Letter from the Executive Director

Dear reader,

Thanks for clicking on our final publication of the year: a digital issue offering guidance for living in quarantine. Right now, it’s hard to find a corner of the internet not filled with pain, anger, or despair. For me, the scariest emotion of all is numbness. In a futile attempt to regain sensation, I let myself eat blueberry waffles every morning. I send voice memos back and forth to friends just to hear their voices. But what’s been most effective is diving deep into my camera roll. As I scroll through months of Twin Cities’ outings, house parties, and intimate spaces, I yearn for the moments that have passed. Once I’ve escaped that initial dwelling, I’m able to recall feelings in a way that reminds me that those types of emotions will return (whenever that may be).

In the app that holds the moments I want to remember, I see pictures of Dorian Electra and 100 Gecs. I can’t articulate the distinct feeling of being surrounded by people who have the same level of enthusiasm for an artist that I do. It feels liberating to jump around carelessly while simultaneously not being able to move. It’s funny to miss being covered in other people’s sweat. A photo on the Metro Transit 3 reminds me of the comfort of sitting by a friend or, more specifically, of making a bus-ride pact to be more vulnerable in the upcoming year. Or, it’s the feeling of curiosity when I’m sitting two inches away from a stranger, wondering what they’re listening to.

I wonder why I appreciate the presence of strangers. I see pictures with friends at the Kitty Cat Klub, chatting around a table while snippets of unintelligible conversations buzz around us. Then I come across a photo of a hidden waterfall I took while on a walk with someone on one of the first warm days of spring. The prospect of getting to know a person better always imparts a sense of hope.

I find a video of friends doing karaoke for someone’s birthday. Watching that seven second clip, I feel overwhelmingly grateful to have crossed paths with someone I met on a study abroad trip, as well as a friend who gave me her number on the first day of Journalism 1001. When I see clips of dance parties in a torn-up basement, I’m reminded of how cared for I felt when I lived in a crooked house with three kitchens and nine roommates.

Scrolling further back, I see a picture of The Wake’s staff sitting on Folwell Hall’s staircase. It’s a photo filled with so many talented people, and I hope I’ll eventually get to work in an environment with the same amount of dedication and creativity after graduation. I’m proud of everyone who’s contributed to the 12 issues we’ve published this year.

So, having felt such strong emotions, I imagine how much joy, comfort, and excitement I'll feel in the future. And I’ll keep tugging at that thread of hope when callousness or alienation creeps in. I hope we’ll see the next issue of The Wake in print.

With love and gratitude,

Macie