This Friday marks my 51st birthday, so naturally it’s time to think about death! Inevitable. Unimaginable. And with each passing day-month-year approaching ever faster. A decade ago I used to joke that I was merely a third of the way through my time here on earth. But death is no joke. Now I acknowledge, reluctantly but with clearer vision, that I am merely nearing the halfway point.
If I could live forever, including an eternity floating in space after the destruction of our planet billions of years hence, I would. I have an insatiable desire simply to see how things turn out. As I wrote in an earlier essay, Spoiler Alert: Ending Explained:
As on Netflix, so in life: All binges must end. There will come a point for me, as it will for all of you, when we will have to be satisfied with the mid-season finale. I can’t convey to you how much I loathe and fear this. I want to know not just my resolution, not just the resolutions of my friends and my kids, but humanity’s resolution: Will we get over our shit and make some progress? Will we fix this planet? Will we leave it behind and find a destiny among the stars? Will we come to understand the laws governing our universe in ways we can manipulate and master, to unimagined ends? Will we survive the next 100,000, the next million years? Will we become something else entirely? Will anyone remember the early 21st century as a turning point? Will anyone remember me?
I know I will never know. But knowing that—knowing the absolutely 100% certainty of that—doesn’t make it any easier to let go. I want to know more than anything, and even if I could live a thousand years I still wouldn’t learn enough about our future. There’s nothing I wouldn’t give to be able to could connect the dots from the late 1970s to a future so distant we number the days differently. I don’t know how to give up that desire that has motivated me since I was a little boy watching a Tantive IV corvette and a Star Destroyer race over my head in a movie theater in Amherst, Massachusetts. I want—I will always, always want—to be there when the horns blare and the credits roll and the tension drains from my body. And I want to see the sequel.
If life were a sci-fi movie, I would ask each of you to gift me a bit of extra time to add onto my lifespan. (In fact, this was the premise of the awful Justin Timberlake–Amanda Seyfried vehicle, In Time, in which time functions as a literal currency. The wealthy have centuries, the working class mere weeks or minutes. It is not a very good movie!) In lieu of that, I have some more modest requests:
1. Build my cult
Why not forward a Trying! email to a friend or colleague who might subscribe? I love you all, of course—particularly you, [first_name]—but I have enough love to go around, and as the saying goes, an essay without a reader is like a fish without a bicycle. In other words, I would like to have more subscribers! So maybe forward them a recent email you enjoyed, or, if you’re new to Trying!, have a look back through the surprisingly extensive archives to find a story to entice the masses.
To sweeten the deal, if you get a mere 5 people onboard, I’ll send you a free copy of the Trying! book, featuring 11 essays selected by Sunset Magazine editor-in-chief Hugh Garvey, plus wonderful and whimsical illustrations by Aliza Gans. Just use the referral code below:
2. Work for me, sorta
Believe it or not, I am already starting to think about putting together the next print edition of Trying!, which I hope will be available before December. Although this is obviously a vanity project, I want to expand what Trying! is—and I need your help.
That is, do you have something you’d like to contribute? It could be an essay, a piece of reporting, a poem, a short story, or artwork (a collection of sketches, say, or anything that will reproduce well in black and white). It could even be purely experimental. Remember, Trying! is about, uh, trying, so if there’s something you’ve been working on, or wanting to work on, and aren’t sure if it’s ready for primetime, then it’s probably ready for this. Send me your ideas! And I’m happy to talk through them at length, and help you get them to a point where you’re satisfied with how they read/look. What I’m saying is: For my birthday (and a bit beyond), let me be your editor!
3. Upgrade your life
Did you know Trying! offers paid subscriptions? They’re just like the free ones, except you give me a little bit of money, which I use to keep this whole project going, and for the occasional caviar bump. For as little as $10 a year, you can support “journalism” or whatever this is. If you choose one of the two top tiers, I’ll send you a copy of the Trying! book as well. All levels of paid subscription allow you to continue reading these essays 100% guilt-free.
And… that’s it! A really brief birthday wishlist—how tough could that be to fulfill? 🪨🪨🪨
It’s Good and I Like It: Stealing from Brandy Melville
This essay in The Cut feels very Trying! Read it:
