January personal letter - a Newsletter

Well, well, well, never too late, better late than never, as they say. A bit delayed by a few days, but not gonna lie, I’ve been struggling lately with myself—maybe seasonal depression. Honestly, I’d much rather find balance and take a proper look into myself, or at least try to. My housemate would probably lose it with my mood swings, or my coworkers and friends would call it concerning.

Since this is the January newsletter, I’ve decided this one will be the beginning of a conversation—one of many. As it’s a long one, I’ll share some other things later in the February newsletter.

Everything has been brewing for a while—work burnout and loneliness. In January, I attended a launch party for a photo zine release, which led to the theme of this newsletter.

I Hope you find something for yourself to reflect on, and I hope the “podcast” version will work—thanks to Google NotebookLM.

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For me, it’s not like I rediscovered something, but rather that I found a deeper understanding or acceptance of how much I missed out on. You know, if I never pursued connections—whether they were fleeting moments, a month, or years—it would have meant missing out on an essential part of life. Obviously, we’re responsible for making things work for ourselves, but there’s something about having a non-transactional relationship—just two lives moving alongside each other. And it’s fine. It’s simple. Of course, there will always be some level of conflict, expectations, jealousy, or insecurity—those come from our own wounds or past traumas.

But now, when I look at people around me—not that their relationships are perfect, because plenty of them aren’t—but they have this comfort with each other. And it’s not driven by status, success, or money. It’s not transactional.

And looking at my relationships, even my friendships, I’ve been reflecting on that. When I was going through old messages to find something I had texted, I came across screenshots of conversations with them —the one I’m no longer in touch with. And when I read them, I realized how deep and simple our connection was for years. With everything that happened between us—what she did for me, what I shared with her—it made me wonder, how did this happen? Of course, I could go over the when and how, but the point is how meaningful that relationship was and how quickly a line was drawn between us, for both of our sakes. And then I started reflecting on my friendships in general. I know people grow apart, different chapters in life, different people, but why was I trying so hard to cut away pieces of myself? Just to reach this point where I am now? To "deliver" myself into this version of me?

It’s not that it’s complicated, but I’m still trying to grasp it. When I look back at different versions of myself—through what I created, what I wrote, where my friends were at the time, where I was in life—it feels like a thousand different lives. And yet, what was the common thread? I don’t want to be ashamed of my past self or suppress parts of who I was. I realize that, in some ways, I was molding myself to fit into my current role—this idea of being a Welfare Officer. And I remember two years ago when I was told , "Oh, you’re less creative now." That stuck with me. How could I fix that? But at the same time, I felt uncomfortable creating again. Then the 2022 happened, and I created because I was driven by emotion—that was the painting. But they weren’t amazing paintings. They were good, I liked them, but still.

Then New York happened, and I just couldn’t put myself into anything. And yesterday, when I had a conversation with my friend boyfriend—because she put me on the spot and started listing things I had done, like writing, filmmaking, painting, modeling—he started asking me questions about it. And I found it difficult to talk about myself, especially about things that happened years ago.

I don’t know, maybe I just don’t like being put on the spot. But anyway, Skip that.

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I was about to say yes, so um, yeah, that’s the thing, you know. I wouldn’t admit that, but now I see the volume of difference, so no worries.

No, but joke aside—so what I saying is that I’m just so happy for other people because it’s meaningful to have someone, you know? It’s not even about talking. Just being able to come, lay down, and that’s it. Yeah, and even just like—, having support. But one thing I know is that you have to be ready to get into a relationship. And yeah. I was reflecting on my relationships, but also thinking about friendships. Because I’ve never been in a proper relationship. That’s what I’m saying—I feel like I missed out on so much. The connection, the interaction. Not saying good or bad, just in general—the feeling. And people always say, “Oh, it’ll happen, just wait,” or “It’s all about awakening.” But that doesn’t change how you feel daily.

And then when I started writing, that’s why I was thinking about my friend as well. I always say, “Oh, you can  or you’;; read in my book” And now, looking at the things I wrote over the years, they were all driven by emotion. No perspective. So now, I’m trying to unpack things in a way that’s fair. Even if I contributed to the pain, I can try to still be objective.

