We all have a list in our heads of the things we do, or want to do, that help us relax, reset, and rejuvenate. Some of these things we do on the reg, and some feel like guilty pleasures only appropriate + doable on vacations. One year when my family and I took a beach trip, we made friends with a French couple. We were there for one week, and they were there for three. Oh la la.
I recently went to an event full of prompts. I knew what I was getting myself into. I had been to many a “I am woman, hear me roar” shindig where strangers become soul sisters in under three hours. Such is the life of a life coach’s daughter, I guess. I usually take to these gatherings like a duck to water, but something inside me snapped AND clicked. It wasn’t the prompts or the people. It was the story I was telling.
The Oscars are about celebrating the multiple facets of the art of film—the actors, the costumes, the special effects, the screenplay, and so on. To some, it honors the behind-the-scenes work of an art form that many people all over the world admire and enjoy. To others, it is a fashion show to drool over and critique. Yet one common theme among discussions about the Academy Awards is the brevity and general superficiality of the acceptance speeches.
I went to a TED Talk inspired campus event that featured personal reflections from four different members of the student community. The purpose of this event was to explore what makes us tick, what we care about and what passions drive what we do. One presentation and conversation stood out because of its multidimensional nature and space for diverse reflection.
There’s a lot of talk out there about how happiness is a choice- how we need to build up the strength to drown out our Negative Nancys with sheer will until we’ve practically reconditioned our impulses. But here’s what I find twisted about this message when it’s disclaimer free:
Across college campuses and within activist communities, young adults are having conversations about the reality of the “American Dream.” Is it still present and tangible? Is it worth fanning the flames? Was it ever real and accessible?
I am a screenwriter. I am a screenwriter. I am a screenwriter. I still feel like a fake-ass impostor when I say it. It feels like an aspiration or at best a half truth.
At a previous job, I was being harassed about my weight. I was working at a progressive nonprofit full of feminist do-gooders, yet my female boss would make comments and pepper me with questions in one-on-ones, during lunch and in staff meetings.