Being fired from my job (and leaving my 15-year career in politics) was one of the best things that ever happened to me. Sure, it had all the drama of a Real Housewives’ season finale, but what’s life without a plot twist?
I’ll never forget that moment—the doorbell rang like a punctuation mark on a sentence I didn’t see coming. It was the morning of August 6, 2021, and I was still dripping wet from the shower, wrapped in my gray bathrobe like some sort of sad, soggy superhero. Charlie was barking, and I was yelling at her to move so I could see who it was. I opened the door to find the FedEx guy standing there, looking way too chipper for 9 a.m. as he handed me a crisp envelope. I slammed the door and tore the envelope up with the kind of urgency usually reserved for lottery tickets or surprise invitations to celebrity parties. Sadly, I was not invited to Beyonce’s birthday party—no sequins, no confetti. Instead, I got a letter from my employer informing me that I was terminated. Wait, was this like a breakup text?
So there I was, unceremoniously shown the door, like a forgotten email lost in the abyss of my inbox. Apparently, standing up for what’s right didn’t fit in HR’s playbook–who knew? But instead of spiraling into a puddle of despair (okay, maybe a little), I channeled my inner Elle Woods post-Warner breakup. Slightly panicked, but mostly motivated, I found myself assembling a newsletter—not because I had any clear strategy, but because some blog post somewhere suggested it was the key to unlocking the secret sauce of success. And clearly everything you read on the internet is true. Obviously.
Initially, I had no idea what to write in these emails. They were a bit like a sad, digital salad—slightly random, mostly boring. But, given that I was now a full-time member of the unemployed club, I finally had the luxury of time to read, listen to podcasts, and—gasp—reflect. So, I started sharing the things I actually cared about: what made me laugh, what made me think, and, honestly, a few things that were probably better left unsaid. To my surprise, it started shaping into something that, dare I admit, even I might subscribe to. And if I could be persuaded, who knows what could happen next? Maybe world domination. Or at least a few loyal subscribers.
And slowly, like a casual first date turning into something real, a community started to form. Reading your emails every Friday became the highlight of my week, and oddly enough, it made me feel less alone—though, judging by your responses, you all felt the same. It was like we were all in this weird, chaotic journey together, sharing experiences that somehow connected us, even if we’d never met in person. Who knew that a few random thoughts, thrown together in a newsletter, could make you feel like you’re not the only one who’s still figuring out this whole “life” thing?
And this is where the name of my newsletter, Not Special, comes in. Now, not to give my former employer any more air time (trust me, I’ve healed, I’ve moved on, I’m practically Zen at this point), but when I went to report sexual harassment, I was told, “You’re not special.” The man had a point. I wasn’t special. Turns out, I wasn’t the first person to go through something like that, and spoiler alert—I wasn’t going to be the last. And somewhere between the confusion and the existential crisis, this newsletter came to life. It’s a reminder that, while none of us are really “special” in the way we might hope, we’re all in this messy, unpredictable human experience together. So, turning a moment of personal disillusionment into a quirky little revelation, I give you: Not Special. Because, honestly, what’s more special than that?
Weekly emails intended to make you laugh, think, and feel less alone. They include snippets of podcasts and books that made me reflect, sh*t that made me laugh/smile, movies or shows I’m watching, and everything else in between. And now with my new upgraded launch, I’ll be diving deeper into more topics. It’s like that conversation at a dinner party where the small talk ends, and suddenly, someone’s asking if aliens are real or why we’re all pretending to have our lives together—and we definitely won’t be talking about the weather. Well, except in the summer, when I reserve the right to complain about boob sweat and count the days until fall shows up and saves us all.
Thank you for being here. We’re about to have a lot of fun. You can sign up here.