And one of the things I’ve been reflecting on is my chapter about all my lost friends. I’m still trying to figure out the narrative. Is it about my friends who are lost in their lives? Am I comparing myself to them? Or is it more about why I withdrew from those relationships? Because right now, I feel like I lost so many friends—not because of them, but because of me. Because of my insecurities, my lack of vulnerability, my unwillingness to admit things. And that’s the thing—I restrained myself so many times in different situations because I didn’t know where I fit. And now, I’m like, yeah… And, you know, I’m only a few months into my thirties, but to be fair, if you count it properly, I’ve already been in my thirties for over a year. I turned 29, but the moment I did, I was already living my first year of my thirties. And now I’m heading toward 31. This is my 31st year on the planet. And I’m surprised at how many things I can admit now that I wouldn’t before. I don’t know if that’s vulnerability or bullshit. Probably both. It’s not like I’m suddenly all enlightened and kumbaya—I’m still processing things.

But when it comes to relationships, I feel bad. Not sick, but almost on the verge of it. Because I accept myself, but at the same time, I tend to make room for previous versions of myself—good and bad, shame and not-shame. And I just want to cut this stupid narrative that I need to be unhappy to be creative. Like, why do I have to be depressed? What exactly is this?

Also, why do I need to dig deep into myself to figure myself out? If we’re talking about acceptance—okay, I am what I am, I’ve done what I’ve done, and that’s it. But I still have this fear of how other people perceive me. Like, sure, I can be vulnerable and say what I say, but deep down, I know there’s still this self-proclaimed truth that I hold onto. You know, when I think about career crises and everything—it’s the same thing. Why are we so obsessed with following a script? Like, “Oh, I did or didn’t get the script for this chapter of my life.” Who wrote this? Why do I have to memorize it and act it out? What are those pink pages, now?! I spent my twenties running from commitment, and now here I am, still figuring it out. It’s just—yeah. I don’t know. Maybe I’m rambling. But I miss the simplicity of conversations. Just talking. Not feeling like every interaction has to be productive or transactional. And that’s what I wish for—for people to just say what they want without fear. To be vulnerable without overthinking it. But I don’t know… maybe that’s just me.

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Honestly, there’s just plain truth in it—being blunt, bold, whatever you want to call it—without immediately losing something that hasn’t even begun yet. And then, I think that somehow, people are drawn to us. In my case, and in others, there are people who are either so tired that they feel the way I do, or they need something that I don’t even know. Maybe they see it in me, but I don’t see in them the things that I’m seeking. Does that make any sense?

I feel like a lot of people have been drawn to me for whatever reason—because I had something they were seeking or looking for. But I think people don’t acknowledge how special it is to truly find someone. It’s not just a casual thing where you settle, like you said before—where you just go for something casual and end up in a relationship for the sake of being in one. When two people find each other, it’s not just luck. I think it’s meant to be, even if the relationship doesn’t last forever. Everything brings you somewhere, for a purpose. When I look at people around me, I don’t feel jealous of them—I’m happy for them. But then, I can’t help questioning myself. What’s wrong with me? Why do I think this way?

I guess for me, it’s about more than just looks or chemistry. Even with people who were really into me, and with whom I had a connection, I always found an excuse not to go there. For a long time, I thought it was because I was picky. But then I had friendships—relationships, whatever—where I felt like I could just be myself, without trying to present a version of myself. Somehow, we just clicked. Like with certain people. Maybe those connections didn’t work out in a specific way, but they were real.

I don’t know… maybe I’m afraid to admit that deep down, I feel like I’m not meant to have someone—because of my own expectations, or the way I see things playing out in my head. It’s difficult. And when I see couples on social media, or even in real life, just being happy in such a simple way, I wonder—what am I missing? What do I need to do?

I think that’s the biggest thing—it’s funny how, in your head, everything works out perfectly. You have a vision of how things should go, but then you start compromising. Maybe you rush things, maybe you’re impatient, maybe you project things onto people. And then what if the other person isn’t even on the same page? Timing is everything.

The timing is crazy. Sometimes, you think two people would be perfect for each other, but they’re just on different trains. You see them sitting across from each other on a train platform, and in your mind, you imagine a whole story. But then the trains leave, and you realize they were never on the same train to begin with. Maybe they were going in the same direction but at different speeds—or maybe they were heading in completely opposite directions.

And that’s what feels so contradictory—it’s both possible and impossible.

