I recently had a rare and precious chance to get a cross-section of public opinion on my act of civil dissent, while remaining largely anonymous (i.e. “that stupid cow in the red hat”). While I’m cultivating a habit to steer clear of internet comments, I waded through this particular minefield in the name of research. Said research was quite rewarding: I found that people’s criticisms usually fell into one of three categories: (1) why aren’t you at work? (2) what is this going to achieve?; and (3) why aren’t you protesting something closer to home?
It’s N3 that I want to talk about. Not the blindingly obvious reasons why I’m protesting against Trump while I’m in the UK. But the connection between protesting and home.
The very notion of home is currently very mercurial for me. I’m a thoroughly globalized Millennial snowflake, and while my passport isn’t fancy enough to let me travel just anywhere without a colonoscopy at the embassy and border visa application process, I don’t have a problem with the idea of uprooting my life and moving to a new country at the drop of a hat. (My bank account may have a problem with it, but that’s a different story.) Any bonds I have to my birth country that’s fighting tooth and nail to be in Europe, and to the soggy island that’s trying to paddle away from it, are forged of people I care about. Whether these people are the family I was born into, the family I found, or the crowds that spend weeks on the barricades at minus twenty Celsius. I sound pretentious as I say it –Millennial snowflakes are expected to – but over the past ten years I’ve become a citizen of the world without trying or noticing.
Citizen of the world, with a Ukrainian passport and a UK residence card. Instead of having one home, I could have three.
Then, one by one, each of these three homes got threatened. Ukraine made it through the revolution, only to spend every day since then fighting back a wannabe Tsar who wants his empire back. The UK, while convulsing all over, decided it’s best to kick out job-holding, tax-paying freeloaders like my husband and me. As for the world, well…
So you tell me where I’m supposed to protest.
Should I go back to Ukraine? What help I could give there I’ve been giving over the past three years, with my knowledge of English, writing skills, and donations to help soldiers. Even when the revolution was happening in the downtown, I wouldn’t have been any more useful on the field than I was at my laptop.
Should I fight for civil rights here in the UK? Conservation in the UK? Labor unions in the UK? Climate change policy in the UK? Any search for campaigning advice will tell you to “get in touch with your MP.” I don’t have an MP. I don’t have a vote in any election that takes place here. Even if the EU citizens had a vote during the Brexit referendum, I still wouldn’t have had one, because I’m from outside the EU.
So I’m left with one just battleground. The world. And make no mistake that the stakes in any protest against The Clockwork Orange in the Oval Office are on the global scale.
The good news is, this is one battleground on which I have power. Here, I don’t need the right to vote. I don’t need representation in any parliament. The requirements are simple: a brain with which to create, and a body with which to show up. I’m a human being. That’s plenty. (In fact, I’m a human being with a fucking internet connection! For this battleground, that’s, like, officer material.)
Go protest at home?
Go protest about something closer to home?
I’m a citizen of the world. I’m a citizen of this goddamn planet.
And this is why I will keep making my stand, on whichever geography, while there’s still geography left to make a stand on.
In the hope that those who have more power than I will take note. And those who have less power than I will take heart.
On January 22nd, I lay awake at 3 am. If you know my nightowl self at all, you’d sooner be surprised by the lying down part than the awake part. But over the past few days, I’d gotten sleep in two-hour scraps around the clock, so I was trying to restore a semblance of a circadian rhythm, hence the early-for-me bed time.
The past week had been a flurry of preparation for the protests on Friday and Saturday. Friday, January 20th saw the first rally I put together myself, to support #BridgesNotWalls worldwide. Saturday the 21st was Women’s March in Liverpool. During the weekend, I made a couple of new friends, talked to more people I usually interact with in a month, was approached by a handful of reporters, and had my first, albeit peaceful, encounter with the police. I made it to two newscasts of localradiostations as well as the regional branch of the BBC, an article in the local newspaper, and a Facebook video of the same local newspaper that got some 40k+ views and made a few hundred people very angry.
Photos by Liverpool Echo, myself, and our photographer Simon
The whole experience was gratifying. Following protests on social media is an entirely different experience when you’re also a part of them. Whether or not you see a picture of your event/face crop up somewhere, you feel connected to these hundreds, thousands, hundreds of thousands of people around the world.
But enough with the platitudes, positive as they may be. Here’s the real talk.
When you try and fail to sleep, your brain is your worst enemy. It’s at those moments that all useful feelings – strength, camaraderie, even anger – fade away, and give room to fear. That cold feeling in the pit of your stomach that tells you that you can’t really change anything. That it’s all for naught. That all the ill-wishers– actually, let me take a moment and speak to the ill-wishers.
Hello, ill-wishers. Yes, you who slam protesters and activists for being pointless. Guess what – you’re not original. Or did you really think that anything you can say to us we haven’t already heard from ourselves? Spoken in our own voice on sleepless nights, from the dark corner of our minds, from the cold pit of our stomachs? You think your comments are a revelation to us? Then again, I doubt you’ve given it much thought. You just want to give yourself a little meaning at someone else’s expense. You’re pathetic. Moving on.
To battle my 3 am demons, I turned to my vials of light. You know, in The Lord of the Rings, when Galadriel gives Frodo a crystal vial containing the light of a star, and says: “May it be a light to you in the dark places, when all other lights go out.” I have a few vials like that, with distilled memories of certain days that shine brighter than others. When I need some light, I reach for them. Last night, I imagined it very clearly – pulling on a stopper, and watching the memory unfold from its crystal container, flooding my senses. It was a memory of a summer day a few years ago. It helped.
And then, with the vial back on the shelf, I turned back to my 3 am demons, and that was the moment I learned something very important. I figured out why I take action, online and offline – and why I will KEEP doing that, for as long as I possibly can.
I do it because it helps me be less scared. Because you see, the insomniac small hours of the morning always have and always will be full of demons. That’s nothing to worry about. It’s when they spread to your other waking hours that you have a problem. And taking action, it doesn’t banish the demons, doesn’t erase the fear – but it does keep them contained. Shackled to their 3 am prison. Only capable of hurting you when you’re at your weakest.
And when you’re forced to walk through the demons’ dungeon at night, through a corridor that’s so narrow they can claw at you through the bars of their cages – it’s important to know that at the end of this corridor, is another morning. When you will wake up, and take action. And the demons’ cages will slam shut, and stay shut.
Are you feeling scared about the world right now? Drag your demons out into the light. Fight them until you draw blood. Then put it on your banner.
Let’s say you’re on a diet. No, scratch that. Diets are bad. Let’s say you’re on the path towards a consistently healthier lifestyle: keeping an eye on your portions, eating more veg, drinking more water, exercising, etc. And every day, you wake up to a message that says something like:
“Thanks to your healthier habits yesterday, you lost about 50 g of fat. Also, your reduced sugar intake throughout the past week reduced your risk of type II diabetes by a further 1%. Keep it up!”
Then you go to brush your teeth, and your mirror shows a comparison of your left molar now vs. the state it would’ve been in had you not been brushing your teeth diligently for the last six months, and the progress that a wannabe-cavity would’ve made. It also tells you how many days you’ve had without your teeth sensitivity acting up.
And then you go for your morning run, and your fitbit doesn’t just keep track of your speed, heart rate, whatnot, but tells you exactly how much you’ve improved since last time and how much muscle you’ve built, Or maybe you’re doing yoga, and you know that you’re some 75% of the way to that one position that’s proving tricky.
Oh, and the best part? There’s a setting in your omniscient statistician that lets you skip any negative messages. As in, on the day you forget to eat your greens or skip your run, it doesn’t tell you off. There’s no negative reinforcement, simply lack of a positive one. And the funny thing is, that’s how most people keep their OmniStat set up – and studies show that is, indeed, the most effective way to get their stuff done.
