F*** A Nerd: A Solution to the "Sexodus" Crisis

Ladies, there is a crisis in the land: Cowed and oppressed by the forces of radical feminism, heterosexual men everywhere are checking out of the dating scene and checking into video games and online porn. You might have heard about this crisis, this "Sexodus." It is a terrible, terrible scourge of biblical proportions (the 11th plague) afflicting women everywhere.

But luckily I have come up with a solution:

F*** a nerd.

Find the most pathetic specimen of masculinity possible. The more he loathes himself, the better. The longer he hasn't showered, the more he needs the redemption that only your body can provide. He lives in his mom's basement and watches online porn for 12 hours a day? Perfect.

Throw away those unrealistic and cruel expectations for men manufactured by feminism and romantic comedies. You say you want a man who will treat you with respect, and yet you read "50 Shades of Grey." Twice. Clearly, you don't know what you want.

Plus, you think you're so hot. Well, let me tell you, your expectations are way, way too high. Are you Jennifer Lawrence, Taylor Swift, or Beyonce? No? Then you are fugly at best. However, your female privilege has convinced you that you are all that, two Coach purses, and 54 pairs of shoes. You think you can get a "hot guy" with a job to commit to you. Good luck with that. 

Remember: You can always be replaced with porn and video games. Porn doesn't file false harassment charges. Porn doesn't nag at you to empty the dishwasher or get a job. Porn doesn't say "No" when it means "Yes." Porn doesn't only have sex with assholes. Porn doesn't smile at you one day and put you in the "friend zone" the next. Porn doesn't fight back. Chew on that.

Ladies, if you have sex with a nerd, he might just start to overcome the years of rejection and oppression he has experienced at the hands of our female-dominated society. Sure, he knows he really deserves a supermodel and the six figure job you got just because you are female, but the consolation prize of your subpar body will have to do for now.

Really, it's for the good of humanity, the continuation of the species, and a peaceful resolution to the war on men that's being raged in America.

If we are to end this crisis, drastic measures must be taken. So here's my advice:

Stop trying to get ahead at work. Turn down that promotion. You don't need that promotion. A man needs that promotion.

Stop being good at school [a female-created institution designed to make men feel incompetent and insecure].

Stop volunteering to lead at church. You don't need that leadership position. A man needs that leadership position. If a man stops coming to church, it's your fault for taking the leadership role that was rightfully his.

Stop having expectations for the men you sleep with. It's enough that he condescended to sleep with you in the first place, when he could have been playing Minecraft.

Stop complaining about sexual assault, sexual harassment, and sexism. Men are tired of hearing about it. You are only perpetuating the feminist myth that all men are rapists and pigs. Men will assume that asking you on a date will get them charged with assault.

Stop sending mixed messages. Either you want a real man who forcibly takes what he wants or you want a passive nice guy who treats you as an equal but never makes a move. You can't have both.

Women: the choice is simple. If you don't "lean back" and spread your legs, unemployed men drowning in self-pity who have given up on any semblance of personal hygiene are going to refuse to have sex with you.

Do you want to die single and alone? I didn't think so. Get out there, and start f***** as many undesirable and unattractive men as you possibly can. If you're lucky, one of them might even agree to marry you.

But don't count on it.


Inspirations:
Lysistrata by Eurpides
Matt Walsh
Article about the "Sexodus"

Femininity & The Blank Slate or Why I'm Not Flattered When a Stranger Tells Me I'm Pretty

This has bothered me for a while. 

Every time (yes, generalizing) a girl/woman tells a story about unwanted male attention (catcalling, harassment on the street, being asked out by a stranger, having her personal space invaded,  getting a sexually explicit fb message), someone chimes in with the equivalent of: 

"Jeez, he was just trying to pay you a compliment / be friendly / make a personal connection / ask you on a date." 

In every other situation I encounter in life, I'm supposed to be an adult, which means I have thoughts, I have values, I have past experiences, I have a modicum of practical sense, etc. 

But in this one specific scenario, I'm supposed to be a complete blank, approaching every fresh encounter with a new man as if I had just stepped off planet xx and this was the first time someone had ever told me to "Smile, Beautiful!"

And instead of thanking him or smiling sweetly, I flip him off.

And when I tell the story, someone I know (male) defends that guy on the street (or on the social network). 

"Why can't you give him the benefit of the doubt?" 