Sometimes, I just wish I could skip all the unnecessary parts. That’s why I talked about things feeling transactional. Tomorrow, I just want to sit down and listen. I’m tired. I haven’t been in a proper relationship in so long, and I just want my person. I know we can meet our love in our 30s, 40s or 50s - amazing, but I don’t want to waste my time I want to share it my experiences with someone. To not just later on produce/repeat those memories, I want them to be experienced together, fleeting vivid moments.   

When I think about arranged marriages or how people used to meet before social media. Back then, people settled down because they had common ground, not because there weren’t other options. It wasn’t about settling for less—it was about choosing to build something with someone. Now, we have dating apps, social media, and globalization. You can find someone 4,000 miles away just as easily as someone 40 meters away. But it feels like people are always looking for the next best thing. No one has time to actually give something a chance.

There’s this whole checklist now—do they meet my visual expectations? Do they match my social status? Do they fit into my lifestyle? Are their hobbies aligned with mine? It’s the complete opposite of how it used to be. Our grandparents met someone local, felt a spark, and built something together.

Now, it’s all about labels. And I hate labels.

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Oh yeah, that’s another thing. You know, the whole "call it whatever" thing—it's too much. Honestly, I’m going to say I am not a part of that community. No. And that’s a very simple decision based on my personal experience—because those communities are very exclusive, not inclusive at all. There are body-type stereotypes, and you have to label yourself, which I hate. There are so many labels. I'm sorry—I don't give a fuck about labels. I think they’re useless.

I used to draw a distinct line. I’m not criticizing people who feel like they belong in that community. Some people need that—they find comfort in a community, they feel exactly where they belong, and if labeling themselves makes them feel better, good for them. They’ve created a chosen family, and that’s amazing.

But for me, I struggle with defining myself. And it’s not about sexuality—it’s about me in general. How I think, how I operate. I feel very comfortable with myself, but I’m still trying to put all the pieces together—my art, my work in welfare, my ambition, my business mindset, my compassion, my passion. That’s my description. I don’t think I can ever define myself in just one label. And I think that’s the biggest struggle—people want easy answers. Like in a job interview, they don’t care about you as a person; they care about your description.

Like now, I have this Google Knowledge Profile Portal thing, and I have no idea what I’m supposed to write in my bio. Gladly, Google can figure that out for me. But when I need to submit my art somewhere and provide a bio, I genuinely don’t know what to say. People think that means I don’t know who I am. If you ask me about my values, I can tell you exactly what they are. But if you ask me to sum myself up in a fucking CV, or a book preview, or a movie description—I can’t do that.

And that’s why I don’t feel like I belong to these communities. Because you have to fit a certain mold, say the right things, believe in the right things, and if you don’t, then you’re not welcome. That’s the truth. Like, I can’t say I’m super leftist or a die-hard liberal or whatever. I can understand different perspectives, I can see where people are coming from, even if I don’t agree with them. But in these communities, there’s no room for that. They claim to be inclusive, but are they really? Because on apps like “”, it’s all about how you look. You can’t build a real connection when it’s all about physical appearance.

Even when I look at relationships—cis, gay, lesbian, whatever—I don't label myself as gay, or whatever labels people use now. I used to say "queer" just because it seemed like the easiest answer. But I’m not going to call myself "a gay guy." Not because I have a problem with it—I don’t. There was a time in my twenties when I used to say, "Yeah, I’m gay, whatever." But I stopped because I realized that’s not how I define myself. And I got tired of people introducing me that way. It put me in a stereotype when there’s so much more to who I am.

And when it comes to relationships, people don’t give things time to develop naturally. It’s like everyone is afraid. Afraid of real connection. Afraid that if they let things unfold, they might actually feel something. Or they stop themselves because the other person doesn’t fit their ideal visual preference. I’ve been picky too, but sometimes I think I could have a great connection with someone I wouldn’t normally consider.

For example, if we’re talking about X—hypothetically—if they were  straight, gay or bi and single, would I have pursued them? I don’t know. I’m curious. If he were open and available, maybe I would have. Not saying I have feelings for them, but just wondering how I would have reacted. Would it have been easier? We work together, we have things in common, but would that even matter? Or would it just be about work?

And that’s what I mean. When you go on apps to connect with people, it’s exhausting. I don’t have the energy to keep putting myself out there. I don’t want to be in that "Pokémon Go" mindset—collecting people, swiping endlessly. And then when you finally sit down with someone who checks all the right boxes—looks, social status, career—you assume they should be interested in you. But I think I treat it as a challenge, making someone interested in me. And then, ironically, the people who are interested in me - I don’t find them interesting.