So, how do you like my dreamworld? Does this system remind you of anything?
If not, let me give you more clues. Imagine that you fight monsters and go on quests. And every time you defeat a monster and complete a quest, you gain a certain amount of “points” that either get distributed to various abilities you have, or go towards your next “level”, upon reaching which you find all your abilities and characteristics boosted.
Imagine you got a reward for everything you do that is healthy and productive (and maybe not even get penalized for failing to do those things, simply have no further reward). Imagine if every piece of progress you made was measurable and known to you. In fact, imagine if the exact information about your progress – actual, unbiased data, not “so far so good”, not “miles to go before you sleep”, but REAL data, like “the first draft of your novel is currently 25.5% complete”. Imagine that info alone WAS your reward.
For me, that would be enough. A token, robotic “well done!” with a progress report, every time I made progress in the right direction, be it health or career. (Let’s leave relationship and morals out of here.)
Of course, there’ll be many of you out there who will tell me to put my big girl pants on.
“You want to know why she doesn’t kiss you on the forehead and give you a gold star on your homework at the end of the day,” says Nigel from The Devil Wears Prada to Andy, who’s having a crisis over being the underappreciated assistant to the titular character. Well, screw you, Nigel! I WANT that gold star! Maybe not from someone who pays my wages, but from a friend, a partner, or at least from an AI that’s been programmed to do so!
Yeah, yeah, I know. Big girl pants. Maybe you’re right. After all, the rest of the world is coping just fine. Every human adult (that has the financial and societal means to do so, anyway) keeps on top of their work and family responsibilities, pursues satisfying hobbies in their free time, eats healthily, exercises regularly, is in touch with their personal brand of spirituality and/or emotional management, never suffers from burnout, and knows how to prioritize long-term improvement over short-term gain. Also, the Vulcans have landed and Starfleet is recruiting.
With this in mind, if you’re a proponent of the “big person pants” method, feel free to put yours on. (And tell me where you got them, since my size-20 butt is in constant search of a good denim supplier.)
The rest of you, let’s embrace our inner five-year-old for a moment. Because I’m willing to bet that an average five-year-old is a lot happier than any of us grown-ups.
Games Are Fun
The word “gamification” gets thrown around a lot lately. At its core, gamification is exactly that: transforming a non-game element of life into a game of sorts, with a reward. You probably heard of various apps that help you build habits and reward your performance with their own gold star equivalent. Maybe you’re using one. Maybe you tried one once. Maybe you never wanted to try, because you figured that your deeply entrenched habits (or lack of) wouldn’t be affected by a mere app. (Maybe you’re also someone who never played Farmville, Mafia, or any other Facebook game that requires you to regularly log in and press buttons.)
Thing is, gold stars are fun. V.E. Schwab agrees, and her writing work ethic is something that still leaves me crying in the corner with white envy.
They don’t give gold stars on the homework where I come from, and I didn’t gamify much for myself when I was young. In fact, I was a pretty boring child, teen, and young adult. I’ve learned academic achievement (graded since age 7), embraced the system and learned to work within it very effectively. Then again, grades themselves are an imaginary reward. Sure, grades have a lot of impact on your life, but the currency of grades is converted so many times and affected by so many factors that the reward itself IS mostly imaginary.
Thing is, I got so good at working inside that system that I was quite lost outside of it. In school and uni, I’d get graded on my achievements. At home, I had no such motivation to keep my place clean. I also had little motivation to exercise: sure, my back hurt a lot from the sitting, but I’ve always had a bad back, plus a neck trauma at age 9, so moderate back pains were just my reality. And as far as eating healthily went, I’d absorbed just enough toxic beauty standards from the media and the family to periodically count calories without regard to the real nutritional value of the food I was eating.
Boy, was the 20-25-year-old me a delight.
Don’t get me wrong, she had a GPA somewhere upward of 3.9 and a well-paying job in an international financial company – but these were combined with zero ability to take care of one’s home and health. I read books on time management and followed several programs for struggling homemakers (as well as an online food management plan). And I won’t deny it: some of it worked. Some useful tricks stuck.
