Head Like a Hole

You’re riding a unicorn through Mumbai

I used to read the BBC first thing in the morning. Right after checking Instagram. Now I devour Substack instead. Today, before I even had my first sip of coffee, I read a post by one of my favorite writers, Ottessa Moshfegh, titled “Writing Advice #26: How to Get into Someone’s Head.”

Moshfegh is talking about answering a reader’s query for writing advice. I didn’t even finish the article because this sentence did something to me: “In reviewing your email, I noticed something about the way I was reading each sentence. I was reading more to understand you than I was to understand how I might best answer the questions you were asking.”

I thought OMG. I do this all the time. Not in writing but in real life. I had always blamed it on ADHD, that annoying habit of not being able to focus on what people are saying. But, oh Ottessa, I think it’s the writer in me, trying to figure out what makes them tick, what makes them uniquely them. I make up whole stories instead of paying attention to the story they’re telling. Like: their kitchen is probably painted yellow. They don’t like small dogs. They destroyed Barbies as kids.

There are whole chunks of life and crucial memory missing in my brain—complete years, entire cities. For instance, I lived in Munich for two years after college. But where? What was the neighborhood called? What was the subway stop? I have no idea. I remember how Munich smelled and how I felt. I remember my favorite pair of vintage round-toe heels getting stuck in cobblestones. I remember a fake black feather boa and bright red hair.

Anyways. I wouldn’t call Ottessa’s effect on me this a.m. quite an epiphany—but something close to it. So next time you’re talking to me, forgive me. I’m picking paint colors for your bedroom and picturing you riding a unicorn through Mumbai.