Here's Why You Will Subscribe to My Substack
An imaginary interview and a bit of fun
I finally had a brilliant idea.
I don’t know if you do this, too, but I am in the habit of writing and enacting dialogues in my head. I have done this for as long as I can remember, whether it be trying to come up with a perfect comeback zinger for a recent conflict with Stan the Evil Colleague, retrofitting an argument with my friend Maria so that the imagined outcome is superior to the real one, preparing for a spirited confrontation with my boss that will probably never happen, or imagining a seduction scene involving Lucy Liu.
“So what was the brilliant idea?”, you ask, impatiently.
It was this: Why not imagine an interview, with me, conducted by you? I often think about the things I would like to say in response to questions that my readers never ask. But now you have the chance… I mean, I have the chance.
So I’m going to imagine that you are a fledgling reader of Living Elsewhere who is not sure whether to subscribe. I will put words in your mouth (which sounds so intimate, doesn’t it?), and I will answer your questions with as much aplomb as I possibly can. Ready? Let’s start.
You: What is your substack about?
Me: No no, bad start. That’s not really the right question. You see, I’m not sure it’s about anything. I mean, I’ve written pieces on all of these topics: moving to another country, traveling solo, learning languages, looking at ugly things and finding them beautiful, losing loved ones, laughing at weird stuff in Paris, gradually losing one’s memory, trying to improve relationships, the sensuality of asparagus, making silly jokes during a massive blackout, trying to get one’s life priorities in order, making friends in new places, facing bureaucracy with humor, enjoying Portuguese food, embracing the need to carry on in the face of death, how to pack a suitcase, and a pigeon I fell in love with.
So, basically, I write about life. And the world. With all its craziness and beauty. Not very specific, you see?
You: So what are you offering people?
Me: If you mean, what will people get when they subscribe to Living Elsewhere, I can say that they’ll get an essay every single Friday (I haven’t missed a week yet, and it’s been 75 weeks now—I’m quite proud of that). In addition, paying subscribers get lots of extra stuff, including in-depth essay series about things like language and relationships, serialized personal stories, and photo essays showcasing things like doors, tiles, laundry (coming up), or my weird tendency to spot faces everywhere.
I am also building a community here. Subscribers get invitations to the Living Elsewhere Living Room, which is a monthly online gathering where we have intimate and uplifting conversations about things ranging from living abroad to marriage to self-reinvention to bread baking.
Oh, and they get cute turtle videos.
You: That’s nice, but that’s not what I meant. I meant, what does your substack offer people such that they would want to read it?
Me: You know, I’ve been thinking about that a lot recently. If I had to answer that question with only one word, it would be joy. I try to write intelligent texts using a joyful voice. There is a lot of playfulness in my writing, and a lot of celebration of things that are good and beautiful. If that makes it sound like I’m on drugs, I assure you that I’m not.
There are a lot of people out there on the Internet, including many here on Substack, who write with an angry or even hateful voice. That’s fine with me, if that’s really what they want to do. But that’s not my role. I’ve decided to be a force for good here, meaning not moral rectitude—which leaves room for outrage and bitterness—but rather the lighter side of goodness: care, affection, playfulness, sympathy, humor, beauty, optimism, and yes—love. There, I said it.
You: You take yourself pretty seriously, don’t you?
Me: No, not really! I’m super-aware of how ridiculous I am. I try to take myself and everything else as lightly as possible. I laugh at myself all the time. You see, what you don’t know is that I used to be very different. I was a nervous, frustrated, hyper-intellectual, highly critical person. In short, an academic. (Ha ha ha.)
You: So what happened to you?
Me: I underwent a conversion. Not a thunderbolt-from-the-blue conversion, not an Eckart Tolle-style crash and rebirth, and not a visitation by the Ghost of Anything Past. It was a slow, grinding process of facing the realities of my life, learning about myself, discovering my values and my priorities, and then making some really hard decisions to improve my life. The culmination of that was quitting a permanent academic job at a really good university in order to drive around for a year with no certain plans, in a station wagon, with a turtle.