It’s a cycle. You match, you talk, you repeat yourself, over and over. It’s copy-paste. You don’t focus on one person because you’re constantly thinking about the next best option. And the saddest part? It’s all about looks now. There’s no room for genuine connection.

That’s why dating apps make me sick. The whole idea of them. They breed insecurities. But then if not by work or friends how els you can meet someone. It’s vomit-inducing. I’d rather meet someone naturally, in a bar or whatever. But even then, the same issues come up. It’s transactional it’s feels like- but then what’s your budget..?

Like the other day, I was thinking—if I meet someone tomorrow, should I bring up my best offer? Should I mention what I wat? - Like “ Hey you been on my mined for a long time. We are perfect strangers, this is who I am and what I can offer. Interested to try?” - skipped the convenes. And then I realized—no. I guess, If I just want to connect. I don’t want anything from them. I don’t want to project expectations onto them. I just want to see what happens. - but I would love them to say - “You know what fuck it - lets try”

And yeah, I guess I do want a long-term partner. But should that even be something I have to announce? Shouldn’t it just be natural? Maybe that’s my insecurity—being afraid we won’t match. Being afraid I’m not their type.

But what I’ve learned is that if there’s a real connection, looks become secondary. The problem is, now, looks come first. And that’s what hurts. Because I find myself thinking, "Oh, I should look my best to fit their type," just to even have a chance. And then I have to figure out how to "crack the code" of making them give me a chance.  Chance as creating a space and time for it.

And people will say, "Oh, but if they’re drawn to you, they’ll be drawn to you no matter what." And yeah, that’s true—but also not true. Because in today’s world, you don’t even get the space and time to let something grow. There are too many distractions, too many options.

That’s why, when something happens—like what happened with Manon the other day—it hits hard. They were kind, and caring in small ways. And then, on Saturday, I saw their Instagram story. They posted, "My love," and tagged someone. And I thought, "Fuck." I was happy for them, of course. But it still stung. Because even if nothing was happening between us, it felt like a missed opportunity.

I reflect a lot. I overthink. But at the end of the day, I just want a real connection. Not labels, not expectations—just something real. And maybe that’s my biggest flaw. Maybe I just have too much to give, and I’m trying to figure out who’s willing to receive it.

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But I can't find the same thing if I don't know this person or have some kind of connection with them—especially through apps. Because if I just swipe through hundreds of people, I can find my type again and again. But I know I have this rule—this horrible rule—that I tested last year. Remember when we were at the concert? I had this app, and I knew it. When I looked at someone and thought, "Wow," but felt that we weren’t on the same physical level, I would just skip them. We wouldn’t match. And usually, only about five percent of those people would match with me.

But when I lower my barriers and say, "Yeah, they’re cute," even though I know there won’t be physical chemistry for me, maybe their personality would be amazing. And when I swipe right on those people, we match. Maybe because I'm flattering myself by putting myself on a certain level. But then I think, is that horrible? Am I doing what they do—judging based on looks? The way I score others, others score me. And that’s such a strange realization.

Because when I look at the people I’ve been truly drawn to, it’s never just about physicality. There’s only one person I was attracted to purely on a physical level—. Maybe they messed me up. Maybe after them, I felt like I couldn’t go below that level. I don’t know. The timing was off. Everything was just... off.

Back to relationships—I need to go to therapy. That’s the theme regarding modern dating. The bottom line is that I don’t know. I don’t want the universe to laugh at me. I feel ready to have someone, to be vulnerable with someone. We always say we don’t need someone, but then we get to a certain point and realize—actually, there are needs. Not that we need someone to survive, but we do need that connection. The comfort of knowing someone is there. And that has nothing to do with sex. It’s about having a bond with someone.

Someone who understands you. Who doesn’t have to tell you the right or wrong thing but just is there? And I don’t know. It’s hard. And even if I find that person, life isn’t magically going to be perfect. Relationships take work.

But I don’t want to create art from misery anymore. I’m exhausted from hurting myself, overthinking, inflicting pain on myself. I’m done. I want to break the cycle. That’s why I started writing this book—not to be bitter or sad, but to be honest. To see where it leads. To embrace my past self so I can make space for something new.

