Pay Attention to the Person behind the curtain
One of my favorite lines in one of my favorite TV shows is “living is not for the weak.”
I’ve been rewatching Arrow lately, currently halfway through Season 2. It’s mindless entertainment, considering I’ve seen the show so many times by now I know exactly what happens and why; the enjoyment is about the journey, not the destination. Indeed, I’ve needed mindless entertainment lately because the first quarter of 2026 has proven to be extraordinarily unkind to me. There has been a lot going on in my personal life, what with gut-wrenching decisions that have commensurately driven a spate of uncomfortable, absolutely overwhelming changes. Arguably the saddest aspect of my current emotional (and logistical) turmoil is this is decidedly not my first rodeo; it really and truly is the latest crucible in a life that has endured many similar crucibles. What I’m saying is, I’m accustomed to the flames of the proverbial fires.
You have no idea what’s going on behind the keyboard. You see me posting stories about Apple at 50 or Amazon Prime Access or Logitech and ergonomics and you think my prolificness and quality of work is on point as usual. But journalism doesn’t happen in a vacuum, especially such on an abstract, esoteric, and often misunderstood topic. It takes every ounce of my being right now to show up every day and triage emails and conduct interviews and write things. I honestly have no earthly idea how in the world I manage to post 34 times in March’s 31 days. I oftentimes joke writing is cathartic and therapeutic and my brain goes “somewhere else” the moment I sit down in front of my Pro Display XDR, so I suppose I’m able to compartmentalize my feelings—temporarily at least. What’s more, I was invited to work-related events, on both coasts, in recent weeks that I had to bow out of partly because my bandwidth for logistics is non-conducive to my general socio-emotional capacity. It’s simply been too much.
So yes, living is not for the weak. I’m amazed I’m even capable of writing this piece.
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I don’t publish this piece trying to procure sympathy. In fact, it took a lot of bravery and courageousness to be so open and vulnerable on the internet. As I said, writing is cathartic. I recently read a story on ESPN about Oregon quarterback Dante Moore’s own struggles with mental health, specifically anxiety and depression, around his mother’s breast cancer diagnosis. As someone who copes with severe anxiety and depression, and whose own mother dealt with breast cancer, Moore’s experiences resonated with me if only because it turns out high-profile individuals are human like anyone else. Moore wrote a letter to Oregon governor Tina Kotek, according to ESPN, “[to disclose] his struggles with depression [and asked] for support for mental health services in the state.” He cited dealing with “the pressure and expectations that come with playing quarterback at a high level,” but the sentiment applies as aptly to my own life trying to navigate my personal life with trying to give my life’s work more eyeballs.
“In my life, what made the difference was support,” Moore wrote last month. “Support from my friends, love from my family, and access to the resources I needed to get better. As a young Black man and athlete, reaching out for help can often feel like climbing an uphill battle. It required vulnerability and trust, and I was fortunate to get the care I needed.”
He added: “Learning how to care for my own mental health made me a better leader, teammate, and student. I know what it feels like to struggle in silence. I also know what it feels like to be supported and to come back stronger. That support saved me.”
I have a support system—some of whom may or may not read this website—and I’m trying to lean on them as heavily as they can bear. They know who they are.
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I suppose the overarching point of this piece is to simply say what you’ve seen on Curb Cuts in the first few months of the year has mostly been a mirage. I’m proud of my work, as always, and stand by what I’ve written—at this time, however, I just feel a compulsion to share my work is absolutely not a one-to-one reflection of my mental state. How to square the incongruity, I don’t know. All I know is 988 has been a valuable resource to have in my arsenal as I try mightily to recalibrate my life and its systems.
Anyway, thanks for reading. My heart (and Squarespace’s analytics) appreciates you.
