Dear Esteemed Readers,
I have audacious faith in you, in me, and in this new year.
Welcome to 2025.
I experienced a strange phenomenon during the last month of 2024. And I’m going to tell you about it below.
But first, I need to let you know I’ve made some changes.
If you were a paid subscriber here at Letters From Matthew (formerly known as There Will Be Mistakes), you already know that I have demonetized this Substack account. I have refunded pre-paid months, will no longer be putting anything behind a paywall, and will—at least for now—be posting a bit less frequently.
Throughout the late summer and fall of 2024, the writing of my memoir proved more difficult than I had anticipated. In early November, I talked it over with Alicia and made the tough decision to take a step back from Substack. I wrote a long, to-be-posted-on-New-Year’s-Day, farewell-ish post about Gao Xingjian, ‘Cold Literature,’ and the need for writers to be independent people having solitary experiences. My thought was that I needed to withdraw from pretty much everything and go deep inside of myself in order to find the voice and narrative of the memoir. In the fall of 2024, I felt that Substack was distracting me from my inner life. And the monitized business aspects of the account were proving more taxing than I could continue to justify. In short, this Substack page wasn’t really growing, but was taking up a ton of psychological bandwidth.
I was okay with the decision to move on. We’ve had a good run here. I thought maybe I might try posting every other month just to stay in touch.
Then I read The Courage To Be Happy by Fumitake Koga & Ichiro Kishimi. It’s the sequel to The Courage To Be Disliked. The whole series is a conversation between two characters: the Philosopher and the Youth. The Youth wishes to learn Adlerian thought from the Philosopher, who is a seasoned Adlerian thinker. Alfred Adler’s take on psychology is less well-known than Jung’s or Freud’s, but is equally fascinating. I might write more about all this in the future, but for now, here’s an overview of what I took from The Courage To Be Happy:
All problems are interpersonal problems. Problems come from interacting with others. But joy also comes from interacting with others. We must have faith in ourselves so we can have faith in others. We must have faith in others so we can have faith in ourselves. And we must do what we can to take care of our own life tasks, so that we will not be a burden to others. This is the difference between being a child and an adult. When we free ourselves from needing others to help us complete our life tasks—psychologically transitioning from child to adult—we will be able to embrace everyone as a comrade, simply because our happiness will no longer be predicated on them doing anything at all. We should strive to experience others as they are, without needing them to be anything else. And then we can be who we are, without trying to manipulate others into helping us take care of our life tasks. When we can get to this place, encountering others can be a great joy, simply because our happiness is something we can freely share with them, independent of needing any type of response whatsoever.
We must believe in others.
We must believe in ourselves.
We must have the courage to be disliked.
We must have the courage to be happy.
The term ‘comrade’ is used in the books; I took it to mean nothing more than someone in whom we have enough faith to freely share ourselves as we are. A comrade is someone we should trust to take care of their own life tasks. A comrade is someone we do not burden with our own life tasks. I started telling myself to think of others as my comrades. I started to tell myself to embrace all opportunities to let others experience who I really am, while giving them the freedom to be who they are. I am not responsible for changing them and they are not responsible for changing me.
As I made my way through the book, I began to mentally repeat this phrase throughout my days: “People are my comrades.”
Here’s the first thing that happened—and I swear this is true—my phone started to blow up.
After not hearing from my agents for a long time, they both got in contact. I also heard from three different Hollywood producers. There were no big developments, let alone contracts, but we had fun conversations. On a phone call, I found out that my literary agent’s Christmas tree was coincidentally decorated with the exact same little felt creatures as my own. A producer threw some interesting ideas at me for the We Are The Light movie. Instead of focusing on what legit business opportunities might emerge or what money might come in, I tried to focus on experiencing these people as human beings. I allowed myself to enjoy their personality quirks. I told myself that I didn’t need anything from them because I was taking care of my own life tasks via my analysis and self-care routines. Sure, I was ready and willing to do business, if there was any business to be done. But I also reminded myself that business often comes from having proper relationships with others. From being an adult and allowing others to be adults too. And, as I kept these thoughts in mind, I found that my enjoyment of my already enjoyable colleagues was increased quite a bit. I suspect that they were also enjoying me more, as well.
People are my comrades.
