Cultivating an air of mystery
As it turns out, you DON'T have to post every thought that enters your head.
Welcome to So Relatable, a newsletter for creative folks who want to make things that matter. I’m glad you’re here! ✨
Want to support my creative work? Buy my zine! It’s a braided essay and illustrated journey about making art, growing older, and learning to climb. Copies are $7—order yours now and make my day!
Thursday was the first day of spring. I know because every pine tree in Wilmington chose to engage in a coordinated attack, the results of which are currently coating the city in a fine yellow sheen.
Thursday also marked three full months with Hugo, the rescue dog who has tested our limits, won our hearts, and taught me enough lessons to fill a zine. (Coming soon, stay tuned!)
The metaphors are clear: winter is over, and not a minute too soon. Between adopting a new dog saddled with trauma and inaugurating a new president intent on inflicting it, the last few months have been intense.
But spring is here. Hugo is rounding a corner, learning and growing every day. The president continues to wreak havoc, but I’m learning and growing, too—finding a balance between staying informed and staying sane, living my values and then logging the hell off, because I don’t want to give those terrible men one extra bit of my time, attention, or money.
Recently I read that the average American spends 2.5 hours a day on their phone. I was horrified, but not surprised. I feel like I’m always rushing from one thing to the next, that I never have quite enough time to make art, read books, cook delicious meals, see my friends, or write this newsletter. But it turns out I do have enough time—I just waste it on addictive apps owned by yet more terrible men. They grow fat on my attention while I struggle to live in the sliver that’s left.
And so, two weeks ago, I took the last remaining apps off my phone. I still check in via my desktop, but those versions aren’t nearly as absorbing. Scrolling with a mouse doesn’t hit the same, and that’s the point.
I don’t want to scroll while standing in lines or watching my shows or sitting in waiting rooms or walking my dog. I don’t want to stare at my dumb little screen when I could be people watching, flower hunting, or simply thinking my own thoughts instead of skimming the optimized opinions of strangers.
Once, I thought the way to tame social media was to focus on creating instead of consuming. As long as I was posting—sharing photos, writing stories, actively engaging with an audience—I could control the narrative.
But that was an illusion. I wasn’t controlling anything. I was simply giving my best ideas, my best stories, my best energy to an insatiable algorithm. When I finally sat down to make my actual art, there was nothing left to share.
Every morning on our dog walk, Hugo and I pass a retention pond. Every morning, as we approach, a great blue heron rises from the banks and flies into the copse of trees behind the pond. At first, Hugo was terrified of this bird. He flinched when it took flight and emitted a screeching cry as it arced toward the clouds.
Now, we pause and watch the bird together. His ears are alert, but he stays calm and composed. Once the heron is gone, he looks at me and gets a treat, and we continue our journey.
I’ve never taken a photo of the bird, never recorded this moment of growth, never posted it on Instagram with a devastatingly clever caption. Even describing it here feels a bit sacrilegious, but I need an image to end on, a metaphor so you can see what I mean. For every heron I write about, there are a hundred small moments that remain intimate and mysterious, shared only with my friends, my dog, myself. Things I might have missed if I was looking at my phone, framing it for an imaginary audience, or measuring its success by likes.
The heron knows better, and now I do, too. 💛
🌻 Relatable Recs
CLICKING: The internet is temporary, the algorithm will never love you back, and you can’t trust capitalism with your art. That’s why I loved this piece from
about making your art and writing analog-first (and why it inspired this essay):“We have more to gain as organizers, stewards, and archivists if we push ourselves to create community resources with staying power.”READING: I just finished All Fours by Miranda July, which the entire world read last summer—better late than never. It was surprising and sexy and I think I loved it? Now I’m reading James, a retelling of Huckleberry Finn from the POV of Jim, the runaway slave. Huck Finn was a foundational text for me, so I’m absolutely loving this layered and inventive version.
EATING: I’m back on my protein bullshit, except this time I’m also obsessed with Omega-3s. Can a handful of hemp seeds a day ward off dementia, improve my vision, and renew my skin? We’ll find out!
MAKING: Finally assembling our collaborative zine about Lake Waccamaw. Sketching a new zine about dog training. Drafting a short story about birds. Writing a list of goals for the spring. Assembling plans for a summer visit. Sending this newsletter.
💛 Coffee Club
Want to support So Relatable? Treat me to a ☕️ and or buy my zine! 🙌
Venmo: @Christine-Hennessey or PayPal Me.
Can’t afford a contribution? Click the ♡ below or forward this to someone you love. It makes a difference.
👋 About Me: I’m Chrissy Hennessey, an enthusiastic snacker and native New Yorker living in coastal North Carolina, where I stayed after earning my MFA. My writing has appeared in a decent number of journals, I’ve received fellowships to some fancy residencies, and I’ve written three unpublished novels. This newsletter is a passion project I started in 2019 as a way to connect with artists and writers, share my creative journey, and build a community. Thank you for being here!
I'm with you. Made me think of a word I learned from the writer Pete Hammill— flâneur.
"If it’s a beautiful day, I love taking walks. The walks are always aimless. From where I live, I like walking to the Battery, where so many people, including my own parents, came through that harbor and passed into Ellis Island and became Americans. You can just sit on a bench and look at the harbor, or look at the people. Like being a flâneur. You can just wander around and let the city dictate the script."
I've enjoyed many more moments because of those thoughts.
"They grow fat on my attention..." That'll help me stay in the world a few more times a day🙂
Thanks!