Internal Affairs Would Like a Word
Turns out your life keeps detailed records, and mine just submitted them as evidence.
I was brushing my teeth when I saw a note taped to the bathroom mirror, in handwriting so chaotic it looked like a raccoon had tried to sign a mortgage.
It simply said, “We need to talk. You’re not here.”
No signature, just a little doodle of what I think was supposed to be me, but the expression suggested I hadn’t slept since 2004. For a moment, I really did wonder if I’d started sleepwriting interventions to myself.
Then another note fell off the counter, this one jammed under my deodorant like some sort of scented threat.
It said, “Stop abandoning yourself. And moisturize more. This is getting out of hand.”
My Life, apparently, had moved into a new style: petty, blunt, and disturbingly observant.
I tried to shake it off, but later in the car, another note turned up, tucked into the cupholder like a parking ticket from an alternate universe.
By the time a third one turned up in my cupholder (“You’ve been gone longer than you think. Also, your gas light has been on for 19 hours”), it was clear my Life had entered its disappointed-mother era. And I couldn’t even blame it.
There’s a disappearing act we do that requires no plane ticket. You’re physically present, answering emails, nodding on Zoom, adulting perfectly, while the real you is somewhere off-set, smoking a cigarette, waiting for someone to notice you never came back.
Of course, I called Anne Libera, because if there’s anyone who can diagnose emotional absurdity with comedic precision, it’s Anne.
I explained everything-the notes, the fonts, the alarming accuracy about my hydration habits-and she listened with the kind of silence usually reserved for medical professionals who are about to ask if you’ve recently hit your head.
“John,” she finally said, “your Life didn’t start leaving notes today. This has been happening for a while. You’re just finally paying attention.”
The woman has the emotional equivalent of X-ray vision. She can spot avoidance in the wild the way naturalists identify birds by their silhouettes.
Later that week, I was telling this story to Susan Grau, who had literally died before, so my existential post-it situation barely registered as interesting. I was expecting reassurance. Instead, she cocked her head in that unnerving psychic-adjacent way she has and asked, “When did you last check on yourself?” She said it softly, like someone offering a cup of tea to a trembling Victorian child, and somehow that made it worse.
I realized I had no answer.
I could tell you what twenty-five other people needed from me that day. I could list every deadline, every errand, every obligation. But I couldn’t remember the last time I asked myself anything other than “Are you sure you’re not overreacting?” which, as it turns out, is not a check-in so much as a trapdoor.
The absurd thing is that clarity didn’t arrive in meditation. It came in the produce aisle, staring at a lemon that looked more put-together than I felt. I picked it up, put it down, picked it up again, and suddenly understood, with a heaviness that felt ancient and overdue, that I had not been choosing myself for a very long time.
That night, I opened my Notes app and wrote one line:
“If I keep waiting for the right moment to come back to myself, I’m going to miss the entrance entirely.”
I sat there for a while, staring at the sentence, which had personally offended me. It felt too true to delete and too honest to ignore. I didn’t feel transformed. I just felt… present. For the first time in longer than I care to admit.
So let’s try something.
If your Life started leaving you notes, cryptic, sarcastic, occasionally rude, what would yours say?
Not the polished version. The real one. The one who knows exactly where you hid the evidence.
Send me the most accurate, unhinged, or emotionally incriminating note you can imagine. I’ll share the best ones (anonymously unless you beg me not to) in the next post.
Consider it a small, deranged act of choosing yourself again, even if your Life has to drag you to the stage by the collar.
Full context (the lemon, the hostage negotiation, the threatened union) is in the new episode below.
Download a Companion Digital Workbook from the episode completely for FREE!
P.S. You can ignore this post, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.
I once put my keys in the freezer.
Things escalate quickly from there.