So...it's okay for him to objectify me and reduce me to an adjective [My name isn't "Beautiful," you asshat. Oh wait, it is. Nevermind.]

But I must ascribe to him thoughts, feelings, a deep and meaningful history of respect for all women, and, especially, that "he's not like all other guys."

He gets to be an individual with a unique background, history and cultural context, and how dare I treat him as anything less than a unique and special human being. I get to be "a pretty little thing."

"You're being so judgmental."

I mean, right. Maybe he's a really nice guy. Maybe he wouldn't hurt a flying cockroach if it landed in his beef bourguignon. Maybe he loves children, candy necklaces and riding escalators at the mall.

Well, welcome to my world, where making snap judgments about strangers based on past experiences and not making snap judgments about strangers based on past experiences can mean the difference between life and lying dead in ditch somewhere, to put it subtly.

Have you not watched a single episode of Law & Order: SVU? Evolutionarily-speaking, it's better to assume the worst.

This is what doesn't make sense to me. It's okay for me to follow my instincts EXCEPT when I don't respond favorably to a man's romantic overtures, or at least act a little bit flattered that, gee whiz, someone thinks I'm pretty!

"You should be flattered that someone finds you attractive."

The opinion of a total stranger > My safety, sanity and desire to appear in a public place without being harassed.

There's also the not-so-subtle threat: 

Someday you won't be attractive anymore and no one will think you're pretty or make obscene gestures at you from the safety of their motor vehicles AND THEN WHERE WILL YOU BE, HUH?? AT LEAST SOMEONE WANTS TO HAVE SEX WITH YOU, CAN'T YOU SHOW A LITTLE GRATITUDE!!!

Yet another reminder that my primary value as a woman lies in how attractive I am to the opposite sex.

And how to explain the anger some men seem to feel when a woman resists objectification or even--how dare she--complains about it.

I mean, a woman who finds her value within herself without any reference to outside male validation--

How unappealing.

Hey Ladies -- Ask For More Than What You Want [Especially When It Comes to Money]

Hey ladies [that sounds condescending but there are no sufficient alternative word choices], ask for more than what you want. Especially when it comes to money.

I know money is this weird, awkward thing that makes you uncomfortable (or is that just me?), but learning to ask for a fair rate will help you avoid other weird, awkward conversations in the future, like the one where you're sobbing on the phone to your mom that your coworker (who does the exact same job you do) is making escargot to your beans on toast.

Scenario #1 - Sophomore year of college, I'm applying to a summer program in LA called Act One. I apply for a summer grant through my college to pay for the program. Max awarded to each student is $5,000. I do the math and ask for $3,850. Why? Because I'm stupid, that's why. Guess how much they gave me.

Scenario #2 - I'm offered a job as a production coordinator on a music video. The producer offers me a weekly rate of $400 over the phone. My response: "Cool, that sounds great." Well, actually, that was his starting offer. But instead of negotiating, I accepted the first number I heard. Guess how much I got paid.

Moral of the story: ask for more money. In fact, go ahead and ask for more than what you tell yourself you would be happy with.

In fact, you can use the handy 30% rule that I just made up. Take a second and think about what you want. Then ask for 30% more than the number that just popped into your head. 

Let's put this into practice.

Say you want a raise. You currently make $10 per hour. You feel you would be happy making $13 per hour. Ask for $17.

Say you are raising money on Kickstarter to make a short film. You estimate the budget as $5,000. Ask for $6,500.

Say you apply for a temporary gig as a dog walker and are offered a flat weekly rate of $300. Ask for $390, then let them bargain you down.

Now there's a good point--you can always accept less than what you initially ask for. However, it's difficult to roll back time and ask for more.

Reasons we don't ask for more than what we want:

1 - Avoiding disappointment

Manage your expectations. Don't let your expectations manage you. Yes, they might say no. But what are you going to do if that happens? Implode? Doubtful.

2 - Scarce resources

There's not enough to go around as it is, and you don't want to steal food off of Bob's table. But don't worry about Bob. Bob's table is Bob's table. Your table is your table and which would you rather have, slow-cooked pot roast or meat from a can?

3 - I don't deserve more

I know there's been much talk lately about millennials and something called "entitlement," but in my limited experience, women tend to sell themselves short, both in terms of ambition (give me this much money) and their own abilities (you should hire me because...).

