Over on the NYT, An Incalculable Loss is equal parts beautiful and horrific. It says a giant “fuck you” to the charts and statistics and shows everyone that’s died so far during the pandemic in a way that’s entirely heartbreaking.
One hundred thousand. A number is an imperfect measure when applied to the human condition. A number provides an answer to how many, but it can never convey the individual arcs of life, the 100,000 ways of greeting the morning and saying good night.
Each person comes with a description of their lives, a small sentence that breaks the mold of that chart that we’re now so familiar with, the one that peaks up and to the right. Instead, this sentence show us the people that “loved creating perfect smiles,” and the “first black woman to graduate from Harvard Law School,” the “family jokester,” and, heartbreakingly, the person that “wanted everyone to feel welcome.”
Behold! My newsletter—sent infrequently—about new things that I’m working on. Every so often it’ll contain notes about web design and publishing things that I’m interested in, too.