Preteen me, however, gamified chores. She play-pretended a help agency that employed various fictional characters to assist other fictional characters, in a land that was a mishmash of stories that would give Once Upon a Time a run for its money. Every chore was storified (one I remember right now is that changing bedsheets was cleaning a giant eagle’s nest), kept track of, and even invoiced (heavens know where I found a stack of self-copying flimsies).
It was fun. I got my gold stars from the system I’d put in place myself – and somehow, they were reward enough.
Now, in my early thirties, I still remember some of the tricks I learned from self-help books and courses. But mainly, I use Zombies, Run! for jogging, I recently got back to HabitRPGHabitica when I realized how much my routines suffered when I abandoned it, and I’m still considering the Nerd Fitness Rebel Academy as a way to shape my exercise routines into something more than a month of running twice a week followed by a month of skipping out.
And let me tell you: it’s working. Last night, I fell asleep without brushing my teeth, and today, I felt bad about that.
Not because I worried about my dental health. But because didn’t get to check off “Brush teeth – evening” on my list of daily habits. Which meant not getting the XP and gold I would’ve gotten for my tiny level 61 rogue, who’s currently riding a lion into battle.
Go on, call me silly and tell me to go put my big girl pants on. But tomorrow, I’m restarting my thrice-weekly running habit, because I want to know what happened to Abel Township after some zombies fired a grenade launcher to it. And tonight, I won’t forget to brush my teeth.
P.S. I’m not lying when I say I realized how much my habits suffered when I went off my usual gamification game (heh), so I’m pretty psyched about picking that stuff up again. Expect more blogs like this one.
As befits a self-styled Writer on the Run, I travel a reasonable amount, and I like to think I’m pretty good at it. Only ever missed my train once, and my plane never, save for one very close call.
I do have a love-hate relationship with baggage. (Oh no, it’s getting all emotional again.) On one hand, I have some staple items I want to bring with me everywhere I go. Then again, any baggage-related parts of the following video are officially on my list of turn-ons. (The cheap sushi, less so.)
So, without further ado, let me share with you my 23 ways to stop your baggage getting emotional (because you had to leave it behind or pay extra):
1. Know Your Rights However you’re traveling, make sure you know exactly how much you can bring with you: that includes how many bags, how heavy they can be, AND their dimensions. People tend to think only airlines have baggage restrictions, but actually, so do some long-distance buses. Also, remember that…
2. Size Matters On trains in particular, baggage space can be limited. So it pays to arrive early to claim your rightful luggage rack space (there’s never enough space), or ask the train staff to store your stuff in the luggage car, especially if your suitcase is on the big side. Airlines, now, just love to impose restrictions on its dimensions, and to make you pay for oversized. Similar problems can arise with-
3. Specialized Stuff Skis, surfboards, framed posters, musical instruments – different airlines have different rules for non-standard baggage. If your stuff is too fragile to be checked baggage, many airlines will have you buy a whole separate seat for it. Not something you want to find out when checking in.
4. Bundle Up! A genius trick I saw people use in airports was to bundle two (or more) smaller bags into one piece of luggage using the bag-wrap service. It’s a legit method to get two bags checked even if your ticket only allows for one, provided the total weight is within the limit.
5. Get Clingy Even if you only have one bag, it’s still a great idea to wrap it in cling film: professionally if you can afford a fee in the region of $20 (which often comes with insurance), or even with a roll of sandwich film and duct tape. It “deters” theft (meaning, it won’t stop a determined thief, but might discourage them enough to choose another bag) and saves your pretty suitcase some scuffing. Also, it provides a measure of waterproofing – on rainy days, I’ve received unwrapped bags in a positively dripping state. ALSO, it will stop someone else sneaking dodgy things into your bag.
Note: if you’re flying to the US or some other place with crazy customs , make sure it’s okay to wrap your bags, because rules change all the time.
