Thank you to everyone who’s not writing to me these days. I am doing ok. I could be doing better. There is always possibility to be doing better. As I acknowledge this possibility, I wonder if the possibility itself limits my agency in the present moment and state. I could be doing better, but I am not. And maybe I am not doing at all, but being, breathing, listening, yawning, feeling very very tired, feeling my skin lose its summer glow, my eyes losing their shine as they adjust to a bleaker backdrop of late autumn.

Anyway, thank you to everyone who is not writing me. I experience your silence not as abandonment, but as space. I know we don’t need words. I wonder… if with some of you we’ve come to wordless understanding. In the wordless understanding, there is no guilt, no expectation, no public to perform for, no eloquence, no need to prove oneself, no spellcheck, no self-censorship, no ego. The wordless understanding is defined by what it is not. What it is will be left unsaid, undefined, unspoken.

The woman in the seat in front of me is learning some language that looks like Japanese on some app. What are the chances?