There’s still this idea of “perfection”—this imagined, projected fantasy. Like, "Oh, we’re in the same space, it happened, so why can’t we just settle down with each other?" Maybe it’s because I’ve been alone for so long that I’m finally ready for vulnerability and risk. Ready to be open with someone. Not in a desperate way, but in a real, intentional way.

The problem is, when I think someone might be right for me, I hesitate. Not because I matched with them on an app, not because of appearances, but because I feel something. And that’s rare. I don’t want to let it go.

But then I overanalyze everything. Like, “How dare you think this way? How dare you categorize people? How dare you project all this onto someone else?” It’s a mess. But dating is a mess. I’ve been there. People always say, “Just put yourself out there,” but it’s not that simple.

And when we talk about timing—it’s funny how some met. Perfect timing for them. They knew. They got married after years. They settle on each other. And here I am…

But the word “settle” has such a bad reputation now. Like it means giving up. But I don’t see it that way. Settling just means finding what’s right for you. It’s not about lowering standards; it’s about knowing what you need.  Or risk to try and find out.

I had a conversation with some people recently about my work. I don’t mind doing this work, but I need to figure out how it’s affecting me. - welfare talking. And when it comes to relationships, maybe I do want to skip the line. Maybe I just want to lay my cards on the table and say, “This is me. I don’t know how we found each other, but here we are.”

But then self-doubt creeps in. “How dare you say this? How dare you assume anything about them?” And suddenly, I’m scrutinizing myself again.

And dating culture doesn’t help. The expectations. The games. The waiting. The pretending not to care. It’s exhausting.

I wonder if our parents felt the same way when they met. It seemed so much simpler then. No phones, no constant social media updates, no endless options. Just being in the same place at the same time and making the effort to see each other.

Now, everything is a game of availability. Who texts back, who follows who, who likes whose pictures. It’s ridiculous. And I hate being in that environment.

Because so many people who thrive in that world—the ones who are obsessed with their looks, their social status—they aren’t actually looking for real relationships. They just want validation.

And I see these couples who look perfect together, and I think, “How did you even find each other?” But I know the answer: they’re mirrors of each other. Looks first, connection second.

And I hate to admit it, but physical attraction is the first thing. You don’t pursue someone without it. But for me, if I truly connect with someone, their physicality becomes secondary. I’ve experienced that before. At first, I didn’t find someone attractive, but as I got to know them, they became the most beautiful person in the world to me.

I used to think I was pragmatic, and I still am. But I also crave romance in its simplest form. I just want to say, “Listen, this is how I feel.” But then I worry it will feel transactional, like a deal I’m trying to close.

I don’t know. Maybe I just need to let things be.

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To wrap this up—basically, yeah, I messed up with the January newsletter. But I need to figure out what it’s going to be about because every month will have a different theme. I think this year, the focus should be "trust the process." It might sound vague or even a bit silly, but it’s about letting go of expectations—of yourself, of others—just releasing that grip.

I don’t want to put too much pressure on myself, but I do want to figure out my writing, the structure, and the overall design. During work hours, I just want to do my best, and outside of that, I want to be present with myself—maybe in a creative way. Welfare is a part of me, and I’m good at it, but I need to improve in certain areas. Actually, maybe I should stop saying "I need to" and start saying "I want to" or "I will." But at the same time, acknowledging that some things are actual needs—it’s a human thing. Still, instead of saying "I need," I want to shift my mindset to "this is what I want in my life now" and see where that takes me. Be open, do what feels right, and trust myself more.

At the end of the day, it's about being honest—with yourself and with the people around you. If something is meant to be, it will be. If it’s not, then it’s not. There’s no right or wrong way to express yourself. If you're unfiltered, then you're unfiltered. Some people will see that as too much, while others won’t. And that’s fine. It’s not about losing control—it’s about connection and timing.

Speaking of timing, Sundays need to be my reset days. I don’t want to stress about fitting in a workout, rushing back and feeling pressured to do a million things. I also need to set up my space and allow myself to just be. I want to embrace Sundays as reset days, not days filled with obligations.

As for the gym, I was thinking of signing up...

Anyway, thank you for today. I have a much clearer perspective on my January newsletter now. I think it’ll focus on how I struggled in December and January—not in a negative way, but more about reflecting on what triggered me and how I felt. I think this conversation helped me address some of that. Now, let’s see what February brings—besides the trip to Istanbul. We’ll see.

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Wojciech J. Walkowicz