6. Improvised Stabbing Tools A fun challenge involving wrapped baggage is unwrapping it without sharps (because the sharps are inside), which you may need to do as soon as you get it from baggage claim. When knives are unavailable, pens or keys come in handy (provided you didn’t have to check your house keys because your keychain is a knuckle duster).
7. Wheels Up The jury is still out on what kind of wheels get damaged the least when flying. This airline worker says that four-wheel “spinner” suitcases are best. I’ve seen the exact same kind of suitcase stuck on a luggage belt because its wheel got caught on the end, and I was told that’s how many of these wheels snap off. I remain a two-wheel person, because in my memory, nothing could ever go wrong with those wheels, except in case of…
8. Broken Axles Here’s something you often don’t consider: the impact of your suitcase’s weight on the axle connecting its wheels. Once the axle curves under the weight, the wheels are basically useless, and the repair is costly. I guess that if you’re in the habit of traveling the opposite of light, four wheels may be better for you, since they allow for better weight distribution.
9. Lighten Up Seriously, the best way to avoid broken wheels and bent axles is not to Pack So Gorram Much. I know, it’s easier said than done, but ideally, you should aim to have a luggage you can lift and walk with, and carry-on you can RUN with. Unless you have kids. Then may the gods have mercy on your soul. Then again, airlines will be a bit more lenient on you, too.
10. Let’s Talk Security
Based on the sheer number of people in airports, I assume people fly a lot these days. Yet not once did I pass security without someone within earshot having problems because they left something in their bag they shouldn’t have. (To be fair, once that someone was me and my knuckle duster keychain.) So take a moment while packing your carry-on, and evict sharps, liquids, and gels. Fun fact: honey, jams, and peanut butter also count as a gels, so stick those in your luggage.
11. Under Pressure
Or rather, lack of. The cabin you’re flying in is pressurized to resemble your daily life as much as possible. The luggage hold, though? Containers filled at or around sea level will be trying to burst from the inside, and flimsy shampoo and shower gel bottle tops are apt to open, spilling their contents all over your suitcase. So if you’ve got anything that can spill, wrap it up in an extra layer of plastic.
12. Bring a Bag
If, against your best intentions, you’re over the baggage allowance, you might be allowed to pay for the extra weight, but airlines today are more likely to allow an extra piece of luggage rather than extra kilos in an overstuffed single-piece. So it helps to keep a light zippable bag in your suitcase pocket, for when you need to step out of the check-in line and do some emergency reshuffling. Or consider…
13. The Ultimate Carry On
A dirty trick I used many times was to wear my heaviest items instead of putting them in my suitcase. Yes, sometimes it means sacrificing a measure of comfort, but if you’re stuck for choices, it’s better than having to throw things away. And if someone challenges you on wearing biker boots and a leather jacket at +30, just tell them:
14. Are You Gonna Use That?
On any flight under five hours, you don’t need that much in your carry-on. Bring documents, valuables and whatever you can’t bear to lose in case your suitcase gets misplaced, any sensitive gear, and your choice of entertainment for the flight. Everything else – stick it in your suitcase.
15. No, Seriously, ARE You Gonna Use That?
Tell me if this is familiar: you’re sitting comfortably in your aisle seat, when the person next to the window asks you to shuffle because they need to get their carry-on from the overhead bin. They take what they need, then put it back, because the bag is too big to comfortably keep under the seat in front of them. Repeat ten times during flight, and you’re risking murder charges.
Don’t be that guy. Even if the airline only allows one carry-on, pre-pack a smaller bag inside your main carry-on (a lunch bag or a plastic bag will do), with everything you might need during the flight: book, tablet, headphones, music player, painkillers, and snacks. When boarding, take that bag to your seat, stash the rest overhead, and enjoy your flight as a much nicer human being.
