Throwback Edition: All the People I Almost Loved
Plus, the joys and challenges of sex after 70, Baldwin on long-distance love, and being understaffed
Dearest Readers,
Today, I bring back an old project I haven’t watched since releasing it last February. At that point, I’d just finished my first screenwriting class—a super useful TV Pilot writing workshop. For twelve weeks we’d meet on Zoom every Tuesday night and I’d be fully engaged, fascinated, sharing my script with a group for the first time, getting generous feedback from my instructor. This video project was my first foray into the act of filmmaking after that class, beyond just writing a script and imagining how it might turn out.
It was amateur, as any project created with no money and no deep experience is, and it was also the most creatively fulfilling thing I’d ever done. I loved casting actors, working with five different women to see the ways a story changes shape when it lifts off a page and is processed through the mind of another. I loved shooting B-roll with my two closest friends. I even loved the lessons learned on the back end, when I was so afraid to release the videos for fear of…what? Rejection? Criticism? People thinking I was stupid? I loved breaking through those fears and releasing them anyway. I loved having something physical to show at the end of this month-and-a-half-long process. It was the start of something.
Film and TV are interesting mediums to pursue, especially right now. Everyone in Hollywood is on strike, it feels like the model of most entertainment has become a vicious cycle of remakes and prequels and stories regurgitated in slightly different formats, and streaming is making things complicated for creatives to make money. Also, it feels mildly insane to think you might be able to break into such a competitive industry.
Still, after making this shoddy film project and the full-body feeling I got, I knew this was it. I wanted to try it. Cut to: today. A year and change later, I’ve written a few more scripts, though not nearly as many as I feel I should have written. I scrounged together enough money to have my hand at making a more proper short film, which my dear friend / creative collaborator and I are working on editing now. I watch movies, shorts, I read about new directors and writers, trying to fill in the broad gaps in my knowledge with my power of observation. There is so much I don’t know, so much I am willing to learn.
One of the more wild lessons I’ve learned in life is that when something is wrong, my body will say so. I’ll make a decision and my body will revolt—anxiety flutters in the stomach, poor sleep, bone-deep tiredness, an ugly rash on my skin. Alternatively, when something is right, everything becomes easy. For every challenge, a solution isn’t far behind. Things work themselves out and, at my core, there is peace. In both instances where I’ve worked on these film projects, the experiences have been nothing but absurdly positive. I feel more alive than ever, excited about every single step, every challenge. And when I sit down to work on a script I’m excited about, I never feel dread beforehand. I never have to convince myself to do the writing. It feels right.
So it is this naivete, dear readers, I will continue to guzzle up as I venture blindly, slowly, down this road. I can’t be alive without the belief that anything can happen, no matter how unlikely it may seem. When something feels right, I say that’s sign enough. Go forth, see where you land.
Until next time,
A Note From the Editor
Love is endlessly fascinating to me, and probably to you. It is one of the few human experiences that supersedes language, continent, and class. It’s universal, like money, except that its currency is more valued than any material thing because our desire for it is baked into our genetic makeup. We want love—from our parents and caretakers first, our crushes and spouses later—more than we want anything else. We want it so badly that when we are burned by it, we might get in the habit of shoving it away for the sake of insulting ourselves from its terrible pains. On the contrary, we might crave love so desperately that we seek it out like starved explorers searching for fertile land. In this case, every fleeting interaction becomes a breeding ground for potential love. The boy who frequents your local coffee shop, always ordering a cappuccino with whole milk, the girl you meet at an impromptu dinner party. Everyone and every experience is clouded by the haze of possibility.
I was thinking of that haze—the one we live in for the first chunk of our lives when we are taught without words that we should be perpetually on the hunt for romantic love—when I came across this song on my Discover Weekly at the tail end of last year. It’s a simple song, playful and light, but it struck me. One listen and I was transported back to the crashing waves of youth, to all those ephemeral connections I had aggrandized in my imagination in hopes that they might blossom into the thing I knew I was supposed to find: Love. Real love.
Even if you are long past the phase of your life in which every interaction yields a possibility for *true love*, I bet you can recall that one person you met at a bar, or at the grocery store, or at church all those years back. The stranger who stuck with you. Maybe you never got their name, but something about the way they looked at you, something about the lilt of their voice buried itself in your memory. And after that brief interaction, days or years after, you can still recall that person, the sense of possibility they evoked.
I like to think of these interactions as life’s little gifts. Each instance is a ripe fig, as Sylvia Plath might put it, or a door to a certain future that will never come to pass. Had you stopped to chat with that man on the subway who was reading the same obscure novel as you were, might you have been sharing a cozy Brooklyn apartment with him right now? Had you fully given into the charged flirtation with your rich, powerful boss, what sort of woman might you have turned out to be? The hypotheticals are not necessarily useful, but they are intriguing to consider.
