Waiheke, Aotearoa New Zealand
June 21, 2020


pre-s. You can watch this week's video letter here. :)

This past week, I was reflecting on the ways that Covid has changed how I see the world.

There's so much - distance, kindness, ways we can be in the world. Brand-new oddities and curiosities - how seeing people fill a stadium seems magical, transgressive in a way it never has before. How broken my brain has become around food and grocery stores.

But most of all, there's one feeling that sticks with me:

Someday isn't guaranteed. The time to do it is now.

So I've gotten to it. Small stuff I've been putting off for years like finally getting my redesigned website online. Bigger stuff like saying things I've needed to friends and family.

And the big stuff. The novel. The monsters. Making art that's worth lasting, whatever that takes.

Maybe it's just me. Maybe it's a mix of aging and watching the tendrils of disease wrap the globe. Of feeling my own mortality.

But these days, when I wake up, more than anything, I think, "alright, Steven. let's get to work." I let things that aren't deeply important slough off. I skip email. Walk right past my usual slow start to the day, the thumbing through news articles and the round of hellos in Animal Crossing.

I just pour a tall cup of coffee. Sit down at my desk. And work until it's well past dark.

I've lived long enough to know that this isn't forever. That the biases in my brain will convince me of a new, more relaxed normal as the months stretch on and the urgency fades.

So I don't want to miss it. This now. This go.

These days, that I'll never see again.

Have a time-treasuring week,


p.s. The best thing I saw all week was Australian Playwright Meyne Wyatt's monologue from City of Gold. It is powerful and prescient and present. I encourage you to watch it.

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