16. What’s For Lunch?
Today’s airlines like to skimp on everything, which often includes food and drink. I know better than to expect food from airlines officially marketed as low-cost, but recently, I found even full-price tickets cutting on-board meals. So take care to investigate if your ticket includes any food, and if not, either pre-order something (and earn miles white at it), or bring some snacks with you. If you’re hoping to buy something on the plane, make sure you’ve got cash on you: because card terminals are notoriously bad at high altitudes. Also, salty snacks are good for motion sickness, so it’s a good idea to stash some pretzels in your bag.
Oh, and remember that any food you bring on board counts as part of your carry-on weight.
17. Tomato Juice
Not exactly a luggage tip, but since we’re on the subject, ever wondered why people order tomato juice on the plane so often? This video has some fun facts about airplane food:
18. Eat Up!
Another food-related fact to keep in mind: your destination’s customs policies. For instance, if you’ve got a layover planned in Australia, you’d better eat everything you brought with you, because it might go in the bin otherwise. Especially all animal-derived foods, and any grains that haven’t been thoroughly killed through cooking.
19. Worried About Privacy?
Then don’t travel to the U.S. Like, ever. But if you really have to, then remember that the customs there are allowed to do whatever they want to your devices – including taking them away for a while. So you’d do best to back up anything you can’t live without. And, you know, don’t carry around any porn. Just saying.
20. Miniaturize or Buy
Put together all the toiletries you use on a daily basis. I’ll bet you that the resulting bundle will weigh in at several pounds. Do you really want to lug that around? Why not buy miniatures, instead? I’ll tell you why – because you can spare the environment and buy sets of empty reusable bottles (also helpful if you’re using some super-special shampoo that doesn’t come in mini). And for things like sunscreen, spare your back, spend a couple of extra dollars and buy it when you land (but not at the airport, gods, no).
21. That Said…
If you’re flying to a holiday destination, shove a swimsuit in your carry-on. If you’re going anywhere else (except home), include a pair of clean underwear and socks. Bags get mishandled. Statistically, some 97% of originally lost luggage gets found and delivered to their owners, but you can do better things while waiting than frantically shopping for clean underwear, or buying a bikini in the hotel gift shop.
22. Are You a Valued Customer?
Frequent flyer cards can come in handy even if you’re not that frequent a flyer. There are airlines that offer perks even to their basic club members: such as extra carry-on allowance, front of line boarding, you name it.
23. The Way Back
Finally, consider your return trip. Are you planning to bring back a lot of souvenirs, or continue moving your childhood books across Europe, one shelf at a time, like yours truly? Are you going to Turkey or Egypt, where you just gots to get that leather jacket? Wherever you’re going, think whether you’ll want to leave extra room in your back for the way back.
I think that’s enough traveling wisdom for today, so – happy packing!
I turned 31 last week. People are expected to have some large existential am-I-getting-old-am-I-a-real-adult-what-am-I-doing-with-my-life crisis when they hit the big three-oh. I didn’t, so I was half-expecting it to hit me this year.
It still didn’t.
Why? Who knows. Maybe because I spent the second half of my twenties having this crisis, and, dare I say, either answered some of the above questions, or have worked out a reasonable proxy for the answer, or learned to rephrase the question?
Am I getting old? Yes. No-one’s getting younger, except Benjamin Button, and he’s got his own set of problems. But I’m in pretty good health. I’ve got no chronic diseases. I’ve accepted that my metabolism is more suitable for post-apocalyptic survival than the modern-day beauty standard. If I want to fit the latter, I’m looking at a lifetime of starving myself, and that’s not my idea of a good time. Making myself fitter for the former, though, means actually making myself fitter. So I’ve been exercising on and off for about a year now, I ran my first 5k this spring, and I’ve been pleased to find that even semi-regular cardio and exceedingly basic yoga are enough to stave off any back pains brought on by my multiple desk jobs.
So: older, yes. Frailer, hardly.
Am I a real adult?
