It took me a lot longer than I wanted it to, but I was finally able this weekend to sit down and finish reading Jonny Sun’s book of essays, Goodbye, again. To be fair, it also took me longer than I’d planned to pick it up, but that’s mainly because I kept getting distracted by other things. But I’ve made a renewed push to read more this summer (and fall, hopefully), and this book sat on my bedside table for the past month or so waiting to be finished.
Something I really enjoyed about the book is its vulnerability. Sun writes on a variety of subjects in this book, from grief to loneliness to joy, all buoyed by his uniquely identifiable sense of illustrations. The whimsy of his previous book—and the Twitter persona that spawned it—takes a backseat to earnest reflection.
There’s a lot of good stuff to read in here, from meditations on what it would be like to experience the end of the world to essays about caring for plants. One of my favorite pieces is one near the latter part of the book, where Sun talks about the sense of place; of feeling discomfort in your old haunts, and even with your old people. The essay is called Removing, and the opening paragraph talks about something I’ve struggled with in recent years:
“One difficult feeling to fight when I am preparing to leave a place I love is the one that says that once I do, everyone will be totally fine without me, that everything will go on as if I hadn’t existed at all, that I am not a necessary part of whatever the place is, that I can just slip away before the party ends and no one will even realize that I’m gone.”
This feeling endures and encompasses all manner of things, from leaving home to changing jobs. In fact, I recently explored the idea of going to a different company, and I made it far enough in the process that it felt like a decision that I’d have to make sooner or later. But the opportunity fell through. And even though it fell through, the people I was leaving behind made it abundantly clear that I would not be forgotten, which quite frankly would’ve made it all the easier to stay.
Something else that I really enjoy about the book is that each essay—or meditation—is fairly short. You can pick the book up and read a few entries over lunch or in the checkout lane at the supermarket, if that’s the way you choose to read. Or you could plow through the entire book in the course of a day. It’s a brisk read, and even the longer entries (of which there are a few) don’t feel like a slog.
My one complaint about Goodbye, again is the lack of a table of contents or index. There are pieces in this book that I know I’d like to return to someday, and yet I have to hunt for them. But that could also be part of the joy of reading; while looking for the Removing essay, for example, I came across a couple of short paragraphs that were lovely to reread.
All told, I’m glad I read the book when I did. Coming out at the tail end of the pandemic, Sun’s essays provide a lovely bit of reflection. There’s a reason that his TED talk on loneliness and forging connections has been viewed by millions, and it’s because the things he says and writes resonate with people.
They certainly resonated with me, which is why I’d be glad to recommend Goodbye, again to anyone seeking a short-ish book that is packed with lovely thoughts, feelings, and even a little bit of advice on caring for plants.
You can buy Goodbye, again from several major retailers, although I recommend you do so from Bookshop, Indiebound, or your own favorite local bookstore.