these give me on a weekly basis. Thank you. More!
Will Leitch
P.O. Box 48
Athens GA 30603
CURRENTLY LISTENING TO
“Telephone,” Lady Gaga and Beyonce. I’m not sure the intention of Lindsay Crouse’s wonderful New York Times piece about Lady Gaga dating her ex-boyfriend was to get me to listen to more Lady Gaga … but that turned out to be a byproduct!
It’s that time of the year down here in Georgia.
He’s like a young Dante Bichette.
Have a great weekend, all.
Best,
Will