I celebrated my thirty-first birthday with my two friends from middle school, drinking rum and coke – from a coffee jar, because I gave them the only two clean glasses in the apartment I’m currently renting in Kyiv, my home town which I’ve been visiting this month. Does that sound very adult to you?
Then again, I’m reasonably capable of solving problems that I face in the course of daily life. Then again, I am apt to complain about those problems on social media, to my husband, my sister, and whoever else is willing to listen. Then again, I am usually solving said problems even as I’m complaining. Then again, I tend to complain about people who complain too much. Then again and again and again, I have a tendency to lone-wolf my problems (which means I complain yet reject offers of help, or specifically avoid complaining to those who are likely to offer said help) and take on too much responsibility and crash and burn, and refuse to talk to people when I’m crashing (even though informing them of the fact of said crashing would be helpful) and, and, and…
Then again, I’m aware of these things I’m doing, so that’s a plus?
Some say that adulthood is a process. I think adulthood is a gumbo. You throw things in to boil together, you scoop out a bowl when you’re hungry, and other people will take some too, and some of it might spill, and things might bubble up to the surface that you haven’t seen in years, and others might add their own ingredients, and it might taste better on some days than others. But at the end of the day, you’re fed, and so are the people around you, and, with some luck, you’ve got a cool idea on what you want to add to the pot tomorrow.
(Disclaimer: I’m a white person whose highly romanticized version of gumbo mainly comes from Terry Pratchett’s Witches Abroad, but I know a good metaphor when I see one. Also, someone make me some gumbo.)
To sum up, am I a real adult? NEXT QUESTION!
What am I doing with my life?
Oh, right. That was the next question.
It’s the biggie, right? Yes and no. Because I know what I’m doing with my life: I’m a writer. I write novels and comics for life, and everything else for a living. I hope that after many years of hard work, I can make a modest living just from my creative writing, but if that point never comes, it won’t be a tragedy, because I don’t hate my paying job.
The Guardian recently wrote that “A good night’s sleep became the ultimate status symbol”. Arianna Huffington is largely credited for that, and my first instinct is to roll my eyes at someone who advocates the value of sleep while having nine assistants waiting on her – but if I try to imagine myself with even one assistant, I can see the epic struggle for delegation that I’d have to fight against my control freak self. So, good on you, Ms. Huffington, even though as a writer who likes to get paid for my work, I profoundly disagree with your business model.
But if a good night’s sleep is a status symbol these days, then the air is getting pretty thin around my bed – because after finally landing a freelance gig that I enjoy, I work hard on refusing the call of sleep deprivation. I have learned am still learning to budget rest into my schedule, and to tell the client if a deadline is indeed too tight for me. I’ve worked myself into hating my job in the past. I actually like this one, and I don’t want to grow to hate it.
As for my art, well, I recently got a book deal for my first novel. More importantly, I’ve been writing novels for some five years now, and I think I’ve learned how to write a decent book. Even more importantly, I’m writing the story I want to tell. I strongly believe that’s the order of importance. Love for your art > skill in your art > commercial success in your art.
So there we have it. I’m 31. I don’t presume to have all the answers, or to have life figured out (that was something I used to think when I was 25). I don’t pretend to be 100% comfortable with being a “grown woman” – otherwise I wouldn’t feel flattered when I get ID-ed to buy alcohol, or when someone disbelieves the answer when asking my age. (Because a woman is supposed to always be youthful, and all that crap? Another time for this can of worms.)
But I do feel that I’m leveling up at an acceptable pace. After all, the age 30 technically counts as, what, 30% of life expectancy (or more like 40% where I come from) – but I count my adult life from the age of 20 or so. The age when I really started making my own decisions, rather than coasting in the carpool lane with my family’s ideas. It took me five years of that adult life to figure out what I didn’t want out of life. It took me a few more to figure out which one of the things I do want I want the most.
So, yeah. I’ve still got a ways to go to be the millipede from that comic at the top of this blog, but I’m growing a few extra pairs of legs every year. (Now, if only I could teach each one of them to use their own keyboard…)