Then a few old friends and even a few old business associates got in touch—some quite out of the blue—and we had some wonderfully intimate conversations. I found that many of my middle-aged male friends and colleagues were experiencing the same sort of mid-life worries and doubts that I had been experiencing this past year. I listened to them. They listened to me. We experienced each other as brothers who wanted to understand each other as we were, without forcing change. We thanked each other for the friendships. We expressed gratitude for the ability to experience each other. We did not burden each other. We simply enjoyed each other for who we currently are.
People are my comrades.
Then a former student contacted me. This is someone I’ve occasionally emailed with off and on, but with whom I hadn’t spoken in maybe fifteen years. She had written a novel and wanted advice on how to pitch it to literary agents. She didn’t pressure me to be anything other than what I already was. She had been reading and sharing my Substack pieces. She had read my books. So she knew me. She approached me with grace and accepted me as I am. She was prepared, having already done a massive amount of work and research. She was mindful of my time and the fact that she was inserting herself into my life. She did not put her needs on me. She offered much and asked for little. She was humble and grateful. She showed tremendous respect for the craft and business of storytelling.
We had a phone conversation and it was such a joy to interact with her, mostly because she broadcasted a psychological stance that invited me to be myself. A stance that said, We are comrades. She had worked very hard on the novel and eagerly incorporated what we discussed into a query letter that she later emailed to me. It really didn’t need a thing changed. She had taken care of all that she could, and that was impressive. I think I gave her at least some good advice about the business, but, mostly, it was just a lot of fun to reconnect with someone I had taught more than twenty years ago. It was vicariously thrilling to experience her working on a dream that she’s had since high school. It was heartening to share a mutual respect for and a love of storytelling. To be seen and accepted for exactly who I am. To see her for who she is and accept her.
People are my comrades.
A few weeks previous, the author Ron Currie included me on an email blast announcing his forthcoming novel, The Savage, Noble Death Of Babs Dionne. He said he hated to self-promote but had a novel coming out on March 25, 2025. It was his first in eight years. He wrote, “Early reviews concur, saying things like ‘the best book I've read in years’ and ‘a great cross-over novel...which should appeal equally to crime fans and contemporary/literary fiction fans.’ That's right—I wrote a crime novel. The criminals in question are a gang of 60-something Franco-American women in Maine. They are funny, but they are no joke."
Having enjoyed all of Mr. Currie’s work in the past, I wrote a congratulations email and told him I’d already pre-ordered my copy. He wrote back asking if I’d like his publisher to send me an advanced reading copy. He made it clear that he was not asking for or expecting a blurb. He just thought I might like an early look. I let him know I would. The book arrived a week or so later in my mailbox. I put it on the nightstand pile, where it sat untouched for almost a month.
One night in December, I finished The Courage To Be Happy an hour after my regular bedtime of ten PM. Instead of turning off the headlamp and going to sleep, I picked up Ron’s book with the intention of just reading the first page. I did not stop turning pages until well after one AM. The writing and story and characters are superb. I was completely transported. And even though I don’t know Ron personally—we’ve only had a few Internet interactions—I felt deeply happy for my fellow writer who hadn’t published a novel in almost a decade but now was back and at the top of his game. As I continued to devour Ron’s latest over the next few weeks, I marveled at how he had gone out of his way to make sure I got an early copy. And there was absolutely no ask. Sure, I had blurbed one of his earlier books. Sure, he was promoting. But the novel is set in his home state of Maine, in the “Little Canada” of his Quebecois-speaking grandmother and ancestors—according to the foreword letter in the A.R.C.—and I suspect Ron was just really excited to offer the best of himself on the page. I felt the authenticity of the novel. I admired all that went into writing such an impressive book. I appreciated the strange connection I had somehow made via the internet. And I hoped that Ron would get the attention and credit his storytelling efforts and talent deserve. I felt grateful for the read and hopeful for my fellow writer.
People are my comrades.
Alicia began to notice that I was singing Christmas songs around the house. My dad likes the old fifties and sixties holiday tunes from his youth. Music from his past somehow keeps the dementia demons at bay. And so I got on an Andy Williams kick while driving Dad around town, the two of us stopping here and there to buy Christmas presents for Mom. In the privacy of our home, Alicia began singing Andy Williams with me. I said yes when she asked me to watch cheesy Christmas movies with her and allowed myself to be swept away by the easy humor and tidings of great joy and the heart-warmings that such December tales offer.
My wife and dad are my comrades.
