the head hurts but the heart knows the truth

feeling all the emotions of another year past

One morning you wake up, and you want to shave your head because the insects living up there have started to throw parties they aren’t inviting you to. And you tell me I’m crazy? I just want to live. I just want to feel something. Anything. - The Beginning of the End by Headache

I’m sitting at the dining table, listening to the clock on the wall behind me. It’s ticking faster than it ever has, urging me - write faster, think faster, do more, be better. It’s catching up to me, this moment, this year, this clock’s ticking. Its hands tap me on the shoulder as a reminder of all that’s left undone and all those words unwritten before the clock resets and slows down again… hopefully.

“Hopefully,” the word I cling to when someone asks if I’ll keep all the promises I made this year. I promised a lot. To myself. To others. To the world. And while I can’t stomach the idea of being someone who breaks promises, I also can’t ignore the ache in my gut from swallowing too many of them. A younger me would scoff. A younger me would start to ask questions that poke holes in my confidence.

“We’ll see,” I respond, to these questions, and to my confidence, with a fistful of hope and a loose grip on my self-worth, which dangles by a thread at the bottom of my ego’s echoing chambers. A younger me would hate this answer, hate the uncertainty in my voice, but he would also sit me down, look me in the eye, and try to reassure me. He’d wipe my face of anguish and quiet the anxious noises in my head. And I’d fight back. I’d play devil’s advocate, because I loooooove doing that. I’d argue like the grown man I pretend to be, wielding every receipt of my failures and frustrations, building a case against myself, mature with unchecked boxes and burned vision boards.

But when I’m done, I’d collapse onto the floor and kick and scream and whine about the way this year has tossed me upside-down and spit me out like the tasteless gumballs at the supermarket.

This year was tough.

I’ve done my yearly reflections. I’ve mapped out all the wrong turns. I’ve flipped back through the pages of my journal, just to find capitalized letters and scribbles that reek of frustration. I’ve dug through the photos app - past the inoperable interface - to recall the memories I had long forgotten - meals where my phone ate first, screenshots of poignant quotes, sunsets that were just too short, and random misfires from the inside of my pocket as my heart enjoyed the company of midnight laughter. But it’s too much to handle. The mirrors that point to the past are smudged with imperfect memories and skewed scratches.

We’ve made a ritual out of this, haven’t we? An endless reappraisal of the past, as though meaning will emerge if we prod the memories hard enough. The sunset wasn’t just a sunset; it was an aesthetic moment. The laughter wasn’t just laughter; it was proof of joy - a moment primed for metrics. Especially in this economy, where the last book I read was actually the last Substack post someone wrote, which was actually a glorified version of the last quote they read, which was actually a transcription of the last TikTok they saw. We clutch at fragments of ourselves, shuffling them into columns of ins and outs, wins and losses, highs and lows.

The head isn’t equipped to reflect on a year’s worth of living all at once. The head cannot efficiently process the undulating curves of human life in one glance. Sisyphus guides us to the top of a mountain that reveals its summit only when the green lines on the hospital machine no longer have peaks.

But the past begins again every day. And tomorrow is just another Wednesday, or maybe the most important Wednesday of my life. The sun will rise, and the sun will set, and I’ll try to make something of the hours in between. Time doesn’t owe me clarity or closure, just a fabric to leave fleeting impressions.

I wish I could explain to my younger self that some of this spinning, this commodification, this reflection, this noise… it’s just that. Some memories were meant to be felt, not framed. Some years were meant to be survived, not solved.

The head hurts, but the heart knows the truth.

crumbs

• “Some years you win, some years you build character” - some people say that Steve Jobs said this but according to chatgpt, he never did. so it's probably just that thing where we pretend famous people say profound things to make the words more powerful and the people more famous.

• where is the sun taking us? - an essay on the directionality of emotions

• “The compass was invented before the clock because direction is more important than time.” - again, no idea who said this but… bars.

• an insanely poignant video essay on the human pursuit for satisfaction, and a simultaneous journey into and from depression/insanity

• "Serenity is something you get when you stop wishing for a different past" - an incredible line from Sound of Metal, a must-watch film if you haven’t yet.

• “Man, sometimes it takes you a long time to sound like yourself” - Miles Davis

• direction > destination - another essay by me

This piece was inspired by the album The Head Hurts But The Heart Knows The Truth by Headache and Vegyn (who also co-produced Frank Ocean’s Blonde and Endless). I was stuck on my final post of 2024 for a while, and listening to this album helped me piece together the loose ends.

It’s true, though, I’ve done my reflections and projections and all the other bullshit in an attempt to best orient my mind for the coming year. I have humble expectations; the life that is meant for me will come, with time. I’m grateful for all the lessons that were sent my way, and for all the beautiful moments along the way. I hope your new year is colorful, curious, and delivers everything that is meant for you - just as I hope this newsletter does! If you feel so inclined, please like, share, or comment below, I always appreciate some emotional banter.

have a lovely January, folks.

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my favorite piece of 2024: