Thoughts + things podcast, a five star film, a life of presence, and the best holiday card game

The wait was worth it. Fall recs are in!

Listen (or Watch)🎧🎼

Thoughts + Things, a (WIP)odcast: Andrew Ettinger on Chef (2014), Stop Making Sense, and xx by The XX

Earlier in the fall, I recorded a couple of trial episodes of a new podcast. The premise, inspired by this newsletter: interviews with people I admire about the things that inspire them. I wrote the following to frame what I had in mind:

We live in a world of abundant claims for our attention -- there's infinite stuff to spend our time on. And more often than not, we shuffle through things to read, watch, listen to, play, or experience without lingering on them for any time at all. But occasionally, something causes us to pause, consider, or wonder. These things that inspire us are the core ingredients of the dish that is our taste. If you squint, I think you might find that most of us are a collection of the people we spend time with and the things we spend our time on, whether consuming or creating. And they're worth digging into, sharing, and dissecting -- together. This is being human.

I've been thinking about what the right vehicle or container for my creative energy might be. It became fairly simple when I stopped to think about what makes me feel alive: talking to people about the things that light them up. Sometimes those things can be simple, but delightful. Sometimes they push us forward and send us down rabbit holes. Sometimes they can be wildly abstract and possible to discuss and debate for hours. And sometimes, they are what make us reach deeper than we've gone before.

This is a show that I hope will go in many directions and cover many topics. The only thing I can promise is that my guests and I will do our best to put our curiosities on display and give you a taste of where our attention is going.

In practice, this meant talking to a couple of my friends about three things that they recommended. I'm not sure about the right format, and recording in this style highlighted some of the challenges of such a specific structure. As noted above, conversation fills me up in a way little else does, so I plan to continue to explore podcast-like creative ideas.

If you feel so inclined, I'd love your thoughts on this episode with Andrew, whose taste inspires me daily. We talked about a reliable feel (and taste)-good movie, the best concert film of all time, and an essential indie rock album of the 2010s.

You can listen here and watch on YouTube here.

I'm open to suggestions on what other formats you might find engaging. Instead of being clever, I may just fall back on "guy interviewing interesting people he likes," maybe with a slight bent toward guests' tastes.

Watch 🎥 📺

Portrait of a Lady on Fire (2019)

If you're lucky, you'll watch a few films a year that chill your spine, fill your heart, and imprint their frames onto your eyelids for days to come. This is one of those.

What a magnificent work of art. It's visually unforgettable, which is fitting: it's a story about two people learning to see each other.

Some favorite reviews from Letterboxd:

My friend Elena's review:

The act of looking--closely and unsparingly--is the act of falling in love. And the act of living within convention/form/trope is what needs to be dismantled for you to ACTUALLY fall in love. So the act of falling in love is first falling in love with the person-as-illusion, then dismantling that illusion, and falling in love with the person.

'brat pacino's review:

“do all lovers feel they’re inventing something?”

the clandestine stealing of forbidden glances. the thankless task of trying to tamp a lover’s image into the folds of your brain. the dread of said image’s inevitable fading. the smoldering slow-burn of impossible yearning, and the explosive fireworks when it’s finally reciprocated. the sizzling sound of a final farewell.

My friend Laz's review:

I had an acting teacher who said good acting is when the audience can "see the volcano behind your eyes."

If that's true, then this film is Pompeii.

My review:

I’ve not seen anything quite like it. Stunning, chilling, immense. Yet ethereal: like a breath, a brushstroke, a flicker of the flame. Bravo.

Read 📖📄

Two short essays: (1) Ava on protecting flow & (2) Patrick O’Shaughnessy on Doing what you want to do

I've spent a lot of time thinking about how I want to spend my days. It's a luxury that comes with taking time off and a guiding principle in deciding what to do next. Steve Jobs's famous Stanford commencement speech has a section that has influenced me:

When I was seventeen, I read a quote that went something like, “If you live each day as if it was your last, someday you’ll most certainly be right.” It made an impression on me, and since then, for the past thirty-three years, I have looked in the mirror every morning and asked myself, “If today were the last day of my life, would I want to do what I am about to do today?” And whenever the answer has been “No” for too many days in a row, I know I need to change something.

One conclusion from my pondering: time well spent is usually about presence. Ignore regrets about the past, hold off worries about the future, and live in this moment, continuously. I find radical presence to be most common in a few contexts: meditation other forms of passive observation (I call this "Setting Down the Snowglobe"), intimate social connection (which may be flow itself), and the flow state that comes with deeply focused action.

Flow applies in the context of creativity and work, two areas where I'd like to be more effective and more present. I also suspect that lack of flow is why most people are less fulfilled by work than they'd like.

As I call out in that tweet, focus and flow are enabled by agentic presence: The place crossroads of intent, ability, attention, and action. We all know what that can feel like, even if it isn't common for most adults. Think back to playing your favorite game, sport, or creative endeavor when you're in the stream--the water is carrying you.

Ava's essay emphasizes that flow state is more in our control than it might seem. There's a great list of tips in her full essay (for paid subscribers), but in short, she argues that with practice, emphasizing our strengths, pushing through initial friction, finding the right entry point, consistency, and rhythms, we can seek flow with deliberate intention.

While that all might sound reasonable, my favorite point she makes is the most contentious:

Your life can be mostly flow. I think people underestimate how possible this is. You can have work, relationships, and hobbies that allow you to spend much of your time in flow states if you design your life correctly. If a big part of your experience is Distinctly Not Flow, I suggest carefully examining why it feels like that and how much friction you experience as a result.

