Thank You!

A 100th message

I was about to sit down and write a newsletter on a different topic that I promise would have been particularly profound (I jest, of course). But when I went to the Substack dashboard to compose it, I saw something staring back at me that gave me a double take.

My first thought was this couldn’t be. But sure enough, I have apparently published (and at least some of you have been subjected to) 99 missives sent from my fervid mind out into the email and Internet ether. 

So, in a culture that puts inordinate meaning on multiples of 10, this edition of my newsletter could be considered a milestone — my 100th. 

But as with most arbitrary distinctions, merely attaining a certain status doesn't mean I have anything special to offer. I resort to the old truism that quantity should never be confused with quality. 

I launched this endeavor in the waning days of 2023 with no expectations of what it might be or if anyone (even close family and friends) would care to read it. I hoped to attract some audience. It’s always fun to get likes and comments (both appreciative messages and thoughtful criticisms). But more importantly, it’s such a thrill to know that somewhere, someone is reading what I wrote, and maybe what I had to say shifts, even in the slightest way, how you are thinking about the world.

In this vein, I can honestly say that writing for all of you is a tremendous source of inspiration and joy. So, thank you all for helping me build this community, and please keep the comments and engagement coming. 

The act of writing, for me, has always been an extension of thinking. Clarity in extemporaneous speech often eludes me. There are some people who have a preternatural ability to speak in fully-formed sentences and paragraphs. As anyone who has sat through a Zoom meeting with me can relate, I do not have that skill. Sometimes, it feels like I am desperately dog-paddling through a choppy sea of wandering thoughts, looking for something to hold onto.  

When I am on my computer, however, the dancing cursor challenges me to confront each word. I then circle back often to double-check whether it and its neighbors adequately convey my intended meanings. Only then do I worry about tone and style. Ornamentation isn’t worth much if it isn’t affixed to a sturdy foundation. 

Sometimes, sentences burst forth with relative ease. More often, I have to craft and recraft them. Even more than the words, I struggle over the order and interconnectivity of thought. The cut-and-paste functions in Google Docs are familiar friends. I sometimes wonder how different my process would have to be if I was subjected to the editing limits of a typewriter or a quill and vellum, for that matter.  

I confess I am surprised by the volume I have already written because I didn’t intend it at the onset. As many of you know, my day job is making science documentaries. But thanks to all of you who have created a supportive community, I have found this format helps me puzzle through a complicated, sometimes distressing, and often awe-inspiring world of politics, science, art, and all the other topics that cross my consciousness. Life frequently presents us with dim shadows and shapes through a fog of uncertainty. It’s been calming to explore it with you. 

I titled my first post, A Beginning, and I re-read it today for the first time since I published it back in December. It was interesting to see how I conceived of Through The Fog back then, and I thought I would share some excerpts here.

After 100 posts, I am curious to hear how you think it is going.  

A Beginning published December 17. 2023

I find our precious, fragile world fascinating and puzzling, joyful and heartbreaking, infuriating and beautiful. I am driven by curiosity to understand and make sense of it. And I find the challenge of trying to craft sentences and paragraphs that bring clarity to complex topics rewarding. 

I have a deep interest in world affairs and also science, art, history, and culture. I see all of these as intertwined, and exploring those topics and their areas of overlap and influence is what I hope to do in this newsletter. I might marvel at the wonderful world of microbes, or gush over Gershwin, or opine on the American occupation of Japan after World War II.

I care deeply about American democracy, the rule of law, truth, and the power of empathy. Seeing all of this under attack angers and saddens me. There will be times I want to talk about this as well. And I would love to hear your thoughts so we can build a community of conversation...

As for the name of this newsletter, it’s in honor of my hometown, San Francisco, to which I recently returned after more than two decades away. Sometimes the fog is so thick here, you can barely see the tips of your fingers on an outstretched arm. Familiar landmarks by which you often guide your journey — buildings, streets, parks, and vistas — disappear completely into the shroud of water droplets. You have no choice but to slow down. 

I think fog is a wonderful metaphor for life. Often, we don’t have clarity. Frequently, what we took for granted can fade into the mist. We have to reassess and reimagine. We have to find a way forward, not certain about what might lie before us.

I want this to be a place where we can navigate through the fog together, sharing what we know, and learning from what others are seeing. 

I hope you will subscribe and join me. 

Since then, many more of you have joined me than I ever could have hoped. Although, at the risk of sounding greedy, one can always hope for more. So please share Through The Fog with others if you are so inclined. 

And thank you for indulging my reflections on this centesimal event. I promise you that the 101st edition of this newsletter will be much less self-referential.