You: Do people think you’re nuts, then?
Me: Some people might, but you know what? I no longer care. That’s part of the new life that I am embracing. I read texts about Buddhism, I meditate, and I try to stop letting my ego run the show. I’ve realized that spending time imagining what other people are thinking about me is a big fat waste of energy. I do that only when I let my ego drive. And it does drive at times, but increasingly, I keep it in the back seat. I’m much happier that way.
You: So are you some kind of woo-woo hippie granola type?
Me: Definitely not. I’m still highly rational and highly intellectual. But the cool trick that I have learned is to balance that with love. I now understand that being intellectual doesn’t have to mean attacking others to show how smart I am. I can be both insightful and kind. I’d like to think that everybody can be.
People seem to respond well to this. I have lots of friends. I love them a lot, and they seem to love me, too. My hope is that my writing will also have the same effect on people—that they will feel the goodwill and the generosity with which I’m trying to communicate, and respond in kind.
That, as I see it, is about all I can do to make the world a better place. That and turtle pictures, of course.
You: OK, that’s very nice, but can you make a living doing that?
Me: That remains to be seen. My dream is that people will believe in what I’m doing and be generous enough to offer one dollar a week to support it. If enough people did that, then I would be able to continue indefinitely. Living Elsewhere is still a work in progress, and it’s not clear how long it will last.
You: Do you ever think that it’s frivolous to be doing this while the world is in such a terrible state?
Me: Sure. But you know, I wrote a piece on that recently, called “Care is the Antidote to Horror”. In that essay, I argued that precisely because things are so awful right now, we need to be there to care for each other, offering whatever assistance we can, to make sure everyone pulls through, both physically and psychologically.
What I offer at Living Elsewhere, ultimately, is a chance to change the channel and think about the world from a non-awful perspective for a short while—from a perspective that is calm, philosophical, optimistic, and joyful. Some people have told me that it’s working. For example, here’s what one lovely reader, Cheryl Francisconi, wrote as a comment on that piece:
Such a lovely post, Gregory, at a time when I’m wondering many of the same things. I’m grateful for this space you offer us to be in community in a kind, gentle and thought provoking way. And by the way, in your offering list, you forgot that you offer photos that inspire, humor and delight. Thank you!
Reading things like that makes me think that I may be on the right track.
You: I have noticed that you like to tell people what to do. Are you trying to be some sort of guru? Do you have any qualifications?
Me: Hmm, what qualifications does a guru require? Is there a certification program? In any case, that’s not what I’m doing. But I do feel that I’m qualified to write about joy, because I do feel joy.
All I am doing is trying to help other people, in whatever ways I can think of to help them. I have this theory, that every substack offers some blend of information and experience, in the same way that a coffee will consist of some blend of arabica and robusta beans. A substack that offers political analysis or recipes will be heavy on information, while a literary or memoir-oriented substack will be heavier on experience—the experience of reading and enjoying.
You: So what about your substack then?
Me: I think that Living Elsewhere is about 70% experiential and 30% informational. The informational part includes things like writing about food and nice places, tips for travel and language learning, and exercises for thinking about life priorities. But the experiential part, which is bigger, is all about humor, the experience of beauty, meditations on life and change, meaningful stories, and writing that is as enjoyable as I know how to make it.
You: That makes sense. But what makes your writing different from others’?
Me: In a way, it’s that particular blend that gives my pieces their flavor. I like to offer a really enjoyable reading experience with a certain number of useful ideas sprinkled in, like chocolate chips in a cookie.
You: What’s with all the food metaphors?
Me: Maybe I’m hungry. Or maybe I’m just a hedonist. I freely admit that. Sometimes I think I should write wine reviews—my ex always said I had an incredibly sensitive palate. But that’s not what I want to do here. What I want to do is leverage the other things that make me a special person.
You: What are those?
