02. Theme is… success
A quest game
Theme is… success
success
[səkˈses]
noun
the accomplishment of an aim or purpose.
the good or bad outcome of an undertaking.
I’m trying to clearly define success while another round of personal existentialism sets in.
What does success look like for me?
What do I want to achieve, both professionally and personally?
How will I know if I’ve gone and dun good?
Of course I’m programmed to brood away the day rather than set concrete OKRs.
The inner monologue is a track running something like: “Gurl sit at the table and take up space, but not too much space. Choose your fighter and Mortal Kombat your way through the day’s meetings, company politics, big personalities that didn’t get enough attention when they were younger (it shouldn’t be your problem, but omfg it really is), and that never-ending to-do list—all with a smile, because bitterness isn’t attractive (especially if you’re a woman, unless you’re making fun of yourself and that too has its limitations). Then gear up for your post daycare pickup second shift, and/or your partner, and/or familial/friend/acquaintance obligations. And don’t forget to invest in your side hustle. That thing that makes you really tick, ‘cause otherwise you’d be a soulless sap. When your dreams die, you die. Get? There’s never a minute when it’s not go-time and if there is, you’re doing something wrong. Sleep is for pussies. Are you a pussy?”
…
Another nagging thought: A grossly antiquated marker of female success is birthing another human. [Our heir! Our lineage! Our namesake, for generations to come!]
Propagation is pure biology; and biology, even with the wonders of science playing a few hands, leaves a lot to chance. Chance!
So why is a percentage of a woman’s success tied to squeezing another being out of her cooch? Why are childfree women still seen as a little less than, a little selfish, a little defective? And why, despite all the logic, despite being above the barren-haters, does my infertility make me feel like a gigantic failure?
Miscarriages = #Fail
The trifecta of biology, time, and my own sub-par anatomy = #Fail
Anxiety sex as the new normal = #Fail
For a Type-A perfectionist, this failure loop is torture. I know it’s not up to me, but I feel like I’m the one to blame and the one who’s responsible for fixing it.
Maybe this year is about letting go. Freeing myself from expectations. Being comfortable with the undefined.
Success. Failure. They’re words. They only gain power when attached to our insecurities.
Perhaps it’s time to mute all these mind fucks of coulda-shoulda-woulda, abandon the theatre of plausible future realities. Maybe it’s time for me to be more present and content with all the small wins—because they too are a form of success.
This week’s feels
Reads: Lunch Poems by Frank O’Hara. Great, snackable poems about people-watching in Manhattan at noon. And they all fit perfectly in a pocket-sized paperback. Here’s a taste from one of my dog-eared pages, “On the Way to San Remo”:
The 6th Avenue bus trunk-lumbers sideways
It is full of fat people who cough as at a movie
They eat each other’s dandruff in the flickering glare
Flix: Midnight Diner on Netflix. Every episode follows patrons of an alley diner in Shinjuku, open from midnight to 8 a.m. The customers each have an obsession with a particular dish that feeds personal nostalgia [like nekkomamma, or cat rice]. At the end of the show, Master [the chef], quickly shows us how to make one of the dishes featured in the episode. とてもかわいいです。
Beats: “The President Has a Sex Tape” by K. Flay.
The president has a sex tape
The government sold you drugs
I’m just trying to get paid
But nobody’s coughing up
Pods: Pod Save America, “Two Americas”. A recap of Trump’s insurrection from last week and how it totally Kanye-Wested Raphael Warnock and Jon Ossoff’s historical and pivotal wins. Also talks on the powerful role grassroots organizers played in the Georgia Senate runoff.💪🏻💪🏼💪🏽💪🏾💪🏿
Eats: Rhubarb scones. Riffed off of this recipe from Food52. Went halfsies on the sugar and substituted buttermilk for the heavy cream. Mega-yumliciousness.
Loves: The Japanese tradition of kintsugi [金継ぎ], or “gold joinery” [thanks @chelle_fr]. Kintsugi is an artful way to repair ceramics, rejoining broken pieces with gold. The metallic seam, like a scar, serves as part of the object’s history and a reminder that there’s beauty in the way we heal.💔
Misses: Morning runs by the Meditteranean.
Gram crush du jour
Credit: @noisnewyork