HeyJaredHere's The Thing
A Substack about life by a 30-something, neuro-spicy singular force. Grab your wine. Let's journey.
- Indexed issues, last 90 days
- 6
- Latest publication
- Sep 30, 2026
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- Earliest in this view
- Aug 3, 2026
Latest issues
31 (opens the original)
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30 was hard. So were 29, 28, and 27. A lot of what made it hard I brought on myself, and I don't say that to punish myself. I say it because I want to tell this year honestly, and honesty means holding the hard parts and the settled parts in the same hand.I turned 31 this morning, and before I let the day ask anything of me, I sat with my coffee and the floral arrangement that I purchased myself, and just let me be still for a minute.If this year had one word it would cling to, it would be grief
Remembrance (opens the original)
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I woke up blue this morning, and I didn’t know why.I couldn’t place the feeling at first. Not sad, not exactly. I guess blue is the better word. A low hum underneath everything, the kind you can’t place until you go looking for it.I shrugged it off, shuffled downstairs, and made my morning tea. Blood orange, the kind that stains the water pink before it steeps all the way through. I sat at the kitchen table the way I do most mornings, pulled out my phone, and looked at the screen.September 3rd.“
A Moment (opens the original)
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I received a call from a family matriarch a little while ago, and she told me that she was asking God for a new home. A new home with all of her exact specifications—two stories, a two-car garage, this number of bedrooms and bathrooms. It needed to have this; it had to have that.It was amusing to hear. And later, affirming. That someone planning for a retirement that was still several years away was going to bat for herself, her needs, and, most importantly, her desires, with no room for anythin
The Sun (opens the original)
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Reader’s note: This piece was written for a personal essay writing course I took last year. Sharing it here as it is.“Tell me a story of the sun,” she said.He asked if I wanted to walk to the beach and watch the sun rise. I didn’t. Not really. I’m not a morning person. And also because I didn’t need to. I’d seen the sun rise and set countless times before in his eyes every time he spoke. The way his whole face would catch light when he got to the good part of a story. The way he’d go quiet and d
Train Car (opens the original)
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I met God again. Three times, actually. In a train car.The first one, a man. Undoubtedly a father, and by his face, probably a grandfather. Annoyed with people not listening to directions—and I laughed. Told him not to be too annoyed because we all just woke up, even him. Then we laughed together. He carried my bags and made sure to keep checking on me throughout my trip.The next, a woman. The conductor. Told me that I could sit in the seats reserved for the handicapped because she believed I wa
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