Hi, I'm headed back to Paris after finishing my final event of the year in Las Vegas and âof courseâmy last flight home is delayed. Classic, right? To top it off, I somehow managed to leave my AirPods in a completely different terminal. Cool. Now Iâm in the lounge, bonding with fellow stranded travelers over a glass of wine and collective exasperation with flying. Thereâs something oddly hilarious about how these little disasters turn complete strangers into temporary besties. Delayed flights: the great equalizer. I'm still trying to process the fact that 2024 is almost over. How is that even possible? It feels like this year has been... *gestures vaguely at everything* a lot. Especially the last few days. I canât quite believe Iâm writing these words: after fifty years of brutal, oppressive rule, the Assad familyâs reign is over. Decades of suffering, war, and despair have finally culminated in an unthinkable outcomeârebels successfully overthrowing the regime after nearly a decade of stalemate. The images of Syrians being freed from horrific prison conditions have been weighing on my heart and mind.â And yet, I find myself caught in a tangle of feelings that refuse to untwist themselves into anything as neat as hope. For those of us in exile, the fall of Assad stirs something fragile: the thought that maybe, someday, we might return to the places we were forced to leave. But that hope feels precarious, like stepping onto a bridge you arenât sure is stable. The loss of a homeland is a wound so many immigrants carry. Itâs a dull ache that grows sharper with time, often catching you by surprise. Itâs not just about the land itself but about all the little pieces of your identity you left behind. This longing is at the heart of Echoes of Migration, my poetry collection. The title is a nod to those paths weâre forced to take, often far from what feels like home, in the pursuit of somethingâanythingâthat might allow us to survive. â Now, with Assad gone, Iâm trying to process what this means. On one hand, this is an end to a regime that tortured, brutalized, and ruled with corrupt impunity. And on the other, itâs the beginning of an era we canât yet define. The devil we knew is goneâbut what devil comes next? I think back to the images of toppling statues in Iraq and Libyaâthe euphoria, the celebrations, the sense of possibility. But we know now what followed: the vacuum, the chaos, the violence. Syria has endured sanctions that crushed its economy, a civil war that displaced millions, an earthquake that compounded unimaginable devastation. And now, this. Another unpredictable chapter in a country already worn thin by history. Then there are the larger forces at play. Syria has oil. It has resources. And where there are resources, there are proxies: Iran, Turkey, Russia, the U.S. Everyone wants a piece, and no one seems to want peace. In the past few days Israel has bombed over 250 sites in Damascus alone. My family went from celebrating a fragile and tender hope of liberation to hiding under the threat of deadly bombs. So, where does that leave me? Ambivalent, mostly. Not hopeful, but not without hope. Just here, sitting with the weight of it all. Trying to make space for the complexityârelief and dread, possibility and uncertainty, endings and beginnings. Perhaps there are no easy conclusions right now. Maybe itâs enough to feel the shift, to hold space for it, and to let that be what it is for now. UnitedHealth: How Rage Became a MovementThe recent arrest of Luigi Mangione, suspected of murdering the CEO of UnitedHealth, has consumed Americaâs attention, transforming from a true-crime headline into a cultural flashpoint that reveals as much about societyâs fractures as it does about the crime itself. On the surface, itâs a salacious, clickbait-ready story: corporate greed, systemic failure, and a surreal digital aftermath seemingly engineered for a hyper-online world. But beneath that veneer lies a deeper, more unsettling reflection of the rage simmering beneath the surface of a society where the systems meant to protect and serve often do the opposite. For a fleeting moment, Americans on both the left and the right found themselves unitedânot in solidarity, exactly, but in shared disdain for the for-profit healthcare system. That alone is a remarkable phenomenon in a nation where political polarization saturates every interaction. Nearly everyone has a story: a denied insurance claim, an urgent procedure deemed ânot covered,â or a hospital bill so exorbitant it shattered a familyâs finances. These arenât isolated tragedies anymore; theyâve evolved into a collective narrative, woven into the cultural fabric of what it means to liveâand struggleâin America. UnitedHealthâs role in this story only amplifies the