Unconstrained Wisdom

This is the first newsletter of February, 2024.

Hi.

It’s me.

rB. Rabbi Brian. Brian.

The author of this newsletter.

I’m addressing you directly, beloved reader.

As though we are having a conversation.

You and me.

This is because I didn’t want to do a regular newsletter, where I start with an engaging hook, set a scene, and weave in some wisdom.

***

January’s first post (1/1/24) was also a letter. 

Like this one.

I thought: “Why don’t I do the first newsletter of each month, like I did in January? Like this? Conversation-like?”

***

Initially, I like the idea of following the same structure for the whole year.

And, concurrently, I was itchy, certain that by June I’d feel constrained by the idea of “I have to.”

***

Orson Welles: “The absence of limits is the enemy of art.

In other words, *if there were no limitations, there would be no art.*

Interesting.

Constraints can push us to figure something out (hopefully artistically).

***

Phil Hansen has a TED talk, Embrace the Shake, that beautifully expresses this.
https://www.ted.com/talks/phil_hansen_embrace_the_shake?language=en

***

So, maybe having the limitation—doing a monthly letter like this—will help make better art?

***

If art is a response to limits faced, maybe we can reframe the challenges in our lives as opportunities for artistic expression?

Flash Bang

✧✧✧ My buddy Marc meets me near my house at 3:30 on Saturday afternoon so we can bike to the small park named for Elizabeth Caruthers. I looked her up as I started to write this article. Elizabeth Caruthers was an early pioneer woman whose Supreme Court case led to the 1850 Donation Act—ruling that a woman, married or not,

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Hiawatha Johnson, JR.

January 2026 — Portland, ORE Hiawatha Johnson, Jr., a mentor and friend died. Summer 1985 — Magic Camp Oakdale, Long Island I’m 15. He’s 30. He wears a dashiki. He uses a walking stick. I’m prepubescent. I listen to comedy cassettes on a Walkman. I’m in awe. ✧✧✧ I perform a rather banal magic act that year — me narrating

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The Delay

2026 issue #03 — The Delay I’m in my buddy David’s car. He’s driving me from my mom’s apartment in NYC to Newark, NJ, where I’m going to catch a plane back home to Portland. David and I have been friends for fifty years. Amazing. My phone dings. I look at it. Nothing important. Just an alert from United. *

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