4 - Fear of being "not nice"

Money-grubbing, demanding, difficult to work with--insert your own unsavory adjective here. There's nothing wrong with asking nicely. In fact, I recommend it. But ask. Do it.

You could even take this a step further and apply it to your personal relationships.

A guy asks you to hang out with him and his buddies, but you really want to go on a date.

"Hey [random dude's name]. I appreciate that you asked me to hang out, but I really want to hang out with someone 30% hotter than you."

Or

"Hey, I think you're great and I really want you to ask me out on a date."

Or 

"Would you like to go out sometime?"

Now go -- share this blog post on your facebook wall. 

"Ask and it will be given to you; seek and you will find; knock and the door will be opened to you."

Millenials, Entitlement, and Happiness

So, this article came out and people are linking to it and responding to it and I thought I would throw some of my thoughts out there into the mix as an early (late?) millennial who has thoughts, dammit, and wants those thoughts to be heard [I do have a blog, after all. I am Generation Y. Hear me make tentative suggestions via an impersonal platform]. 

Thirst for Adventure

I am a millennial. Sometimes, I confuse adventure with happiness. Whether it's studying abroad, backpacking through Asia, snowboarding the alps, going to Burning Man, eating an endangered species of fire ant, being homeless for a month, or hitchhiking through the Sahara desert, I want to do it all--right now. (Maybe I can raise the funds for my backpacking trip through Kickstarter? Hmm.)

There's this restlessness inside me that refuses to be quenched unless I'm saving orphans in Papua New Guinea while simultaneously inventing a new system of water filtration and launching the latest and greatest app for the iphone. 

I just feel like I'm in stasis, you know. 

I've got it! I'm going to move to LA and pursue a career in filmmaking.

Unnecessary Suffering

Okay. I have a college degree and a background best described as "middle class." I have a few resources (see also "Mommy & Daddy" below).

But, since I'm following my dreams and chasing adventure, I'm living well below the poverty line, subsisting on food stamps (but still eating organic!), sharing an apartment with at least 5 other dudes, and missing one or two student loan payments. 

I work in food service, which I hate, but hey, at least the hours are flexible so I can intern at the record label two days a week. Half the people there don't even refer to me by name (I'm "that weird intern"), but at least I'm pursuing what I love. 

I don't have a car and that sucks, but I think riding the bus is giving me some really good ideas for this screenplay I'm writing about a young person who moves to the big city and meets this homeless man who gives him tons of great advice about how life is about more than just material possessions.

Underemployed and Loving It

Heck, I have so much free time between jobs, I'm writing at least two pilots right now, which I hope to pitch at the monthly networking event I go to (free drinks!). 

I'm thinking about taking an acting class so I can become a better director. I know it's pricey, but if I up my hours at the Cheesecake Factory I should be able to afford it. 

You know who I saw at a party the other day? Ryan Gosling's younger brother, Joe. I wonder if he would be interested in my script about flesh eating slugs who turn out to be harmless, peace-loving aliens with a mission to turn the whole universe vegan.

Mommy & Daddy

I'm not proud about it, but every so often my parents put money in my bank account when I'm not looking. 

I just know that they believe in me and they believe in my dreams as much as I believe in me and my dreams. 

Thanks, Mom & Dad. 

Don't Quit Your Day Job

I work in a book warehouse packing books. Boxes upon boxes of used books arrive at the warehouse every day and are sorted into two piles: keep and throw away. 

One co-worker refers to them as "boxes of broken dreams":

Becoming a Successful, Working, 'Yes, This is What I Do to Pay My Bills' Actor.

Move Out of Your Parent's Basement: A Spiritual Guide

You Too Can Get That Impossibly Beautiful Woman Who is Way Out of Your League to Have Sex With You

Sell Your Screenplay in Five Easy Steps

Every self-help book starts sounding like it's directly judging my life choices: 

If You Have a College Degree And Are As Smart as Your Kindergarten Teacher Said You Were, Why are You Working for Minimum Wage In A Warehouse With No AC During the Summer?

And

What Are You Doing With Your Life? What Would Your College Alumni Magazine Think of You Now?

And 

You Are a Failure

Do not pass go. Do not collect $200. Do not have health insurance. Do not have a good answer when people ask, "What do you do?"

Keep or throw away. Keep or throw away.

Follow Your Dreams

I am a millennial 20 years later. No one writes articles about me anymore. Now, there is a new generation to pick on (I hope they give them a stupid name too. Like "perennials.")

