the wince

Joan Mitchell, Untitled, 1945

Some announcements: Sophia and I are going to do another matchmaking batch this month. I’ll open signups this weekend!

I’m also doing an in-person matchmaking party at Green Apple Books on February 10th. Will open signups for that at the same time—we have room for about 60 people.

I’m also considering a new model for matchmaking. I want to do something where I provide more intentional matching for people who have specific requirements or just really care about finding a partner. There’s two things I’m considering here: 1) it’s important for me to keep the large-scale matchmaking project affordable for everyone, so I think that’s always going to cost $5-$10. But I may add a tier for $200 if you want, for example, four specifically curated romantic matches. 2) I’ve been feeling quite inspired by Chris’ example and also want to consider doing a bounty model—like, you can tell me what you’d be willing to pay if I found you someone you dated for three months, and obviously if I don’t find you anyone you don’t pay.

The wince appears at different times for different reasons. Sometimes it happens when I’m supposed to go for a run but it’s cold and dark outside. Sometimes it happens when I let emails I should respond to pile up, or when I’m avoiding a particular conversation with a friend. I call it the wince because it appears as this visceral sense of wanting to duck away, lean out, swerve. I used to understand it as “I just don’t feel like doing this,” but as I get more in touch with my emotions, I understand that my wince is specifically about avoidance—and usually, I’m avoiding something I actually want to do. In fact, I wince specifically when I want something and I expect getting it to be unpleasant.

Now, as we’ve previously discussed, you shouldn’t run after unpleasant things because they’re unpleasant—sometimes doing a hard thing just means you’re addicted to torturing yourself. What differentiates masochism from healthy effort is whether something meaningful is on the other side. If you manage to figure that out, and you are in touch with what you really want, learning how to recognize and push through the wince can help you create better patterns.

Take this Christopher Alexander quote (thanks Visa):

If I consider my life honestly, I see that it is governed by a certain very small number of patterns of events which I take part in over and over again.

Being in bed, having a shower, having breakfast in the kitchen, sitting in my study writing, walking in the garden, cooking and eating our common lunch at my office with my friends, going to the movies, taking my family to eat at a restaurant, going to bed again. There are a few more.

There are surprisingly few of these patterns of events in any one person’s way of life, perhaps no more than a dozen. Look at your own life and you will find the same. It is shocking at first, to see that there are so few patterns of events open to me.

Not that I want more of them. But when I see how very few of them there are, I begin to understand what huge effect these few patterns have on my life, on my capacity to live. If these few patterns are good for me, I can live well. If they are bad for me, I can’t.

With every passing year, I agree more and more with Nick: running the same loop again and again makes me feel the most fulfilled. For me, it’s something like: wake up, walk my dog, go to my favorite coffee shop, come home and write, work out, get dinner with a friend, come home and read, and sleep relatively early, with “hang out with my romantic partner” interspersed throughout. Extremely simple and boring.

Yet all the important things are there: meaningful work, healthy relationships, physical activity. A simple life doesn’t necessarily mean an easy life—it’s a lot of work to do all of that well! Many people only manage two out of the three, or one out of the three. You might not have many patterns in your life, but you should check if the patterns you do have are dysfunctional.

That’s where the wince comes in. I find that the things I’m avoiding, paradoxically enough, are often things that would move me towards a healthier pattern. Like I’ve gotten into the habit of sleeping too late and I know I need to force myself to get up because I like being awake early, but every morning when my alarm clock goes off I just want to slam the snooze button. Or I feel happiest and healthiest when I’m running every other day, but I’ve fallen out of my routine and every day feels too busy to be the day to start again. Or I know my sister is annoyed at me about something, but I’m avoiding the conversation and letting it fester because I’m anxious. The feeling of wanting to run away, paradoxically enough, is a signal that I care.

Smoe of the most effective people I know constantly look for the wince. It’s a North Star—what you’re avoiding can tell you exactly where you should go. Again, the wince is not the same thing as dread, hatred, fear, or indifference—it’s specifically the feeling that arises when you’re avoiding something you know you want to do. If you’re pretty out of touch with your feelings you might not be able to discern it for a while.

I’ve spent multiple seasons of my life unsure if I’m wincing (shying away from something hard but good) or correctly giving up on something that’s not right for me. I’ve found that time is the easiest way to tell—real preoccupations, whether good or bad, tend to stick around. If a dream follows you around for years and years, even if when you try to bat it away, there’s probably something there. If a nagging doubt never quite dissipates, well, there’s also probably something there. Over time, if you watch closely, it tends to be very clear whether you should run away from something or towards it.

We’re all afraid of hardship. Even people who’ve built their entire identities on being tough shy away from confrontation. Have you ever said to your friend “Oh, I finally told my boyfriend I’m unhappy” only to have them reply, “Wait, you just told him that? I thought you did it months ago.” It’s always easier to make pronouncements from the outside than to actually do the thing. That’s okay. That’s why the wince matters—noticing it, identifying it, and turning towards it. If we don’t feel the chill of the shadow, we can’t move into the light.