Hello my loves!
Today’s essay is a free one with a paid newsletter coming tomorrow and an additional free essay on Friday. I know I have been a bit behind, it is because I have been extremely anxious which is generally out of character for me and worry and creativity do not, generally, go hand in hand. Anyway- an essay about the end of the world!
See you again tomorrow, I love you!
Hannah
…
New York is the most nihilistic it has been in the nearly fifteen years I have lived here. I often wander into a restaurant at 10:45 PM on a Tuesday, having realized I’ve forgotten to eat and unable to conjure the energy to cook. I order a salad or a pasta and the restaurant (no matter which I pick) is always full, packed with people too old to be drinking dirty martinis on weeknights. They seem to have husbands and wives and children and jobs. At the very least they have nice clothing and metal credit cards and skin that implies financial stability.
What is a guy like you doing in a place like this?
“It’s Wednesday, why are all these people here?” I asked my favorite bar tender at my favorite place to eat clam pasta alone, last month.
“It’s happened over the last few weeks. Tuesday and Wednesday are the new Thursday and Thursday is the new Friday.”
“Do you still close down at midnight, no matter what?”
“Only sometimes, now. Negroni?”
“Wine. I’m not on this level.”
…
The world is in shambles and hedonism feels, at least in the bubble I inhabit, like the only response. And so people go to happy hour and stay until midnight and I assume they work from home the next day or take too many stimulants or do not work at all. I have never asked. If you came downtown for a night, you’d think the atmosphere was a sign of boom times. Happy people, harmless flirtations, no responsibilities, no discussion of work or the economy or the future.
But stay for a week and bring up what’s next. What are you working on? Everybody is sitting on big plans that have potential but there is too much dread. The combination leads them anywhere but their desks. I typically never do this. They say. And it was true, three or four weeks ago when they started doing this, whatever this is. And so it feels true. I am not a person who does this, I am just a person doing this tonight. Many of us are caught in a self-destructive spiral, promising ourselves that this really is the last turn down the slide before we stay in the room, alone at our desks, creating something valuable.
But then tomorrow comes! And then the morning is productive and a few friends call in the early evening. So we all go for dinner because we’re not drinking tonight. All of the same people are out and a friend of a friend buys a round and it feels rude to say no. And then it is midnight and we’ve broken a promise to ourselves but it does not seem to matter. Nothing has fallen to pieces and everybody is behaving the same way we are so maybe this behavior is fine? Maybe people have always functioned this way. Business men used to have two martinis at lunch and it’s past dinner time.
But the work isn’t getting done and existential dread is an extra companion at every table. I don’t think anyone is behind on work because of the late nights. The nihilism and procrastination have a common cause. Shared anxiety that we haven’t learned how to work through. A need to be anywhere but alone with our thoughts. But the world has felt like it was ending many times before and it has not ended yet. A year from now, everything will likely feel okay and we will each be left with the results of a year of nihilism. To the victor belong the spoils. And victory goes, I think, to the person who learns to stay in the room, alone. Right foot, left foot. There will be another party tomorrow. It’s okay to stay in tonight.
In the room alone or with you (at least after my party this weekend).
I love you,
Hannah Stella
PS: Thank you for being here I love you so much I am obviously having an existential crisis but I am an “the only way out is through” girly now. If you enjoyed this essay please share moxie, like, comment, or email me!
This feels spot on. The existential dread. My desire to procrastinate everything. The only reason I’m not drinking nightly anymore is because I started Wellbutrin. I think it has something to do with the pandemic stealing the final four years of my 30s so I’m now 40 but definitely don’t feel like I should be? Anyhow — great essay, as always!