Before every parent reading this rolls their eyes, I know. Life has a way of filling up with responsibilities, obligations, errands, meetings, problems, distractions, you-name-the-non-flow-thing. I confess: I spend limited time in flow and I've got more time to myself than most.

But Ava's point here is compelling: why not aim high? Could life be constructed in a way that allows for more periods of flow, or other states of deep presence? Could we spend less time scrolling and more time reading, writing, creating, playing? Could more of our time with others emphasize presence, active listening, the flowy-ness of "yes... and"? I'm confident that most people spend their professional lives working on something other than what they love to do. Could more people prioritize work by chasing flow or how they like to spend their time, rather than seeking wealth or status?

I enjoyed this post from Patrick O'Shaughnessy, which makes a similar case:

The most powerful thing I am aware of is to spend your time doing what you want to do.

I've learned there's actually only one thing that I really love, that I'll do until I die: spending long periods of time with extraordinarily talented people...

There are many days now where I have 2-3 long conversations and that's it. Those are the best days. "conversationalist" isn't a job you imagine as a kid, and its not one that'd "make your parents proud."

Pursuing (and "protecting") flow is so important because flow is energy-positive action. While most hard work is draining, flow states can leave us inspired, motivated, and energized to do even more. I certainly experience that energy surplus after the right kind of writing session of creative conversation. Patrick again:

The best long term fuel source is some repeated act that energizes you in a way that then lets you become a generative person, who uses the energy to make things for others. A great question is "what is your renewable fuel source?"

While a life that is mostly flow might be a stretch, I hope not to settle for a life where it is rare.

Play 🎮 🃏

The Mind

Story time.

My journey with this simple card game technically began with Avi, a game designer I met in the spring. Amidst a fun discussion of games--especially the subgenre of party-like, in-person social games (e.g. Mafia/Werewolf, Secret Hitler, Spaceteam, Jackbox)--Avi insisted that I must try The Mind, his favorite game. I made a note to try it, but I forgot for a few months.

In October, a few of us celebrated Brenner's birthday with a weekend in upstate New York, along the Hudson River. It ended up raining all day on Saturday, which meant limited time to admire the foliage, but lots of time inside together. This included all kinds of fun, from an impromptu murder mystery coordinated over iMessage, a thirteen-person dance party, a group table read of the central fight scene in one of B's favorite films, Captain America: Civil War (thanks to ChatGPT for helping me organize...) and at least 2.5 Jim Carry films (Liar, Liar was the highlight).

The undeniable highlight of the day and weekend, though, were many rounds of what may be the most exhilarating game in existence: The Mind. Oh boy, Avi was right.

The game is remarkably simple: every player is dealt a few numbered cards of a non-traditional deck of 100. Only a portion of the stack is dealt out, so if playing with four people, you might deal out 5 cards each (20% of the deck). There are only a few rules:

1. All players are on the same team but keep their hands private

2. The goal is to play the dealt cards in order from 1 (or the lowest number dealt) to 100 (or the highest number dealt)

3. If someone plays a card higher than one someone still has in their hand, it is called out, and the game restarts

4. No one may speak or signal numbers whatsoever

That's essentially it. There are a few other rules that come in the box, including a limit of 2-4 players. In my experience, you should (1) disregard those and (2) play with as many people as you can. Throughout our rainy day, we played with a bunch of subgroups of people, and managed to win a few times (it's much harder than it sounds!). It turns out that sharing one mind as you simply count upwards is a tall task. Our common refrain while playing, especially when certain people (me? never...) failed to handle losses with grace: "Tune in, drop out, one mind."

The real magic happened when, late in the evening, we rallied the entire house together for an attempt at a thirteen-player game. Three cards each, counting 36 of the deck of 100: a test in focus, cooperation, tension, exasperation, and patience.

Needless to say, it was a trial. I think we played about ten failed rounds, only to lose in the 90s with only a few cards left. My dear friend Andrew(interviewed above!) had a hot hand and played a smidge fast, outpacing the collective mind and causing disaster. My disappointment was immeasurable and my day was nearly ruined; while I cannot put the weight of those emotions into words, perhaps this video that someone captured of me in the moments afterward may do it justice:

The most painful part of that was that for the first time all day, I realized that there was a real chance we would not win the game as thirteen. The day had been full of trials and devastating losses, but this time we were a couple of hours in and people were losing steam. This flickering of hope's flame was, as far as silly card games go, a horrifying low point.

Fret not, my beloved reader: I would not dare leave you there, and I would not let my comrades turn back down the mountain, heads hung low. We just had to push on. A couple of games later, we found ourselves deep into the high numbers. Only a few players still had cards to play. I held just one: 98. Then we hit the 90s, and just three players remained. One of the others was Andrew, and it's safe to say I'd not yet forgiven him for the eleventh-hour mistake. In a test of pure trust and patience, Andrew and I looked at each other and gave the remaining player a nod to move forward. She did: 93. Exhale.

And then: the moment we had all waited for. The summit was in our sights. Andrew and I locked eyes. Everything we had worked for. Just two more cards. I knew Andrew couldn't have 100; he would have no reason to doubt in that case and would simply let me play. What to do?

But in that moment, he knew. He thought for a second and gave me the go-ahead. Trust and confidence, despite my doubt. One mind.

I play: 98...

He lays down 99.

Game over. Victory.

Euphoria. Screams, cheers, embrace.

Serenity.

Now, now. The Mind is just a silly card game, of course. I don't think about that moment often, no way. Happy playing!

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A few of you have reached out recently about enjoying and missing this newsletter. Every single message or comment like that makes my heart happy. Thanks for reading.

I hope you all enjoy some flow state for me today. Or at least buy a copy of The Mind to play with loved ones this holiday season (please tell me how it goes).