Hello friend, welcome to Scrap Facts. I’m Katherine, and I’m glad you’re here.
If you’re new here, welcome. This newsletter came about from my health reporter days when I wanted to find a way to give life to the many fascinating tidbits that got cut from my stories. Now it’s evolved into a space where I write about what I learn wherever I can.
Note: I drafted this before Wednesday, Nov. 6., and it doesn’t include more recent reflections. I care very deeply, and am still processing this week on my own.
When it comes to music, I don’t branch out much. I can’t listen to music while I work, and when I’m doing chores I prefer to listen to an audiobook.
I most often listen to music when I run. And, because running is something that brings me joy, I find myself listening to equally joyful music. This is all to say: I love pop music.
Great pop is the musical equivalent of science writing for kids. It takes an incredibly complex set of sounds, vocals, and lyrics, and distills them into something catchy and understandable for a vast audience with a short attention span.
It’s also a perfect little dopamine hit. And over the past few weeks, I’ve been finding myself turning to pop more often in quiet moments where I’m unsure what to do with myself. And really, just one artist in particular has been on repeat.
Three words: Carly. Rae. Jepsen.
I’ve been a fan of this Canadian pop princess since 2014. Most people only know her for her 2012 single “Call Me Maybe” which has some truly genius-level engineering. (The Switched on Pop team break it down here.)
But Carly’s in it for the long haul. She’s cracked the code to the whole pop package: endless stories broken down into straightforward lyrics, vocal talent, and top-notch production.
The thing I love about CRJ is that she writes songs that are upbeat and catchy, but still capture the essence of some of the most niche, secondary emotions we feel alongside love. Some of her songs are full of longing, some are clap-backs, and some are just straight-up thirsty. They’re also funny—especially her music videos—which to me says that she takes her craft seriously, but not herself.
Lately, I’ve been listening to one particular song on repeat: the 2018 single “Cut to the Feeling.” It’s about the desire to skip ahead to the joy we’re all yearning for.
As I’ve entered this new chapter in my life living solo, I’ve been antsy see how I feel about it. I feel some definite discomfort in growth, and I really would like to just get to the good part when I feel totally comfortable and secure all the time always.
Adjusting to living alone was pretty hard at first, but I anticipated that. I made plans for new routines that could fill my time. With more to do, I figured I’d have less time alone with my thoughts. I also just like routine; in predictable situations, my mind meanders more.
Alas, my thoughts and feelings—which included boredom, loneliness, and, one time, panic that the house had a major gas leak—still find ways to rise to the surface. (It was a plumbing problem, which I discovered only after I called the fire department at 6:20 am. They were nice about it at least.)
What I crave are big and beautiful feelings of connection to distract me. And for all of the safety and comfort I find in routine, it only accounts for about 30% of my emotional contentment from it. At most. I want desperately to cut to the feeling with others in a way that solo routine can simply not do.
On a neighborhood walk the other day, I realized that all the biggest and best feelings I’ve had in life have been with others, ranging from friends to lovers to strangers crossing a finishing line at the same time I did. They’ve also all been random. In other words, I can make as many routines as I want for myself to feel contentment. But joy? That’s likely going to require an actual relationship that is impossible to orchestrate on my own.
Not that that’s stopped me trying. In my 20s, I found that one way to try to manufacture joy was through relationships in which I played the role of Perfect Human Woman. I would do all the work of a friendship, romantic interest, etc. to make it essentially impossible for me to be rejected. I wouldn’t be myself—I’d be who I thought others wanted me to be. My logic was that if I made it easy for others to want me and my company, joy was just around the corner.
Predictably, this led to a lot of heartache and even more loneliness. I’d often find myself constantly on edge with partners, afraid that if I expressed a genuine want or a need, they’d deem me Too Much. Or though I’d have friends, I’d feel a tremendous sense of loneliness because none of them actually knew me.
Looking back, I realize that this impatience to have clearly-defined relationships is my good friend anxiety in a trench coat. Are we friends yet? Am I enough for you? Do you cherish me?
I don’t feel this way with the deepest connections in my life now. The love from those closest to me, including from my long-distance spouse, feels like a combination of security and freedom. Some of those relationships I made in my young adult life have morphed into genuine spaces where all parties, including me, feel free to be ourselves.
I’ve been working on deepening friendships while Ben (spouse) continues his own journey apart from me. I figured this would be no problem; I had a lot of great friends and community before Ben moved up to Boston, why would after be any different?
What I wasn’t counting on was the fact that his absence would be a bit destabilizing to me—even if I felt it shouldn’t be on paper. People do long distance all the time! But it’s definitely been making me want to cut to the feeling even more. I don’t want to take time to get to build a solid foundation, I want to know right now that I’m not alone, and that I’m okay.
There’s no good answer there. Of course you can’t rush genuine connection. If you do, it’s not real. It’s just a really freakin’ good pop song.
In fact, the worst experiences I’ve had with interpersonal relationships all came about after diving in too quickly in one way or another. Whirlwind connections are like a one-hit wonder: they provide some short-term happiness, but fails to stay gold (and eventually, can make us roll our eyes or grimace at the memory of it).
I’ve never once controlled the best moments I’ve had with others. I’ve planned some really great ones—like when Ben came back for a visit recently and we went to see “The Nightmare Before Christmas” with a live orchestra—but even then, despite having an amazing time, I couldn’t help but feel sad that he was leaving again the next day. I loved it, but it was still slightly bittersweet.
What I’m learning to sit with is the idea of letting myself be surprised. Maybe today will be the day that I’ll have a genuine belly laugh with a new friend from my running group, or a stranger at a local coffee shop, or someone I’ve known for years and have finally caught up with. Maybe it won’t be!
If I don’t put in the smaller building blocks of connection over time, I’ll never know. Real love—platonic, romantic, whatever—is a slow burn.
I’m just in the thick of it. I know it’ll pass, and in the best case scenario I’ll forge stronger relationships with myself and others over time. At least got some catchy tunes to tickle my brain in the meantime.
What else have I been up to?
I had some great runs in October, but some of my favorite moments in the sport recently have been cheering. We’re at the tail-end of marathon season, and spectating is one of my favorite ways to participate in community. I am so proud of all the friends and strangers who ran the Marine Corps and NYC marathons. You all are amazing.
Reading recs: When I woke up on Wednesday morning, I couldn’t help but think of this beautiful essay about Yeti crabs by Sabrina Imbler. It is about the resilience of these wonderful little creatures on the deep sea floor who, in an hostile, turbulent environment, continue to find each other and thrive. Imbler wrote it in 2018 during the previous Trump administration, and it’s worth resurfacing again.
This essay and nine others appear in Imbler’s incredible book How Far the Light Reaches. For me, this was one of those books that made me feel so seen it brought me to tears. Plus, it’s truly outstanding science writing about the ocean’s fascinating creatures. What a gift.
Completely unrelated, I picked up Truly, Madly, Deeply by Alexandria Bellefleur after seeing the recommendation below from a bookseller with my same name at a romance-only bookshop. I read it in a day. It’s not deep, but it gave me another source of dopamine. In this shortage, I’ll take what I can get.
Follow me on Storygraph for more of my recent reads.
That’s all for now. Stay curious, friend! ❤️
Wanna keep in touch outside of this newsletter? Follow me on Twitter and Instagram.
I resonate so deeply with your writing, Katherine. It refreshes me, and invites me in, again and again, to remember that I'm seen and I'm not alone.