If the indulgent considerations of who we might have been are a mark of youth, then the level of clueless innocence we carry in these interactions is another mark—for a hardened adult would know better. A capital A adult would know that that man on the subway was probably in a long term relationship, that your chauvinistic boss would’ve never committed to you. But that is the beauty of youth, and of love. It grants us imagination, a relentless sense of hope.
I was thinking about all of this when I jotted down an idea in my notebook at the start of January, after hearing that song. I wrote, “All The People I Almost Loved: Short video project with the narrator speaking directly to a potential lover / missed connection.” The five stories for the project came to me easily, but I had never produced any sort of video and only had vague plans about how and when I would do so. Luckily, I keep a large calendar on my desk where I write out self-imposed deadlines for all of my imagined projects. I thought this idea would be well suited for Valentine’s Day, and when I began to work backward from that mid-February date, I realized I was already behind.
I shared the five scripts with my most creative friend, who also happens to be a wildly talented video editor, and we came up with ideas for B-roll we could shoot with on our iPhones on a non-existent budget. I put out the call and cast five actors in the project, surprised by the number of talented people who would consider working with me. I did Zoom read-throughs with each actor and gave them notes, marveled at the sheer grit and talent it takes to inhibit another human being’s psyche for a living. I made a shot list and enlisted another friend to star in our B-roll, which we captured on one long, chaotic Saturday. We were delusional by the end of the day, giggly and sensitive and fatigued. I had never directed before and I was high on the totality of it. To hear a song, write a script, cast and shoot and have a hand in edits was far beyond my realm of experience. It felt like building a house. I knew the bones of it intimately, the material used to lay the baseboards, the placement of every single brick. In the end, it was one of the most creatively fulfilling things I’ve ever done, and it certainly won’t be my last video project.
I’m pleased to share it here first. All The People I Almost Loved // Act One: A Night At the Beach, a meditation on all those fleeting connections that might have led to love in a parallel Universe. I’ll be releasing a new Act each day leading up to Valentine’s Day, five in total.
Cheers, my dears, and as always, thanks for reading, Happy pre-Valentine’s Day, and may you always allow yourself to be deluded by love. If you liked today’s edition, or if you liked Act One of All The People I Almost Loved, please share it with a friend! I love you.
Three Pieces of Content Worth Consuming
The Joys and Challenges of Sex After 70. This one felt like reading a bunch of pieces of flash fiction with a single narrative arc. To be clear, this isn’t fiction, but there are so many touching, funny vignettes of people over 70 who have discovered their sexual prowess, become sex therapists, worked through multiple affairs, the like. An important reminder that people do not suddenly lose their sex drives later in life, and that sometimes this period brings forth a sex life that is more satisfying than anything experienced in younger years. Well worth the read.
Photos of a Ukraine You Don’t See in the News. Have you heard of Mark Neville? He’s an incredible photographer who takes an intentional approach to his work that I really appreciate. Knowing the power photographs have to change minds and dispel the inaccurate stereotypes, Neville has traveled to some of the most conflict-riddled parts of the world to photograph life and create stunning photobooks of what he see’s. He spent three years in Ukraine for this project and is going to send 75 photobooks to key policymakers, politicians, and celebrities who will have the greatest influence on shaping life in Ukraine for years to come. Admittedly, I had a very narrow idea of what the country was like based on reading an article here or there, but these photos turned those news stories into real people who expereince joy and pain and regular life, like the rest of us.
James Baldwin on How Long-Distance Love Illuminates the Power of All Love. If there is one master writer on the human condition, it is undoubtedly James Baldwin. This short, gorgeous essay, penned by the talented Maria Popova, delves into a single line of one of my favorite works by Baldwin. On the delicate beauty of love and how it has the power to shape our perception of the world. I can’t suggest the book referenced in this essay highly enough. It’s short and one of the most though-provking things I’ve ever read.
Perhaps You Should… Watch The Series
Each of the five stories in the series recounts a different encounter with different characters in a different setting. If you’re looking for some quicker-than-TV-but-longer-than-TikTok entertainment, this one’s for you!
Act 2 is about convincing yourself a random stranger you meet at a bar in college might be the love of your life. Act 3 is about a tale as old as time; a man, a mature man using his money to woo a younger woman. Act 4 is about a sleepover that dredges up long-oppressed urges. And finally, Act 5 is about the truly asinine things we will do when filled with booze and the thrill of a deep crush.
**Bonus Content** (Staffing Issues)
Same.
A Quote From A Book You Should Read:
“I knew then that I would love him—that I could love him. I always knew from the start.”
-The Atmospherians by Alex McElroy
This newsletter is best served with a side of conversation, so drop your opinions, reflections, and thoughts in the comments below and let’s get to talking.
Or, share the most thought-provoking piece from today’s edition with someone you love, then call them up to discuss, debate, and percolate. As a wise woman once said, “Great minds discuss ideas.