public outrage. Known for denying more claims than any other provider in the U.S., the company recently rolled out an AI system that erroneously rejects life-saving treatments 90% of the time. Ninety percent. Thatâs not a glitchâitâs an indictment of a system that prioritizes profits over people. Instead of leveraging technology to alleviate suffering, theyâve weaponized it to deepen inequities, obscure accountability, and protect corporate interests. Itâs dehumanization, automated. And then thereâs the public reaction. Like the billionaires lost in the ill-fated submarine earlier this year, the CEOâs death has sparked a mix of outrage and dark humor. Critics bemoan the lack of sympathy: He was a father and a husband! they insist. But that argument rings hollow to those asking: where is the sympathy for the countless fathers, mothers, and children denied insulin, chemotherapy, or critical surgeries by the very system he oversaw? To be clear, violence is never the answer, nor is celebrating a death. But in a world where medical debt routinely ruins lives and survival increasingly feels like a privilege, itâs unsurprising that anger is directed at those who profit from widespread suffering. The fact that the CEO was en route to a meetingâone that proceeded despite his murderâfeels grimly emblematic of a system so detached from humanity it prioritizes business as usual over human tragedy. â From a Digital Anthropology perspective, the online aftermath of this case is a study in collective trauma, resistance, and absurdity. Within hours, mugshots, memes, and conspiracy theories flooded platforms like TikTok and Reddit. There are rumors of a manifesto (possibly fake), merchandise emblazoned with phrases like Deny. Defend. Depose., and fan-fiction that casts Mangione as a modern-day vigilante. His strikingly conventionally attractive mugshot certainly didnât hurt the viral appeal, and the TikTok parallels to Fight Clubâs Robert Paulson only added fuel to the digital wildfire. Whatâs perhaps more telling is how quickly Mangioneâs perceived political alignment shifted public opinion. At first, he was embraced by leftist circles, his online footprint scrutinized for signs of ideological purityâReddit posts, Goodreads reviews (covered by the NYT!), tweets, and subscriptions picked apart like digital tea leaves (this Substack by Robert Evans does an excellent job of analyzing Mangione). But when clues emerged suggesting he might lean rightâThiel-adjacent, evenâthe cracks in this constructed hero narrative widened. Mangione wasnât who they wanted him to be, and in that dissonance lies a fascinating truth: in our rush to assign meaning, we often fill the blanks of identity with our own projections. Corporate Americaâs response has been equally telling. Rattled executives are scrambling to enhance security measuresâa reactive move that misses the broader critique entirely. The NYPD, meanwhile, is investigating a wave of Wanted posters depicting various corporate CEOs, an ominous sign of growing tension between ordinary people and the corporate elite. Historically, the grievances being voiced echo the rhetoric of revolutionâcalls against inequity, exploitation, and systemic cruelty that feel eerily reminiscent of the French Revolution. With Pluto in Aquarius once again, a cosmic alignment synonymous with upheaval and transformation, the parallels are hard to ignore. (Yes, of course Iâm bringing THAT astrology dispatch into this again, I'm obsessed ok?) From a digital perspective, this isnât just a storyâitâs a cultural artifact. It encapsulates how modern frustrations manifest online, where collective grief and anger morph into humor, resistance, and defiance. The memes, merch, and playlists arenât just distractions; theyâre tools of storytelling, coping mechanisms for a world where absurdity often feels more real than reality. And so, we watch. We meme. We cope. And we try to make sense of a world teetering on the edge of something bigâsomething inevitable. â Permission to Play: The Radical Joy of StickersSomewhere along the way, between childhood and adulthood, weâre told to leave silliness behind. To grow up, be serious, focus on what matters. But lately, Iâve been finding a surprising kind of joy in something deeply silly: stickers. Yes, stickersâthose tiny, shiny, unapologetically frivolous things that most of us associate with childhood notebooks and the giddy joy of Lisa Frank binders. But hereâs the thing: stickers arenât just for kids. Theyâre for anyone who needs a little burst of delight in their day. Theyâre simple, accessible, and wonderfully satisfying. Stickers give you the pleasure of creating somethingâdecorating, embellishing, playingâwithout the burden of needing elaborate supplies or any real skill. You just