Catastrophe and the Big Bald Truth

You’re never prepared for catastrophe. That’s part of its function. The Greeks defined a catastrophic event as the turning point in a plot—kata meaning “down” and strophé meaning “a turn”—a down turn, to be specific. In Greek tragedy, Aristotle defined catastrophe as death, the denouement, or dramatic ending of a play. In Greek comedy, its function was a happy event, like a marriage (which one could also ascribe to death) or, simply, being at peace, which seems like a stretch. Today, we’re likely to define catastrophe as this: 😩😱🤯🫨🙈. There’s no emoji for the word itself but multiple options for “oh no.”

My catastrophe (😳😦😵‍💫) came as a phone call at 9:26 p.m. on a warm Sunday night. I was packing for a long overdue trip overseas to see family. It had been a week, the worst I’d had since lockdown, and though I was expecting this call (dreading it, really), I knew if my doctor wasn’t waiting until Monday morning to phone me, the news on the other end was bad.

Even when you know catastrophe’s coming, when it arrives, it still feels like a dramatic strangle. For many of us, life’s been a guttural gurgle since the pandemic, a catastrophe in and of itself. If you’re an artist, writer, parent, or a member of the Sandwich Generation—stuffed and pressed until everything inside oozes out into the proverbial frying pan of life—if you’re a human, it’s not the most optimistic of times either. Despite the ooze, I love crispy edges. Maybe you do too?

Today marks the two-year anniversary from when I started chemo. I’m now (four surgeries and 17 infusions later) in remission. I feel lucky and incredibly grateful for that—grateful to be alive, to be writing again, not that I ever stopped—but writing to connect with others has eluded me for quite some time. Substack was a balm during my treatment, and though I’ve been working on this for a while, today feels like the perfect day to start.

What to expect? This is mostly a culture newsletter, though personal essays will seep through too. I struggled with what to call it but settled on THAT BROAD because it speaks to my broad interests as a culture journalist, author, sometime filmmaker, and finder of coveted things. It’s a hat tip to a broadsheet newspaper you can read with a cup of coffee.

Also, I’m that broad that’s seen and been through some shit, for lack of a better word. I have things to SAY and share that hopefully connect. My message to myself is also my message to you: It’s time to start the thing. Make the thing. Write the thing. Send the thing. Life is short, y’all.

It’s like that Apple commercial with Jane Goodall’s magnificent voice that shows a blinking cursor on a blank screen at someone’s WFH desk.

“Every idea you love began as nothing, just a flicker on a screen asking a simple question, ‘What do you see?’”

Footnote: If you’re anxious at the thought of an unpacked suitcase, rest assured I’ll cover style in future installments. ;-)