One hundred thank yous

On making a wish and reaching my first milestone

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We did it, Joe!

(Wait… can we make that joke anymore? Or is it too depressing on, like, every level? Let me try that again…)

We did it, fam!

What’s “it,” you ask?

Well, apparently I have attained a Substack milestone (I know it’s a milestone because they sent me a dorky/cute graphic to commemorate it):

I have reached 100 subscribers!

(Well, actually, a few more than that by now - and welcome to all my new friends/followers! - but for the purpose of this celebration, we’ll stick to round numbers.)

See? Dorky. But cute.

Is 100 a lot? I mean, maybe not in the grand scheme of newsletters that boast millions of readers (though they had to pass 100 on the way to a million, no? #Math). But hell yes in the itty bitty scheme of my actual life, where a year ago I was still too paralyzed by clinical OCD, my chronic illness, and the myth of “I’ll be ready after just a little more research” to even have a Substack, much less anyone signed up to read it.

Which is to say, 100 is a lot more than zero.

But it’s also nothing to sneeze at sans all that context.

Like, it is an honor to have that many people want to read my work.

One hundred is way more people than attend the average funeral. It’s a medium wedding. If 100 people show up to your house party? You’re having a rager.

More of you read my newsletter than there are trombones in the big parade, bottles of beer on the wall, or Luftballons auf ihrem Weg zum Horizont.

(And yes, I’m doing that “visualizing numbers” thing again. Apparently that’s my schtick now…?)

What’s funny about this - not only this milestone, but this number specifically - is that just over a month ago, I almost wished for this.

I’d decided to do the 12 Days of Magic, a ritual a friend told me about that involves writing down 13 wishes for the coming year, and then burning one every night for the 12 days between Solstice and New Year’s Day, or, in my case, between Christmas and Twelfth Night. The wish that’s left is the one you’re responsible for making come true. The rest, the universe (or God or Elmo or whoever you believe in) will take care of for you.

I wrote a list of several dozen wishes, and then whittled it down to the 13 that felt best in my body (which is my Intuition-O-Meter), even if they didn’t make the most “sense.”

And one of the wishes that didn’t make the cut was “get 100 subscribers on Substack.”

I was surprised my body compass didn’t choose this one, or anything related to Substack achievement, because besides my family, friends, and whatever health I’ve got, my writing is probably what’s most important to me at this stage of my life.

But then again, I figured, “writing” is not the same thing as “subscribers to my writing.”

Perhaps “100 subscribers” wasn’t meant for the wish ritual because I’m not supposed to be focused on numbers yet. Maybe I was supposed to stay in a state of creativity and openness and experimentation for awhile longer, before thinking about growing or marketing or earning real money. (I’ve set my subscription rates as low as they’ll let me and have nothing behind a paywall, for now, in order to foster this state for myself and minimize any sense of pressure or obligation to “make it worth your while,” though I do have to say how surprised, delighted, and grateful I am that some of you have chosen that option already. Thank you. Truly. Deeply. It means the world.)

Or maybe, I figured, 100 was simply too ambitious a number. Maybe the Great Tickle-Me-Elmo In The Sky couldn’t deliver on that many people before 2025 was up, and he didn’t want me to be disappointed, or have a crisis of faith, if I proffered that wish and it didn’t come true.

Seemed reasonable to me.

After all, I didn’t know how many subscribers I already had.

I realized early on that, as a recovering perfectionist with a tendency towards paralysis, in order to do this at all, I was going to have to let go of expectations of what it should be or what it should achieve, and walk that old familiar tightrope of writing for an audience (which is my favorite thing), while also somehow pretending none of you exist.

And as a recovering anorexic capable of using numbers against myself, I knew that one of the ways to do this was to avoid stats as much as possible.

(And yes, I am recovering from a lot of things, thanks for noticing. When it comes to mental illness, I have an abundance mindset.)

So for these reasons, I made it a point to disable emails sending me metrics, and if I do see numbers, it’s usually by accident.

Which means before my ritual, last I’d glimpsed, I’d had maybe 50 people following me. And it didn’t sound crazy that it could take a full year to find another 50 - if I was even supposed to be paying attention to numbers by then, either.

So imagine my surprise when, the day before the ritual was over, I got an email congratulating me for reaching 100.

I actually laughed out loud.

Apparently, the cosmic issue was the exact opposite of what I thought: Not only was 100 possible, but imminent, and The Almighty Muppet simply didn’t want me to waste a wish on something already in the works.

So… now here we are.

All 100 (and change) of us.

And, well, holy shit. How cool is this?

