You won't get a single life hack out of me

Hot tips and how-tos are not my purview

We are living in a time of experts. We are living in the time of ‘ten things you need to know about’ and ‘five red flags to watch out for’. We are living in the time of ‘content’.

We are living in a time of ‘my inbox is a receptacle for the swirling desperation of a hundred newsletters telling me how to stop being useless at things’. At the same time we are living in a time of ‘you are enough’.

We are living in the time of writers who make sweeping generalisations like ‘we are living in a time of’.

The tunnel that leads from the platforms to the station building in Zagreb, Croatia displays a prayerful welcome. PICTURE: Karin Schimke

In the book I’m reading, an Eighties PR genius called Lucien is reflecting on how he became richer than Croesus by showing other people the ‘special light’ in everything from dodgy politicians to sprinkler systems:

When he first started in this business and was coming to understand his facility for making people believe things and was much taken with the language of his therapist, Lucien thought he was tapping into the collection unconscious. But now he thinks it’s simply the atmosphere. That air is an admixture of nitrogen, oxygen, traces gases, and one of these gases is American cliché and we breathe it in with our first breath.

(John Henry Days by Colson Whitehead)

And in this noisy smelly-selly atmosphere, Love Letter has just reached its first year as a Substack publication, which must be some sort of little record for Least Ambitious Undertaking Ever To Turn Into A Thing.

(I offer no) advice and I have an unreasonable aversion to cliché.

I started writing a monthly Love Letter in February 2022 to my daughter who was travelling because I was nostalgic for the letters I got from home when I first travelled in the Nineties before email and social media. I told a friend who said she also wanted to read my letter. One thing led to another, I got tired of individually mailing people the letter (yes, I really did that) and ta-da…a year later, hundreds of subscribers and weekly letters.

None of them contain advice and I have an unreasonable aversion to cliché.

So why do people keep subscribing?

I get really nice emails from readers in my inbox, and I usually keep them to myself, but this anniversary seems to call for some public bragging. So here’s one from a reader in West Sussex.

LL is so informative.I've been introduced to books I didn't know, musicians, artists. (I like) the lens through which you view the world, one of humour, justice and accountability. Basically you. YOU are the USP.

And here’s one from a reader in Cape Town:

(Love Letter) is my own little guilty (not) pleasure that I can crawl into and be educated, informed, and entertained. I love your perspective on the world, and your irritations and annoyances. The beautiful things you've taught your children and the wonderful conversations you have with them. And for being so goddamn honest and perceptive about life's vulnerabilities, and outraged at its injustices. More than a wonderfully skilled writer, you are a great observer and thinker. And you're very brave. 

One that made me really glow was from a reader I admire enormously, a very successful artist. She’s been a subscriber since almost the beginning and this week upgraded her subscription to a paid one. She wrote:

(Love Letter) always gives me pause, makes me think, re-evaluate. That’s a very good thing. It brings me joy – reading anything written by you, makes me happy. (Yes, you’re that good.) I finally subscribed because it started feeling like a vital trace element I needed to take regularly if I wanted to stay well. Your views and insights are uniquely you, incredibly so – they’re not generic, off-the-shelf regurgitated writings.

The bragging is now over. As you were.

I’m happy to be writing – in a non-sell-y, non-clichéd way to such an incredibly informed, funny, interactive bunch of readers. Your letters back to me are always a huge happiness and, as you know, I try to answer each one of them. Thank you for your enthusiastic support.

This part is going to sound like I’m contradicting myself, because it involves money, but hear me out: you don’t have to buy anything. Some of my subscribers want to support my work, which is why I chose Substack in the first place, because it offers the option.

If you’ve been considering upgrading to a paid subscription, here’s a little something for you to make it easier.

Apart from letters on the 7th, 14th and 21st of every month, paid subscribers get to read Extra Large Love Letter on the 28th, which is a more intimate and personal letter. They also get access to some of my published essays and poetry.

There’s a very good chance my vagabonding year is going to be turned into a book, and paid subscribers will get a special offer on that. Founder subscribers (who choose to pay more than the annual subscription) also get to do the January Reset with me.

Otherwise, just stick around for a 100% free three letters a month that dip into the largeness and loveness of life.

Come travel with me.

I promise you won’t get a single travel tip from me!

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If you’re newish to Love Letter, here are quick links to stories you might enjoy:

That time I got shat on by a supermarket teller in Berlin.

The Love Letter about swimming at a nudist lake.

On coming home alone at midnight.

Here are some of the Extra Large Love Letters that found resonance. If you’re desperate to read any of them but not to become a paid subscriber, then you can read it with a seven-day free subscription.

Slimy monsters.

Mental condoms against despair.

What work means.

How was your day?

Happy reading.

Happy weekend.

Lots of love,

As always,

Kowski.

PS: You’ll seldom get a Love Letter on days whose numbers can’t be divided by a seven. It’s just that…what’s an anniversary if you don’t tell people?