A few weeks ago, I had a breakthrough in therapy. I’m great at coming up with solutions to problems and terrible at executing them. It makes a lot of sense. I’m constantly scribbling down schedules and to-do lists in hopes of planning my life into fruition. Rarely do I return to said lists and do the tasks I carefully curated for life improvement. That’s a problem when projects take more than one step. It’s a problem for a lot of things really. Basically all of them. Not great.
Writing this is an exercise in Doing Something. No plans or expectations of myself, just vibes and trying to put a week’s feelings into words. Except lately it doesn’t feel like that. It just feels like a way to justify another week of existence. Recording stupid little details and moments in hopes the kinder eyes of my future self will find them meaningful. To write is to record for the future, or to preserve the present. It is impossible to write without feeling hopeful. It’s also impossible to write, well at least, without some personal reflection. The only sources of this elixir are Self Love and Narcissism. Narcissism requires an amount of self involvement I’m unwilling to extend right now. So I turn to Self Love in a quest to make a plan for my future and survival. Why does that make me feel just as self centered?
Reading this week’s Maybe Baby, I realized most of my thoughts about myself are through the lens of others. My greatest critics have their own channel in my head where they break down my attempts to participate in society, 24/7 ESPN style. It feels selfish to think about myself in a way that isn’t critical. It’s the most ridiculous form of wing clipping and yet the one we fall victim to most often. Let the truth set you free-- no one will ever be meaner to you than you are.
You have to find yourself amongst all the voices in your head and then you have to love yourself enough to go free in the world. We have programmed ourselves to do so many stupid things. We hurt ourselves in hopes of gaining the appreciation of the people we don’t know in our head. We put off doing what we love when faced with change and the unknown. We’re also going to experience a more volatile world than our parents did before. It’s easy to see the quest for self love and acceptance as frivolous, but I think we need to abandon our shame if we’re going to survive the coming horrors. There’s simply no time left to be mean to yourself. Internal anxiety is over. The world is trying to kill you. Don’t fucking let it.
The week in links:
The Emotional Toll of Dirty Work if you read one thing off this week’s list let it be this!
Worn Out a dive into tech’s indifference to fashion as a status symbol
You’re Smart Enough to Pick Your Own Lunch and The Saladbots Are Coming because Sweetgreen is not going to save the world.
Otherland’s Homestead and Manor House collections are next on my candle list.
Molly Young can do no wrong. She’s headed to the New York Times as a Book Critic.
Brene Brown and Ashley C. Ford will make you want to believe in yourself.
The Reality of Reality Television it was capitalism all along!
Fall mood board :)
Happy end of summer! I hope you have a wonderful week.