“No newsletter this year? I miss it.”
“Yeah. I wrote it. It was really dark and unfunny, so I scrapped it.”
“That’s a shame. I look forward to it each year.”
For the first 21 years of my marriage, those semi-lucky souls on our Christmas card list were the recipients of a holiday newsletter1. It originated as a request from my wife, who wanted to be like other couples who sent them. I was tasked with putting it together, as I’m a writer by training and trade. I did it under the agreement that she could get a review of the final piece to make sure I didn’t step on any third rails or express my true feelings about members of our families. It otherwise dripped with sarcasm and obscenities, not unlike a conversation with me.
We went color a few years into it. Because I like to write long, it quickly expanded from 8 1/2 by 11 to 11 by 17, before settling at 8 1/2 by 14. It was only in the past few years that I started paying to print it; previously it was produced off-hours at my office or at the college campus where I taught2.
This year, it shrank down to the size of a business card announcing that there was no 2024 edition. Many of my in-person and digital conversations on the matter are summed up above.
No one has specifically asked me why, though. So, I’ll share it with you, dear reader: the funny wasn’t there because this year sucked. I’ve wrote one during the ravages of Covid and in the months after my father-in-law’s death with no problem, but 2024 felt like a tipping point for me.
It was becoming a drag because there has been increasingly less stuff to write about. The kids are a year older. Do people really care that my youngest is playing youth basketball or that we went back to Virginia Beach on vacation for the third consecutive year? I doubt it.
It was also becoming more and more difficult to write the same thing over and over again. My wife is a teacher who is on the downslope of her pension-incentivized career educating disinterested teenagers and juggling an audience of overbearing parents, under-experienced administrators and a general public that holds her vocation to the same level of regard as a dictator of a Middle Eastern nation.
There’s another reason, dear reader. I’m tired fucking exhausted. And while I’m always game for a nap, it’s not of a physical nature. I’m mentally wiped out, and I think it’s because of the election. We spent months3 being beaten with ads, lousy journalism, out-of-context speeches, and bile. There were two distinct cases laid out for the direction of where we could go (collectively) and the choice was made to regress.
I’m not a Progressive or a Liberal, though I’m probably more liberal-leaning than I ever have been. I have some mostly middle-of-the-road beliefs with some exceptions that veer right and left4. I don’t have a problem with the core classic conservative beliefs of small government and strong national defense. What’s been slowly sucking at my brain is the fact that we lived from 2016 through 2020, through the grift and the misinformation and the divisions and the global pandemic. And, after all of that, this country decided the best reflection of us was to press the repeat button.
Now add in some of my own personal concerns: I have a spouse employed in an industry that is distrusted by the general public, and two daughters who through sociopolitical actions and words are being shown they are regarded as third-class citizens5. The three of them have a better chance of being in a school during a live shooter incident (1 in 63) than winning a Powerball prize (1 in 92). And so much more.
This is what’s been living in the back of my head for the past couple of months. I can’t find the funny because the funny isn’t there. I’d open a text box to begin writing and darkness and anger would come out on the screen. Words I might not6 say out loud were there in writing to haunt me at a future time. My filter was gone, my supply of fucks to give was depleted, and it became the written equivalent of Sir Lancelot crashing the wedding in Monty Python and the Holy Grail, but not as funny.
So, it was best to shut it down. Maybe next year. Maybe not. Either way, I’ll see you in 2025.
The Best Things I’ve Read This Year…
I use GoodReads to track my reading. According to my 2024 Year In Books, I planned to read 25 books and wound up finishing 48. My favorites for the year:
The Woman in Me by Britney Spears. Laugh if you must, but it’s really good.
Hell Is a World Without You by Jason Kirk. I’m a fan of the Shutdown Fullcast, of which the author is a host. It’s a callback to an era that my sister lived through, as well as some traits and qualities she and her friends shared.
I’m Glad My Mom Died by Jeannette McCurdy. I was late to this one, but it was worth it.
Good Bad Girl by Alice Feeney. As I’ve said before, her writing is suspenseful, twisted and cruel in many ways.
Challenger: A True Story of Heroism and Disaster on the Edge of Space by Adam Higginbotham: The book that will change your memory of a defining moment for Gen X. Might be the best nonfiction book for 2024.
When the Sea Came Alive: An Oral History of D-Day by Garrett Graff. I’m a big fan of oral histories and Graff does them extraordinarily well.
Nuclear War: A Scenario by Annie Jacobsen. This book reads like fiction, but it’s based on a What If… scenario. It should scare the shit out of you. It’s also considered one of the best nonfiction books of 2024.
The Sequel: A Novel by Jean Hanff Korelitz. Started slow, picked up steam quickly, and then threw you off the roof of a house at the end. Though it could stand alone, I would read the first book in this series to get the full essence of the primary character.
Capitalism!
Like any good online content creator, I drop affiliate links from time to time. Amazon links to books or whatnot earn me a few shekels from Emperor Bezos if you spend money when you click.
Sign up for Rakuten or Ibotta using my links and we will both get some free stuff. Plus savings. Think of the savings!
If you’re thinking of buying your child a device this holiday season, I would highly suggest investing in a monitoring service to help you track what they’re watching, saying, seeing and otherwise. Bark is nifty and one that we use with our oldest’s phone. If you use my link, we both get free stuff.
Dirt Nap is the Substack newsletter about death, grief and dying that is written and edited by Jared Paventi. It is free and we simply ask that you subscribe and/or share with others.
We are always looking for contributors and story ideas. Drop a line at jaredpaventi@substack.com.
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If you or someone you know is in crisis, call or text 988 to reach the Suicide and Crisis Lifeline or chat live at 988lifeline.org. For additional mental health resources, visit our list.
Not everyone received a newsletter. Certain recipients were excluded because they either were born without a sense of humor, we didn’t want to invite their questions, or we just didn’t want them to know what was happening in our lives.
Misuse of company resources or making up for gross under-compensation. You decide.
I’ll argue that the 2024 presidential campaign began in 2021, but let’s just say “months” for the sake of argument.
Shit, I was a registered Republican for 25ish years.
Alpha men, obviously are ranked first. Men, in general, are second. Women are third.
After the fifth or sixth beer, all bets are off.
I feel you. I await the New Year with dread as well as a dead feeling inside. Although I'm happy to see 2024 end, I don't feel like celebrating what I believe will be an even worse 2025.
Thanks for your weekly thoughts and insights. I feel badly that you believe 2024 sucked so much. Based on your writing, you seem to have a close knit family and friend groups. Lean into these positives on you life in 2025 and to what you can \ want to make the change that you value. Start from a positive perspective and perpetuate it.