All of these good interactions and more happened in rapid succession after I started repeating the people-are-my-comrades mantra. But I think it was my believing in the manta, being convinced by The Courage To Be Happy, that changed the frequency I was putting out into the world. The believing made me pause. It provided me with a sense of agency. But most importantly, it gave me a contentment, which, to be frank, had been missing from my life.
I started to think about why the memoir writing hadn’t been going well. I had a ton of pages written. I had dared to be brutally honest. I had cut a vein, as they say, and bled all over the laptop screen. But the work just didn’t feel inspiring. Parts even felt vindictive. I think maybe I was subconsciously trying to get unmet childhood needs finally met through the writing of the memoir. I was maybe even attempting to bring these unmet needs to my future audience. I was not taking care of my own life tasks.
While reading The Courage To Be Happy, I thought, I need to be self-reliant. I need to be an adult thinking back on childhood. Not a wounded child writing as an adult. I need to figure out the pain of my past, and then offer the solutions to a future audience as a gift that will require very little from them, other than happily turning pages. I need to give, not take.
This shift in thinking was extraordinary enough for me to joyfully throw out everything I had written in the past six months. It felt like taking off a backpack full of textbooks at the end of a school day, circa 1990, when teachers required students to carry around seventy pounds of paper on a daily basis, even though you might only look at five pages on any given day.
I told myself that my future memoir readers are my comrades. How can I let them know that I respect them just as they are? That I don’t need anything from them, but would like to offer them the best of myself? How can I show up on the page with the courage to be happy, despite the fact that my life has often been filled with depression and anxiety? How can I transform the traumas of my childhood and alcoholic 20s, 30s, and 40s into something that will convince others that I accept them just as they are, that I am their comrade, and I am taking care of my own life tasks? I don’t know the answer to these questions just yet, but I am cheerfully dedicating 2025 to solving the mystery.
So I deleted the old fare-thee-well-ish, New-Year’s-Day Substack post and wrote the one you’re currently reading.
The social media aspects of Substack, all of those cyber mind tricks were often a distraction from what I need to be doing: creating truth on the page, having the courage to be disliked, having the courage to be happy, having the courage to offer words free and clear of needing any response whatsoever from anyone other than myself and the higher power.
The Substack paywall for all future posts has been removed. The official verified checkmark is gone. I will no longer be selling subscriptions here. Prepaid subscription money for future months is in the process of being refunded. I have turned off the comments, likes, restacks, and email notifications. And I will no longer look at the stats.
I have two posts—which I have already joyfully written—scheduled for February 4 and March 21.
Throughout 2025, when I have something beautiful or meaningful or helpful to share with you, I will. I might eventually go back to posting on the 21st of the month. But I’m going to prioritize finishing my memoir, knowing that you understand and will be just fine without me here every two weeks. And I’ll be just fine too. I have faith in you. I have faith in me. I have faith in us. We will all take care of our own life tasks. And when we meet again, I hope you will experience me as I am without feeling a need to change who you are. I hope you will experience me as a comrade.
When I write you next, I intend to unconditionally share my happiness, and offer the best of what I have, without asking anything in return. That is my great 2025 hope for myself. It is also the great hope for my memoir, which I aim to share with you in the coming years. I hope it will be the best of me, and that you will read it and know that I have faith in you as readers and as human beings. That I will reemerge offering you the experience of Matthew Quick without needing you to be anything other than who you already are. This is the work I am committing to with a growing faith in life and others and myself. I am currently fertilizing and watering and even singing to this new hope of mine.
My Jungian analyst often tells me that our unconsciouses are constantly talking with the unconsciouses of others. Our psyches send out signals to which the people in our worlds respond. When my mantra is I need to withdraw from the world, the world withdraws from me. When I say, ‘People are my comrades,’ the world moves closer.
Change your mind, change the world, they say.
I’m slowly learning.
How’s your faith in yourself these days?
How’s your faith in others?
Do you think of people as your comrades?
Will you read The Courage To Be Happy?
What useful thing will I do with my renewed faith in myself and others this year?
Stay tuned.
What psychological attitude will you broadcast to the world in 2025? How will that attitude serve you? What useful thing will you do with it?
Your man in the Lowcountry,
Matthew
PS - Did you read the December 16th post? In Defense Of The Handwritten Christmas Card (Many Ways To Say You Love)