Me: Well, I have a PhD in linguistics and speak about seven languages. I’ve also lived in seven different countries, and feel quite at home in some of them. I think about culture a lot, and I think a great deal about human nature and the reasons why we do things. I also have over twenty-five years of teaching experience. I’ve taught writing and have worked as an editor. So I know how to write reasonably well. Oh, and I also have a sense of humor. It’s right around here somewhere. Let me just look for it…
You: Ha, ha. Do you always try to be funny?
Me: No, not at all. It just comes naturally. There are other things that don’t come naturally but that I try to do consistently. You see, we’re definitely all complex and multi-faceted individuals, but I believe in having a consistent Substack persona. As I told Sarah Fay, PhD in an interview once, I have a sign on my desk with four words on it: welcoming, generous, humble, and kind. That describes the way I want to show up for people on Substack. I try to offer that persona to everyone who comes to Living Elsewhere, in the way that a good restaurateur will make every guest feel welcome. For me, it’s a question of professionalism. It’s the same thing that I used to do as a teacher.
You: But you’ve started writing more personal stuff lately. Are you sure that’s a good idea?
Me: Not entirely, no. But at a Living Room session the other day I asked my readers there what they thought, and they all said they thought it was great. That was encouraging.
I feel much better making my most personal material available to paying subscribers only, as those tend to be a really wonderful group of people. There are definitely some mean, angry people out there on the Internet, but I doubt that anybody is willing to pay five bucks in order to leave a nasty comment on my piece. If they are, well, bless them.
You: Sometimes you seem very wise. Are you wise?
Me: It’s true that I have been called a wise guy. I don’t feel wise, but I have been told that I am. One thing that I have going for me is that I’ve been doing this being-on-the-planet thing for over fifty years, and I’ve made a lot of mistakes. I’ve tried to learn from these, and sometimes I’ve even been successful. For example, I have learned never to shave while in a hurry.
You: So true. Do you have any other words of wisdom to share?
Me: Certainly. Here’s something: Always put on both oven mitts. I don’t mean before sex, of course. I mean when baking something in the oven. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve burned the hand that was not protected. I wish I could say that in Japanese to make it sound more impressive, but it’s true in any case.
You: Thank you for your time. It has been strangely enjoyable having you put these words in my mouth.
Me: It’s been my pleasure. I hope you’ll come back for a helping of joy.
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If you would like a sampler of the kinds of pieces on offer on Living Elsewhere, here are a few choice pieces:
Love this. I really hope you get more subscribers because of this post. It's who you are, and your voice shines through.
And yes, I have dialogue in my head all the time: whether it's narrating things that have happened, or are about to happen for me alone, or whether they are wild imaginary conversations with others (not Lucy Liu).
I was thinking back to what pushed me to subscribe to you in the first place. I read, of course, your 'viral' post about whether you're the type of person who could move to another country, which was brilliant, but on its own wasn't the deciding factor.
It was 'Clarissa'.
And I just looked back to see that you wrote that almost exactly a year ago. I remember getting tears in my eyes, and knowing that if a man loved pigeons as much as I loved 'mine' (Harold and Maude will always be 'mine'), then I just had to subscribe.
Different parts of you will resonate with different people, and I'm so glad to be here with you on this journey... wherever it may lead.
And P.S. As I start getting ready to move, I'm putting together a lengthy document for the new owner of my cottage, to let her know how to operate things, what to be mindful of in a house that's almost 200 years old, and, I will be adding some information on the wood pigeons: where they like to nest, and most probably a link to Pigeonpedia...
Hi Gregory, I read two Substack newsletter posts today that made me wish I could write like that and kept me chuckling throughout. The first was Dave Berry's piece about taking a ride in a Waymo in Miami, FL., which reportedly has the worst drivers in the country, if not the world. The Waymo scored better than some of the drivers encountered during the escapade.
The second piece was yours. Very clever to not only ask yourself the interview questions, but to presume the interviewer, someone like me, for example, might already have an idea about what the answer would be.
Keep up the good work and I will have no reason to unsubscribe. (I know you'll check your subscriber list often to make sure...) Meanwhile, Happy Friday and have a great weekend.