My life has exceeded my expectations, but not in the ways I thought it would. 

I'm still pursuing my dreams--but those dreams have changed or morphed into something new. I know how lucky I am to have these dreams and to have the freedom to pursue them. 

I am happy.

How to Survive a Day Job Without Losing Your Mind

Photo by Rob

Last time I wrote about Working for Free Without Losing Your Self-respect. In this post, you are working for money, not Kit Kats. Congratulations!

However, chances are, you are not yet getting paid to do what you really want to do. You are working a day job--slightly pleasant, less than stimulating, occasionally tedious. Welcome to the next 40 years of your life.

Just kidding.

I believe that you are meant for bigger and better things. But in the meantime, here are some tips to get you through. First--a little contextualizing background: After working for free for a couple months and a month or so of funemployment (I was actually pretty bored), I got a real job working in data entry. So, here goes:

1. Feed your mind.

I may or may not have "watched" an entire four seasons of Grey's Anatomy at my previous day/survival job. Hey. Don't judge. Those were desperate times.

Ok, so don't do what I did and watch trashy TV. If you work at a job that doesn't engage your mind, find something that does. I recommend:

This American Life
Audiobooks. They could save you. Many libraries offer audiobooks for download (no late fees!).
Itunes U

2. Pay your rent.

This may seem obvious, but if you are not making enough money in your day gig to afford rent, you might want to consider getting another job. Or two. Don't go into debt if you can help it. It's not worth it, and chances are you're not going to sell your brilliant screenplay for $$$ just yet.

3. Pursue your passions [on the side].

It can be easy to lose sight of why you moved to Los Angeles in the first place. Just because you're working a day job, doesn't mean you can't pursue your passions. Make time for writing, or acting, or shooting. It may seem counter-intuitive, but sometimes the tedium of 9-5 can be a shot in the arm, creatively speaking.

4. Flexibility FTW

If you get to choose your day job, I would choose something that gives you the flexibility to pursue your passions. Sometimes, it can be a trade off between pay and flexibility, but if you can get both--my job was more of a survival job [as in, barely making enough to survive], but it did give me the flexibility to work other, filmmaking type jobs. I lucked out. Ideally, your work will support you and your goals.

5. Respect your work.

At the same time, it's important to respect the work that you do, that people are counting on you to do your job and do it well, whether that's pulling pints or packing boxes. Respect your boss, respect your co-workers, respect the work.

6. Write it down.

If you are working a particularly boring job, you will have a TON of ideas. A ton. Make sure to write them down (if it doesn't interrupt your work). Scribble stuff in a notebook on your lunch break. Brainstorm during your commute. Take advantage of the ideas that come to you when you're not even trying.

7. Surrender your expectations.

This is a tough one. But if you can, work on letting go of your expectations for success--of what you "should" have achieved by now. Yes, some of your peers will be more successful than you at this stage. So what? You are not your job. And besides, the job that's going to fulfill you completely doesn't even exist. If you're currently working a survival job, I highly recommend reading this post (part of a great series) about underemployment: I Work, Therefore I Am.

8. This is only a phase.

I repeat: this is only a phase. Yeah, I guess you could end up working at Chipotle for the rest of your life, but I highly doubt it. I bet you 12 Kit Kats you'll end up doing something else. I used to stalk about mentally wringing my hands over how I was "wasting my life" working a job that didn't challenge me. Take heart. There is more.

Tune in next time for "Your First Real Industry Job: Don't Screw It Up."

Shame, Expectations and Unnecessary Suffering

I was on the verge of tears--not at sad news though. At happy news, good news, welcome news. These, however, were not happy tears, I'm dismayed to report. These were more like tears of frustration--frustration over unnecessary suffering.

I'm sure none of you were ever like this, but as a child, I was fully capable of making myself unhappy--of denying myself good things like forgiveness, hugs, even pastry, because I was determined to be miserable, no matter what. There's a pride of grief, of unhappiness, of cutting off your nose to spite your face, because it's MY nose dammit, and I'll do what I please with it. Let the noseless rejoice in their sweet, if unsavory, suffering. 

Of course as an adult, my suffering is much more refined now, if still as unnecessary as ever. For one, there's procrastination, which many agree is a fine, even dignified form of suffering. You suffer, you suffer, you get the work done--and then the suffering ends, and you're left with nothing but emptiness where the suffering once was. 

