In a few minutes, you’ll get a welcome email. It is short. It is not automated in spirit, even if it is automated in delivery. It contains a few important principles — or rules, or conditions, depending on how dramatic you’re feeling.
Please read it. Not because it contains a secret code or a discount or a life-altering idea (though it might), but because it explains how this relationship will work. And more importantly, how it ends if you disappear into the silent ether of “never opens, never clicks, possibly deceased.”
I prune this list. Regularly. Not because I crave minimalism, but because I think attention is sacred. If I’m going to write things that cost me time and thought and small pieces of sanity, I’d like to believe they’re landing somewhere on the other side.
So here’s the basic deal:
I will try very hard to write emails that are interesting, useful, or at least weird in a satisfying way. Not often. But intentionally.
In exchange, you read them. Maybe not all. But some. Maybe you think about one for too long. Maybe you forward one to a friend and immediately regret it. Maybe you do something, which is always the goal, in life and in newsletters.
If that sounds fair, great. We’ve established terms. Unspoken, now spoken.
Let’s begin.
P.S. If the welcome message doesn’t arrive soon, check your Promotions or Spam folder. Gmail, like all bureaucracies, sometimes hides the good stuff out of habit. If you find it, mark it safe. Or whisper to it softly: “You belong here.” That seems to help.