It might’ve taken me two weeks to anxiously avoid the good news email, two weeks to take it in and process it (#TraumaIsFun), and another two weeks to gather the spoons to write about it, but now that I’m on the other side of 100 (and some change) breathing exercises, I’m just… delighted. Pleased. Grateful. Proud.

I really do have dreams of growing this Substack, or growing something from it, and you all are a huge part of making that happen.

And so I want to thank each and every one of you for being here (including you newbies! Welcome welcome!). For your subscriptions, both free and (!!) paid. For reading and commenting and sending me DMs. For recommending me to friends or in your own Substacks. For your support. For your cheerleading. For your willingness to follow me down whichever rabbit hole I’m currently exploring.

And especially thank you for being here at this stage, while I am still figuring out what exactly this newsletter is going to be.

As you earliest adopters might have noticed, I had a lot of expectations (lightly held - see: brain gymnastics requirements above) about what I’d be writing here.

Like, I thought I’d be writing a lot more about disability. And while nearly everything I publish mentions or exists within the context of disability or disability justice, I’m not writing as directly about disability as I thought I would (though I do have some half-finished stories in the queue on everything from pacing 101 to anti-ableism resources).

And I expected to be ranting…er I mean… educating… on all the topics I like to “well, actually” people about in the comments. But so far I still haven’t gotten around to writing that “How Celts and Vikings didn’t wear dreadlocks but even if they did, that’s not why your white ass is wearing them” piece (though maybe now that I’ve spoken it aloud, I will).

I thought I’d write Media Diet pop culture roundups every week, but then I got distracted by deep, long think pieces about my life.

And at one point I thought I’d only write lots of deep, long think pieces about my life, or about cultural events (like this one about Oct. 7), but then I got distracted by… Taylor Swift.

And so I appreciate you all sticking with me as I try to just… go where the inspiration takes me, for now.

I do have a feeling that this will all coalesce into something more cohesive - or maybe even more eclectic, but, like, in a more structured way? - eventually. But it’s hard to imagine how it’ll all evolve, and I’m trying not to, well, try.

Will I keep posting about pop culture and media? Probably…? It’s fun!

Will I post drafts of stories I’ve written for the memoir I’m working on about the commune in Italy? Maybeeeee...

Will I adopt a regular posting schedule? Yes, I think so, as soon as it becomes clear what schedule would be gentle and sustainable for my disabled body, and also not trigger the OCD pressure/avoidance loop.

Will I start a reader chat? Probably, eventually, because I love Miranda July’s, and because interacting with y’all is one of my favorite parts of posting in a forum that allows for feedback and dialogue, and because fostering and being part of community is one of my life missions and I might just die of happiness if I could do that because of, or around, my actual writing (instead of via joining and starting pseudo cults, since if I move to another commune my friends have threatened to stage an intervention).

Will I raise prices? Eh? It would be amazing to make an actual living from my work again, though I don’t know if that means raising subscription rates or putting some stories behind a paywall or just increasing reader numbers. I’ll cross that income tax bracket/disability benefits requirements bridge when I get to it.

And back to Ye Olde Numbers… will I actively try to grow my audience? Yes…? I mean, I’d like to think I’ll just get a million subscribers organically without having to put in any effort, but since my business coach sister says that’s not how it works and she’s very smart, I’ll probably have to do some, you know, actual work in that regard.

But for now, this thing is still gestating. And so before I start planning its wedding, I’m going to try to stand back and just notice whether it likes trucks or dolls or both or neither, and whether it likes its name or wants to change it to Sage or Zephyr or Mercury, and then nurture whatever it wants to be.

(And while I’m making trans kid analogies: for the love of god, please SAVE AND PROTECT OUR PRECIOUS TRANS KIDS.)

And so, for now, I’m going to let this thing keep evolving.

And I’m so pleased and honored and grateful that you’re all here with me as it happens.

Thank you for being my first readers and subscribers. My first witnesses and champions.

Thank you for being my first 100.

Here’s to whatever lays ahead on the journey to 200.

May The Father (Jim Henson, duh), the Son (Elmo, obvi), and the Holy Spirit (ummm.. PBS?) grant us all more and bigger wishes than we can even fathom along the way. (God knows we could all use them right now.)

I love you.

xo,

M

Fun (Non Sequitur) Fact: My German teacher in high school, who learned both German and Russian at the fancy Defense Language Institute in Monterey during the Cold War, had us translate the lyrics to this very Cold War song as part of our homework, which is part of why German is still one of my favorite languages, much to the horror of my late Jewish grandmother. We also watched Das Boot, also known as nap time.