Then there's the suffering of extremes, the rushing from one pole to the other in a frenzy of self-abnegation. Pick a personal fault, any fault. Perhaps you are prideful, insensitive, egotistical--sometimes. Generalize this fault into an all-encompassing final word on the nature of your basic character. You are arrogance itself. Criminally insensitive to other people. You are flawed to the core, and somehow, it feels so right to be so wrong. Tears. Abasement before God and perhaps other people. It all makes sense now. And this suffering will save you from yourself. 

And let's not forget the suffering of standards and expectations, your own and others', that you will never be able to live up to. Ever. The kind of things where you fail before you even start. Where you can never make him or her happy, no matter how hard you try. And even if you make that grade, get into that school, land that job, they will never be proud of you. And even if they were, it still wouldn't be enough. The kind of standards where you're tempted to say, screw it. Forget it. I won't even try. But even then, the bitterness rises up inside of you. And you suffer. 

And what about the suffering of miscommunication. Missed communication. Message not received. This one, perhaps, eats me up most of all. You spoke, but I was not listening. But I heard you say--But you never said--And I never bothered to ask--Because to ask, for clarification, for reassurance, for love, is to admit vulnerability. To admit that I need you. That I need. All that I wanted was there for the taking. I had only to ask. But I did not ask because I did not want you to know how much I wanted to ask. I would not risk even that one moment of vulnerability, because I would rather you see me as self-contained and complete, needing nothing, no one. 

Which brings me to the suffering of self-sufficiency. Some people, and I don't admit to knowing anyone like this, would much rather suffer than ask for help. Would much rather risk isolation than rejection. Let's be real here. There are certain types of martyrdom that are very highly regarded in our society, the most socially accepted of them all probably being martyrdom for your job, your career, your art. My art is my life, you say. Nonsense. You are not a paintbrush. Your life is your life. No one, not even God, is asking you to suffer for art. 

That's the problem with suffering though. It can feel so good. So noble. Soul-cleansing even. It's like eating vegetables--this tastes so bad it must be good for me. 

But is it necessary?




Sources of inspiration:

http://peterrollins.net/?p=3739
The story of Hannah as heard at http://www.churchinhollywood.com/#/sundays/podcasts

Facebook and Telling Our Own Stories

"Is that your girlfriend?"
"What?"
"In your facebook profile picture. The one you're dancing with. Are you a lesbian?"
"No. That's MY TWIN SISTER."
-Not a real life conversation. Oh wait, this actually happened. *facepalm*

I've been thinking recently (and not so recently) about the relationship between my real life and my social media life. I've been thinking about how we "write" our lives--both online and off.

When it comes to social media, it seems that not only do we need to lead a happy, fulfilling, sparkly life, we have to prove that we are living a happy, fulfilling, sparkly life. Having lemonade on the porch with a good friend and a weighty philosophical tome? Instagram it. Convinced you have the best boyfriend everrrr? Tag him in a post on facebook. Losing weight on an awesome new diet/exercise plan? Tweet daily updates of your progress.

Of course these things aren't wrong or bad. It just sometimes feels like the equivalent of grabbing the world by the shoulders and screaming, "Look at me. I'M HAVING FUN AND LIVING LIFE!! DO YOU BELIEVE I'M HAVING FUN YET??!!"

There's something about expectations and being in your 20s. Or expectations and being in your 30s. Or expectations and being in college. Or expectations period. These are the best years of your life, after all. Shouldn't you be out there enjoying them?

And so we post pictures. And we tell a story. A story about our lives and how much fun we're having. Whether we mean to or not, we tell a story of one kind or another.

Facebook, of all things, understands this. I remember joking about the ads I would get when my relationship status was listed as "single."

"__ years old and still single?" (obviously, you're a freak). "Lose weight with this awesome new diet!" (and then you will feel lovely and desirable). "Revolutionary treatment for herpes!" (no wonder I'm single: I weigh 250 pounds and my body is ridden with STDs).

And what could concern me about these ads is their emphasis on controlling women's bodies. My body. My other body. (You're female. Clearly you're unhappy with your body and you want to lose weight.)

But facebook is not the only one telling me stories about myself, repeating back to me the stories I have consciously or unconsciously told.

And it's not all negative, either. I enjoy the stories that my friends tell. I realize that they're not the whole picture, however--not even close.

