I've Figured Out What This Is
I started writing here a year ago. At first, I called What Now a “newsletter,” because that’s what most people call missives that drop regularly into readers’ inboxes.
But I don’t write to deliver news. That critical work is done by journalists, the professional reporters who do all the digging, confirming, and double-confirming required to pin down what is actually happening in this mad, mad world of ours.
I do sometimes write to share opinions. From my DIY soapbox, I’ve called for a reality show, decried the spinelessness of big-name CEOs, knocked politicians I used to admire, and urged my fellow Americans to distinguish between elites and experts.
But my bar for opinion writers is very high; when it comes to op-eds, I like to read stuff by subject matter experts—people who really know what they’re talking about, either through sustained study or direct experience, ideally both. On most topics—anything beyond communications, leadership, and business—I can’t clear my own bar. So I don’t think of myself as an op-ed writer any more than I think of myself as a reporter.
What sort of writer am I then?
It was Virginia Heffernan on January 11th who helped me figure this out: I am a diarist. Possibly an antifa diarist, but at any rate—someone who’s writing just to stay sane, someone who’s writing just to find the next right thing.
When I read Heffernan’s piece, I finally realized why I hadn’t missed Facebook one bit this past year (I left all of Meta’s social media platforms on Trump’s Inauguration Day) and why this column—even before I could define it—was more my speed:
Social media posts, observes Heffernan, “incentivize overconfidence, argumentation, attack, and propaganda. Diaries, by contrast, allow for interestingly partial views, perspective, poetry, self-correction, and simple emotion.”
If that’s your speed, too, I hope you’ll stick with me for another year? Diaries don’t have to be private. I love a hard cover with a fake-gold lock as much as any kid from the 1970s, but I love connecting with real people over raw thoughts even more.
Thanks for reading,
Kate
Yes, I did link in this post to a song from Frozen (Frozen 2 to be specific). Sorry, but in my defense: 1) we’ve suffered many, way-worse ear worms over the last decade and 2) say what you will: The Next Right Thing, sung by the endlessly plucky Kristen Bell, is not a bad anthem for finding one’s way through dark and difficult times.
