Pretty F#cking Far From Okay

And that's okay.

Today marks the ostensible conclusion of my “Oversharing Means Caring” 90 day writing challenge. Unlike my previous 90 day challenge, I did not meet my goal of posting 90 times. My final tally was about 67 posts between Subtack and Medium. Since this is about 60 more posts than I would have written without the challenge, and given I created no penalty for not completing it, I am not particularly disappointed about my final tally. More succinctly, I am no more disappointed about this result than I am about countless other disappointing results in my/the world.

One of my favorite lines of cinematic dialogue is from the end of Pulp Fiction when Bruce Willis’ character Butch Coolidge rescues Ving Rhames’ character Marsellus Wallace after he had been anally raped by one of his captures. After the rape, Butch asks Marsellus if he’s okay, to which the latter responds, “Nah, man. I’m pretty fucking far from okay.” 

So many of the things I value and hold sacred —a healthy planet, abundant flora and fauna, humanity and human connection, family, love , peace—are today being killed off with industrial efficiency. I have blessedly never been bound and raped like Marsellus, but few sentences capture my feelings about the world than “pretty fucking far from okay.” Try as I might, I have been unable to write my way out of these feelings (perhaps I’d feel different if I hit 90 posts in 90 days as I set out to  do…).  

As someone who likes , and daresay expects, to feel good most of the time, being okay with being pretty fucking far from okay —to keep waking up, showing up, and sharing —is a big deal. To my readers, I thank you all for reading, liking, commenting, and occasionally paying to join me while I deal with, and attempt to find meaning in not being okay.

Song of the day: