What my readers gave me

I started writing here a year and a half ago. I've just turned thirty-eight this week, and on this occasion, I want to express my undying gratitude. I once thought no one would read, but I now understand that there’s a mix of authenticity and uncomfortable truth-telling that you all come here to find.

Your reaction to my writing with such deep engagement is why I keep going. Some of you open the email more than once, which is even more touching. Writing and building a relationship with you all has changed me for the better, and I’ve become braver because you’re with me as I write things that have steadily lost me friends.

I don’t think it’s an accident that my career started flourishing once you found me, though they seem unrelated. Even more than that, it’s because of you that I started writing under my actual name and stopped fearing job loss. Writing for you has given me more confidence and increased my risk tolerance, as you were willing to let me figure things out in real-time and gave me grace when I was wrong.

Philosophers in the pre-Internet age benefited from their opponents having to think deeply and write by hand, elevating the quality of discourse. Thinking publicly carries some risks, but I have almost no trolls, and I’m blessed to have a community that no one can steal. I didn’t realize until recently that, with your support, I’m pursuing philosophy, something I was too scared to admit to myself. We think of philosophers as academics with PhDs, which I don’t have.

When we think of philosophical writing, certain writers and modes of analysis come to mind. But philosophers have always been early and seen what others haven’t. They’ve written across disciplines and thought out loud. The relegation of philosophy to the academy has robbed it of meaning and influence in the broader world; even on Substack, the orange checkmarks are often awarded to individuals with credentials and audience size rather than the quality of their writing or engagement with the public. But what use is philosophy if you’re talking to a narrow demographic with money? This, by the way, is why I haven’t yet paywalled a single post.

You have no reason to trust me other than my willingness to bear the social cost of being early with uncomfortable conclusions for the elite to tolerate. That you engage with me and amplify my words tells me there’s an appetite for what I write. Most importantly, though, you confirm that I’m not crazy; plenty of my social circle thinks I’m either misguided or problematic, even if they don’t say it to my face.

I’ve thought a lot recently about the ingredients of a meaningful friendship. My being seen means people engage with my ideas. I don’t need you to care about my life events, but I do need you to accept that my peculiar experiences have structural reasons that challenge narratives.

We make sense of the world through patterns. But when I explain my painful experiences, people staunchly deny that there could be a pattern at all. People are willing to make general statements based on patterns they observe if the pattern backs up a narrative. The narratives themselves are so embedded in our psyches that we forget they’re there. It’s this psychological conditioning I’m fighting, along with many of you. The most insidious narrative for me has always been that women don’t abuse power for their gain, and those who do must be the servants of patriarchy. This denies women agency and infantilizes, which feminism was intended to fight.

I want you to know this: you know me better than most of my real-life friends because you know my mind. Some of my more recent friends know my mind and accept me as I am, but others, whom I’ve known for decades, don’t. Some of you who read and respond, I do know from real life, but most wouldn’t describe us as ‘close’. But we are close because you know me deeply.

However, my definition of 'close' is no longer limited to phone calls, texting, or even face-to-face interactions. It’s not the mode, but the substance.

I’ve shared many of my ideas with people who’ve known me for decades, but I don’t think they truly know me like you do. Many of those same people don’t read anything I write, even though they know I do this work. I’ve wondered for some time if those who don’t engage with my ideas know me at all, or if we’re really friends. You make me feel seen in a way no one else can because you come back and you care enough to give me your time and attention. This is the greatest gift I've ever received from a friend.

So, thank you for this gift of philosophy, for I would be tilting at windmills otherwise.