Darn. The secret to happiness is not a donut. But I found this instead.

It was interesting to me, riding through the woods on my mountain bike during a short fast of about a day’s duration, how temporarily letting go of my attachment to food allowed me to look at other beliefs and thoughts from a position of detachment.

That probably sounds woo woo, and likely it is on some level. And yet, it dawned on me that I can feel when I’m trying to be something I’m not. It’s a knot in my stomach. It feels a lot like lying, probably because that’s what pretending can be.

I rolled along, over the leaves that had fallen, thick and gold and brown on the trail, hiding some of the roots and rocks. There was a night smell, a heaviness to the colors, but also the popsicle crispness of fall in the air, saying, Hurry hurry, find a warm place for the night before the shadows get too long and the sun too low.

Sometimes I think about truth, and how it relates to the things we experience. I like to believe in absolutes, that there is a truth to things. And at the same time, imagine you’re looking at a sun-dappled birch in the forest. Your truth might be the sunlight reflecting off the bark, and the seashell-like patterns of dark spots and lines cutting through its whiteness. A few hours later, my truth might be feeling the size of the tree next to me as I look for remnants of dried bark on the ground to start a fire, fumbling in the dark with my headlamp. The experience of the tree depends on the experiencer.

That might feel inconsequential to you, and maybe your eyes started glazing over. Speaking of which, I heard David Sedaris talking about that today, on a podcast. He said he’d never use a dream sequence in his writing. I think I may have committed that sin in the first and only book I’ve written so far. Apparently, it’s a sure-fire way to make the eyes of your reader glaze over.

Glazed or not, attention is not a donut. But maybe if I bribed people with enough donuts to read my work, more people would read it. No matter though — what matters is doing more of the work.

And that comes back to perhaps a core idea I was considering earlier. If there’s more than one truth to something, because there’s more than one way to experience most things, then there’s probably more than one truth to life, and more than one meaning. And while we’re at it, I need to share an insecurity with you. The insecurity feels like a popcorn kernel of shame about to pop in my chest. Don’t worry, though. As far as I know, I’m not on my way to the coronary ward of the ER. Instead, it’s like a hot little shame bubble tumbling around and wanting to be let out.

Here goes: When I started this website, I thought I’d make a brilliant piece of work that would entice people to hire me as a copywriter. Then, that started to feel like I’d put on a suit that didn’t quite fit, so I thought, I’ve got guy friends who call me for advice. Maybe I’ll be a men’s coach.

And so, for a short while, I announced that Masculinity is under attack and picked up a new shield with a new crest and marched headlong into… the void. Because that really didn’t resonate all that well either. Something inside me said, Quit your bullshit, Jesse.

Can you see how this might get complicated?

I’m coming back to Sedaris. He said he hardly spent time promoting his work. He just worked a lot, and people invited him to share it. You might say, But wait! He’s one in a billion! A genius! Anointed by God and Conan O’Brien! Well, all those things may be true. And yet, doesn’t it feel better to work toward the things that you know, deep down, are good? Doesn’t that feel better than pretending to be someone you’re not?

It’s hard to admit doing that today, in this age of social media, where everything is distilled into dopamine-hit soundbites and everyone is as perfect as an Instagram-filtered Kardashian ass. The possibility exists that I’m just an average writer. Or maybe a little on the good side of average, so I can fit in with the above-average kids in Lake Woebegone. The thing is, it’s possible that I’ll write until I can’t write anymore, and nothing will come of it. It’s possible I’ll never be a big financial success and own a house with apple trees and my own airplane and be successful, whatever the hell that means.

What I’ve learned the last few days, doing short fasts and abstaining from food and heading into nature, is that I’m quite alright just the way I am. I’ve heard people say that’s an excuse to be an underachiever, and they can judge me that way if they want. When you feel your thoughts as not all true, when you feel that you fit into the forest just as well as the birch tree and the deer and the brook running through it, things are a little more okay.

Hey, you stuck with me all the way down to here. Maybe we could be friends.

Take care,

Jesse