anticipation

i'm not great at making time to celebrate

I’m not great at making time to celebrate—especially with others.

When I think back to some of the most significant accomplishments in my life, they were not marked afterwards by a gathering, meal with friends, day to rest, or much anticipated vacation. More often, there is a brief smile and accompanied by a sense of relief. If the weather accommodates, I’ll pour a glass of whiskey and light a cigar on the patio.

But if there’s one consistent piece of of advice I’ve gotten from writers, authors, and others who struggle along these ‘long’ projects, it is to celebrate the small wins—finding the ‘perfect’ word, finishing a chapter, submitting a manuscript…And to have people to celebrate these things with.

…

Decisions came out recently for the PhD program at UChicago.

One friend caught me at lunch to let me know she was accepted to the lone spot in the theology area. I’m overjoyed we will be colleagues for the coming years. In my final class on Calvin’s Institutes, I saw another student walk in smiling ear to ear. The professor confirmed my suspicions when she quickly congratulated them on getting into the PhD program.

Knowing one other friend had applied to the program, I sent him a quick text asking if he’d heard back. He didn’t get in.

Within a few hours, we found ourselves out on a picnic bench on a suspiciously warm evening in March with a bottle of Blanton’s acquired at a recent conference and a pack of American Spirits. There was frustration, grief, unknowing, and heartbreak. What comes next? There were now unanticipated goodbyes—to both people and a place.

Later that evening, I thought back to my acceptance email a year prior. I received the notification on my phone late one Friday evening. I was positive it was a rejection letter. I thought I interviewed well, but the chances were so slim. (Also, who sends an acceptance email on a Friday night?). Grabbing my computer (this was computer news, not phone news), I read the line “Congratulations.”

I smiled, walked over to Emily who was sitting on the couch, and told her the news.

“So you’re going back to school” she asked enthusiastically.

“I think so…” I replied as I reached for the “special occasions” bottle from the liquor cabinet.

…

Since that conversation, I’ve been thinking a lot about anticipation. (It is fitting given that my friend and I both dig Heidegger, who makes this experience central to authentic being in his masterpiece Being and Time). I’ve often kept myself from the heartbreak that he felt in that evening by ‘hedging my bets’ as it were. Like these various accomplishments before, I didn’t throw the full weight of my emotions and energy into anticipating the result of my PhD applications. I was ready for a rejection letter—even anticipating that possibility more than an acceptance.

There’s a healthy and mature nature to this, I think. (Although, I cannot say I hold up this kind of health when August rolls around and the Packers appear to be Super-Bowl-bound once again).

But there’s also a way in which the failure to give yourself over to anticipation lessens the experience of joy on the other side.

This is a horribly long-winded way to tell you that I have a book coming out in two days.

To be sure, this is a different kind of anticipation than a PhD program. There isn’t an uncertainty as to whether or not it will come out. It will, God willing.

The anticipation is in how readers—however many there might be—respond.

This is well out of my control. To whatever degree it ever was is now set in ink on pages that are already being sent across the country.

So this week, following the advice of many writers, I am celebrating with others.

This weekend, Emily and I saw two of my favorite indie folk artists who were playing a show in Milwaukee. In between sets, she encouraged me to share this celebration with one of the artists, who was standing at his merch table with his new book and EP. With some hesitation, I told him that it was a surreal to hear him play live and that I was taking the occasion to celebrate the book coming out. He joined in the celebrations too. It was wonderful.

And so, in celebrating, am giving myself over to the anticipation that this little book might actually do what I set out to do three years ago: offer a hopeful and compelling vision of a deeply local common good that is rooted in the radical practice of loving your neighbors.

You all have been so kind to share in these celebrations with me through your Goodreads reviews, IG stories, texts, Substack notes, and more. Thank you.

More on Thursday.

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Milwaukee Friends: I’ll be launching Becoming Neighbors at Immanuel Presbyterian Church on March 18 in partnership with Kairos Collective’s Living Faith series. I hope to see you there!