The Stories We Tell Ourselves

Letters to July 2020: I

By Thomas Feng

July 7^th, 2020

A note from me

Once again I will be writing letters to July for a healthy dose of honesty online. If you're new here, welcome and thanks for stopping by, I really do appreciate it.

You may be curious as to why July? There is no spectacular reasoning; I was just an angsty teenager finding my way when I stumbled across a YouTube series I watched five years ago which comforted me and gave me a sense of understanding. I started writing these letters myself in hopes it might give you permission, time and space to think and reflect openly and honestly on whatever is on your mind.

Last year this series was a faint, murmuring glimmer of hope in a catastrophic month for me. I felt anxiously vulnerable writing through a storm, but that is the point of the series. To acknowledge the thoughts that we hide behind our curated social media feeds and the obligatory dishonest "I'm fine" answers when people pretend to ask how we are.

Strap yourself in, grab your cuppa, and join me for a month of radical empathy, honesty and experimentation. If you haven't yet done so, please subscribe to support my creative endeavours and receive a trickle of wholesome, thoughtful, existentialist emails. And if you read a passage or idea that particularly speaks to you, please do write back, I love hearing from you.

With love, Thomas.

Dear July,

It's me again. Did you have a good break? It's been a while.

You've caused quite the raucous at my past few visits over the years, but this year the world has already run itself amuck, so I guess we'll see how we go in 2020.

I don't feel great at the moment, but I don't feel terrible either. We've been in a lockdown for three and a half months, and the mundane days drag onto each other. How are you?

When I read through our letters, I think of the importance of the stories that we tell ourselves. The stories which shape our habits. The stories which help us process our experiences, and most importantly, the stories which help us understand ourselves.

In 2017, I wrote to you saying:

"I feel sad because I am in my early 20's; I am finding my own place in this world and it is especially hard when simultaneously you are dealing with many life events - heartwarming and heartbreaking - for the first time as an independent person."

This story and quote explains how I am with you July. Searching, compassionate, and ruminatingly introspective. Often my words have been written in the context of sadness, which is justified because life has been shit the past few July's, a concoction of winter blues, burnout and the heartbreak of life.

Yet without those experiences, I don't think I could ever be the mature, caring, and loving person I consider myself to be. We gain a new appreciation for life and the finite time we have if we are supported by our friends, family and community.

And so there's another powerful story that I tell myself.

I have and deserve good things, like being loved by Michelle and my dear friends, to working in a job that I actually care about (often too much), and to the smaller joys in life like my over-the-top vintage, mohair cape from the Scottish Highlands that I thrifted far too cheaply at a Saturday thrift market.

I am incredibly, overwhelmingly grateful for what I have. Even on stressful days like today.

I wonder what stories you tell about yourself July.

Before I go July, I should catch you up on a few things.

Some things don't change and I still hate your frosty mornings. 9am starts are a reallllllll drag.

We essentially missed out on autumn due to being in lockdown this year. A terrible, global pandemic has shaken the world order, and many people have died.

Golden leaves still cover the Melbourne streets, and more people are outside exercising than before because they're not stuck driving to and from the office.

Despite everything happening, this is the first July ever where I'm not adjusting to anything new or different in my adulthood. I live in the same apartment, I haven't changed jobs, and I am not travelling.

No change is a change.

July, you never cease to surprise me or rattle me with where you take me, but I'm feeling settled and naively hopeful for a gentler time this year.

Love always,

Thomas

P.S. Thank you for stopping by and reading the first of my 2020 letters to July, where I write to the entire internet with empathy, honesty and a hope that you will be more open in sharing with your own community. I love hearing from you in person, over the phone or via an old-fashioned email. Drop me a line and tell me how you are, how you really are, and how you've coped with the roni.