peel, stick, and suddenly the world feels a little less serious. For me, stickers tap into something deeper than simple aesthetics. They make my inner kid so happy. Every time I press a little fox or a glittering star onto the page, Iâm reminded of how much joy I used to find in small, inconsequential things. That unselfconscious delight is still there, buried beneath the layers of responsibility and self-seriousness that come with adulthood. Stickers are my way of reconnecting with it, of letting myself enjoy something just because. Theyâve also taught me a powerful lesson about perfectionism. For years, I hoarded notebooks and stationery, always saving them for some imagined âperfectâ momentâwhen I had more time, more creativity, more reason to justify their use. But that day never arrived, and those beautiful things just sat there, pristine but untouched, weighed down by my own impossible expectations. Stickers broke me out of that cycle. They encouraged me to start where I was, to use the things I already had, and to let go of the need for everything to be flawless. A little crooked? Who cares. Not quite the right color? Doesnât matter. What began as a small actâdecorating the corner of a to-do listâturned into something bigger: permission to embrace imperfection, to find joy in the now instead of waiting for some imagined future. Itâs easy to underestimate the power of small actions. But in a world that feels relentlessly heavyâwhere every headline feels like a fresh wave of chaosâthese tiny acts of frivolity matter. They remind us not to take ourselves, or the absurdity of everything, so seriously. A sticker is just a sticker, yes. But itâs also a rebellion against the grind, a way to carve out a moment of joy in the middle of everything. On the road, stickers have become my favorite companion. Theyâre light, portable, and endlessly forgiving. Stuck in an airport terminal, scrawling half-coherent notes in my notebook, I can slap a little star or a cartoon fox on the page, and suddenly it feels less like a chore and more like a moment of play. Itâs a tiny shift, but itâs transformative. And maybe thatâs the broader lesson: play isnât frivolous. Itâs necessary. Stickers might seem trivial, but theyâve become my way of pushing back against the weight of perfectionism, the pressure to perform, the relentless march of productivity. Theyâve taught me to find joy in imperfection, to embrace silliness, and to make space for small, beautiful thingsâeven when everything else feels overwhelming. Because sometimes, itâs the smallest things that carry the most meaning. A sticker, a doodle, a scrap of washi tapeâtheyâre not just decorations. Theyâre acts of joy, resistance, and self-compassion. Theyâre reminders that even in a world full of chaos, we can still make room for beauty, however small. So if youâve been waiting for permission to play, here it is. Go grab a sticker sheet, a notebook, or even just a pen to doodle in the margins. Let go of the need to get it âright.â Let yourself play. You might just find that the smallest acts of silliness have the biggest impact. [I really went wild in Japan's LOFT store] â My Holiday Bucket ListThe Winter Solstice is a time for rest and renewal, a pause to honor the longest night of the year and the slow return of the light. Itâs about gratitude for surviving another turn of the wheel and preparing your âmental soilâ for all the ideas and projects youâll plant in the spring. This season, Iâm focusing on cozy traditions that ground me, spark joy, and celebrate the beauty of slowing down. Hereâs whatâs on my holiday bucket list this year: Drink
Eat
Cozy Activities
WatchMovies:
Special Marathons:
Interactive Fun:
TV Episodes:
â Coming Up:Thanks to everyone who voted in the poll! Iâll be pulling together a list of my favorite reads of the yearâhopefully just in time for you to sneak a few extra gifts under the tree. Whether youâre shopping for someone else or treating yourself, I hope you find something that sparks inspiration, curiosity, or joy. Next week will be our very last dispatch of 2024, and I just want to take a moment to say thank you. Your support, engagement, and thoughtful conversations have meant the world to me this year. Iâm so grateful for this little corner weâve carved out together, and I canât wait to see what next year has in store for all of us. Until next week, take care of yourselves, find those glimmers of joy where you can, and donât forget to restâyour body, your creativity and your productivity will thank you for it! |
Join Digital Anthropologist and Author Rahaf Harfoush for a weekly dispatch that covers culture, technology, leadership and creativity. Come for the analysis, and stay for the memes.
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