Have you ever tried talking to someone whose entire picture of your life is based on social media? It's very confusing.

Recently, a (former) facebook friend summed up my life in one damning question: "Still having trouble finding a man?" (Yes. Haven't you been paying attention? Lesbian. 250 pounds. Herpes. 'Nuff said.)

I found this confusing for several reasons. For example, if I'm looking for "a man," will any man do? Why am I trying to find him? Is he lost? I did not remember having a face-to-face, heart-to-heart with this person about my attempts at finding this poor man. And yet, to him, this was my story.

I can't find a man. Done. Finished. Written in bold.

Nevermind that the phrasing is insulting. Nevermind the "still," implying a lengthy search over an extended period of time (It's all I ever do, actually. Really. I'm exhausted.) Nevermind the implication that not having found a man, I am incomplete. Nevermind that this narrative has little to do with what I want and everything to do with being wanted. Nevermind how much it pisses me off that a woman can be belittled so easily with so little.

Most of all, that this was the story I'm telling, via facebook, via blogging. We tell stories. Other people tell them back to us, adding their own spin. I write about dating. I must be beyond desperate to find a man (any man) who will date me.

Bullsh**.

This is my story. I get to write it. Better yet, I get to live it. Granted, I can't completely control the hermeneutic by which other people choose to interpret my story, and that's frustrating. I can't even, on my own, eradicate the harmful stories that advertisers continue to tell women about their bodies, their lives, their worth.

But I will continue to write. And, reader, what you choose to believe is up to you.

Sincerely,
A 250 Pound Lesbian with Herpes

Who I Am v. Who I Wish To Be

“Before I can tell my life what I want to do with it, I must listen to my life telling me who I am.” 

-Parker J. Palmer, Let Your Life Speak

I read (most of) an intriguing little book by Parker J. Palmer called Let Your Life Speak. It's a book about calling, vocation and listening as a means to discovering calling and vocation. 

Part of letting your life speak is separating who you are from who wish you were.

To give an example: I wish I were more of a technical/visual filmmaker than I am. I wish I could get excited and nerd out about new technology. I wish I cared about the visual style of David Fincher or John Ford. I wish I intuitively understood the difference between different video codecs.

Zadie Smith wrote a great essay about ideal readers and the authors they do not choose (rather, the writing of that author chooses you). She writes of E.M. Forster:

It happens that I am E.M. Forster's ideal reader, but I would much prefer to be Gustave Flaubert's or William Gaddis's or Franz Kafka's or Borges's. [...] Rightly or wrongly, I feel I get all his jokes and appreciate his nuances, that I am as hurt by his flaws as I am by my own, and as pleased when he is great as I would be if I did something great. I know Morgan. I know what he is going to say before he says it, as if we had been married thirty years. But at the same time, I am never bored by him. You might know three or four writers like this in your life, and likely as not, you will meet them when you are very young. Understand: They are not the writers you most respect, most envy, or even most enjoy. They are the ones you know. (from The Best American Nonrequired Reading 2003) 

I love this idea of writers and readers meant for each other like soul mates. Again, it's not about who you wish you were drawn to but about who you actually get, I mean really get. I can remember having feelings like this whilst reading Jane Eyre, though I'm not sure who I am the ideal reader for. I suppose I wish I were the ideal reader for Henry James.

I admire writers who can write for miles, days, pages and pages, but I am not that kind of writer. I struggle to reach page and word counts. When I write, I often skip over a bunch of explication and get straight to the point (or at least that's what one professor said). Am I leaving things out because I assume they are obvious? Am I just too lazy to properly set things up? Is this just the way that I write?

In a similar vein, to go back to filmmaking, I wish I had the compassion of a director like Cameron Crowe or Brad Silberling. I wish I cared about my characters the way that they do. I wish I had that kind of empathy, which is to imply that I don't.

All of this is to say a lot about who I am not--not technical, not obsessed with visuals, not given to torrents of words, not empathetic. I know less about what I am. I think that's where the listening comes in. Or the just doing. Relaxing into vocation.

If I'm hearing correctly, I think my life might be saying that I don't write/create within a social vacuum. Filmmaking is always collaborative and I enjoy that aspect of it. I create with my friends and the quality of the work reflects the quality of my relationships. I used to see that as a liability, because if the relationship fell apart, so would the project. But maybe it's more of a gift than a liability.

What about you? Is there a gap between who you are and who you wish you could be?