Hello and welcome to Vol. 25 of The Underground Binder-Clip Society.
It seems we have somehow reached 25 letters together. I am trying once again to glean significance from everything. Is this a trick? A worthwhile investment? A way to quickly exhaust myself? It is a slow fade. I am quickly losing my will to give a s**t. At least in the same capacity as I once did. However, there is a deeper care that rests inside of me, which is giving me permission to let go. Even in my strongest attempts to forget God, I cannot. A wise man once said, “The mere face of a girl, the song of a bird, or the sight of a horizon, are always blowing evil’s whole structure away.” Beauty is inevitable, and so it must be named. I do not mind calling it God.
Two weeks—almost three—have gone by without my writing to you. This shouldn’t be a big deal, except I had been writing to you all for 24 straight weeks. But never mind that. Here we are.
I don’t know if it was Rilke or Lewis who said something about how “Correspondence” is a job and a joy. Keeping in touch. Sharing what we have been up to. What we have been learning. What has been paining us. In my experience, hand-written letters behold a sort of sincerity that an email or text message could never. When I write a letter, I feel the burden of my humanness slightly lifted. I am walking the fine line between journaling and conversing. Things can suddenly become both vulnerable and communal. Unlike journaling, you have a destination in mind for what you are saying. So, you might be asking a little more of yourself. For me, having you all as an audience has been a great motivator and a great set of borders.
I am taking note of my successes and my shortcomings and breathing more easily by doing so. I am learning to celebrate the ordinary while seeking out the extraordinary. I am trying to see how every moment could be deemed holy. I get to look at my life under a magnifying glass a little more without feeling entirely vain about it.
I was trying to write a book before I started this newsletter. I’ve tried to write books before. Most recently, I got further than ever - but still quit - and started this substack instead. A friend mentioned to me recently, in regards to substack, that he felt like this platform had been waiting for me. A place where I could have severity of thought with little to no consequences. At least, that’s what it is for now. I fear that each week, as I am accruing new subscribers, I might be watering down my train of thought. Or that I’m putting too much pressure on myself to be some sort of savant.
Mostly, I have just wanted to keep in touch. With myself. With you all. With the world around me. Asking myself to write a “letter,” each week simply demands that I show up. It is a structure I appreciate, especially post-college. I think we could all use a little deadline here and there. Fortunately, I have been settling into a knowingness of myself outside of occupation and output. I am and will likely always be, in some way, an artist, a person of faith, and a person full of questions. I have yet to write a life’s mission statement. But this seems to be close to one. Maybe it is more of a “present statement.” or a “grounding statement.”
“I am Jake Smith, man of faith, full of questions, ever-artful.
Always learning, distilled in grace, moving in love.”
My forgiveness towards myself and others is multiplying. My s***s left to give are dwindling. I think maybe these things coincide. Sometimes, I feel I can love more when I care less. Letting go of what I can’t control is powerful medicine.
I no longer fear losing God. Only seeing God the wrong way. (unloving, unforgiving, unjust.)
I do not fear losing friends because, historically, I have been able to make them.
Seasons change, it is what it is.
I have kept on living. I have been finding meaning and purpose outside of my work. (this has come out of sheer necessity because I have done some pretty bad work lately.)
A season of drought has been a kiss on the mouth from God. I am malleable. I am a compost heap. I am someone’s someday confidant. Nothing is lost on me.
I am breathing. I am coping. I am mowing lawns. I am working at the coffee shop. I am befriending locals.
I am making my eggs and toast. I am quitting projects which I do not believe in. I am making room for something new and beautiful, which I have no point of reference for. This is hope. No amount of normal will take my heart or my art away from me. I could not be Chad if I tried (God told me this over drinks last week.)
I have NO s***s left to give (zero) (none.) I gotta eat. And make a buck. And find release. I gotta laugh. And hug. And learn and get on with life.
I am humbled and grateful and full of days.
I am despairing and hateful, and unabridged.
I will curse and spit and throw rocks at the darkness.
I will never stop believing in my art or my family or my friends.
Peace be with you all. Do not doze off.
Rise o sleeper.
You were called to so much more. So ask this of yourself
and then ask it again tomorrow,
Amen.
Here are this week’s “Quick Clips”:
* My new song, “Deep End,” comes out this coming Tuesday, May 7th - Paid subscribers can hear it here now.
* “Being Alive” by Frankie Cosmos
* “Choir Vandals” by The American Analog Set
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<3
