The 330th Five Star Mixtape Is Brought to You By Ann Rule
This week's Five Star Mixtape is brought to you by the idea of doing less harm rather than more good, the magic of connection through shared trauma, allowing yourself the room to feel, realizing you're not at the end of your story, sudden redirections, staying candid, grokking suffering, and Ann Rule:
The Aspen Consensus, I believe, tries to market the idea of generosity as a substitute for the idea of justice. It says: make money in all the usual ways, and then give some back through a foundation, or factor in social impact, or add a second or third bottom line to your analysis, or give a left sock to the poor for every right sock you sell.
The Aspen Consensus says, “Do more good” — not “Do less harm.”
We joke about the futility of therapy and appointments and being able to say anything real on a timer, and I tell him how the African Uber drivers saved me, how I told this guy or that one everything that happened and how they'd pull over because they had seen the same things or drive real slow so they could advise me about how to think about things, how to lay things to rest, until I didn't want to have a car anymore. Until I just wanted to drive around with them all day until I could think straight and eventually started to feel better.
I’m chugging kale in a San Francisco juice bar, contemplating an aching heart and Joe the hugger in Montreal. He’s the wise man at my café, who the tough guys are nuts about and heave-ho their lumbering bodies to embrace. I eyeballed Joe for months before I wrote a word about his telekinetic hugs. We’re pals now.
"Enough People in the World Want to Make You Feel Like Shit. Don’t Help Them." by Nina Bargiel at The Slack Daily:
By the time I turned 30, I had written seventeen episodes of an iconic television show (Lizzie McGuire), been nominated for two Emmys, had an Agent, a Manager, and a size 6 body that I could cram into all sorts of fun outfits.
By the time I turned 35, I was near-broke, hadn’t had a writing job in 18 months and was working the front desk of the spinning gym that I had formerly been a customer at.
My husband would often tell people he loved that about me– how it was a trait of mine he aspired for himself. I always go forward, not backwards or in circles, and I do it without stepping on an ant or getting lost in my own shadow.
My father, 69, is going through his massive collection of slides and digitizing them. As a result, every few days a photo or two from a family beach outing or a holiday long past will pop into my email stream without warning.
They aren’t particularly arresting images — no wild kaleidoscopic sunsets or Instagram-worthy food shots here — and yet they command my immediate attention.
Somehow, through the years of living, ministry, dying loved ones, lost pets and lost loves, I’m learning to ask “Can you walk?” I’m learning to ask the other hard questions and be still and present with the answers. I am learning how to suffer.
And because you are a fan of finding good, new writing online: