This little woman harbors a weird amount of existential dread!
02/02/24
“Money doesn’t grow on trees.”
“Well, that’s politics for you.”
“It’s 10pm already?!”
When I’m sitting down, people always think I’m older than I am.
This effect is rendered completely null and void when I’m on my feet because I’m 4’11, which is the height of a standard 12-year-old, but that’s not the point.
The point is, when I’m sitting down, people think I’m older than I am. And I love sinking into the skin of someone who isn’t me for a 15-minute meaningless conversation with a person who thinks I have a 401K. I am nothing if not an opportunist, and this is simply an opportunity to fake being older and wiser until it finally catches up to me. I can tuck my fanny pack behind my back (because I don’t own an adult bag) fake interest in the economy (because I don’t understand money) and talk about celebrities I’ve never heard of (I know about TikTok celebrities, not real ones) in lieu of admitting that I am (gasp!) 23. It’s like a backhanded compliment that I can accept with only a slightly stinging cheek, that is until the truth of my youth is revealed and someone says:
“You’re so mature for your age!”
Now, I’m out. Taylor Swift told me not to trust people who say that, and she’s a reliable source. Excuse me, and my nylon zip-up pack while I stand at just under 5 feet and promptly leave with the bouncy little skip in my step that I developed as a child, subconsciously still do, and can’t seem to get rid of for some reason.
However, recently, someone told me they knew I was 23. Which was weirdly disappointing. I was excited to talk about Denzel Washington, or whatever.
They said, “You still have that gleam of hope in your eyes which is how I know you’re young.”
That is HILARIOUS because, well. Y’all know me. As a self-proclaimed cynic, I see my natural disposition as one of unyielding upset, coated in a lightly sardonic glaze that works to soften the deeply ingrained nihilistic baseline I came into this world with and anticipate I will leave with too.
But yeah. Maybe I have a silly gleam in my eye and a goofy lil skip in my step too. I mean, how couldn’t I?
I grew up between pages of young adult dystopia. Novels that praised the ratty underdog, the trite rebel, romanticized the righteous fight for humanity and the inevitability of a catastrophic win for good. I developed what can only be referred to as a slight hero complex. I majored in political science so I could “make a difference” (gag). I studied what it looked like when bureaucratic red tape wrapped tightly around communities in restraint, and what it looked like when it covered them like a blanket, and how similar those knots can look. I memorized lists of white men who did good things, and bad things, and nothing. I graduated as another white man stood on a stage and told me and 6,000 other blue-clad shapes that we were “Change-makers.”
But recently, I’ve been having a hard time reconciling the part of me that honestly believes everything will get better and I’m going to help make that happen, and the part of me that is, well, growing up.
The part of me that needs a job, and knows to get one I have to smile and look people in the eyes and cross my legs and not make a fuss. The part of me that knows I’m supposed to avoid talking politics with someone I just met because what if they don’t believe in… human rights? Excuse me, are fiscally conservative. The part of me that knows there’s very real justification in working for an organization that supports something I don’t because frankly, I need money to like, eat, and I can’t fix everything.
That doesn’t change the fact that although I know I can’t fix everything, and life is too twisted up and interconnected with harmful and hateful systems for me to live within them and completely avoid any negative participation on my part, I still want to be a good person, and I know it’s pompous and embarrassing to assume I could save the world, but I still want to help.
*takes a breath.*
I don’t know what the solution is.
Maybe it’s not my job to shoulder the weight of the world. Maybe acting like it is just supports the narrative that women, specifically women of color, are meant to fix the problems of white men who came before them.
Maybe I sacrifice some bold change-making attributes until I’m well fed and rent is paid, and promise myself I’ll revisit the potential for my greater societal impact later. Or maybe I sacrifice none of my pride and lean into a “starving morally pretentious artist” lifestyle in the name of martyrism.
Maybe I acknowledge that my impact is, and always was going to be, how I always tip at least 20% even if the waiter is sort of mean, give earnest and complete attention when a person is speaking, and tell a stranger when they have lipstick on their teeth even if it makes me nervous talking to someone I don’t know.
Maybe it’s not that deep and I just need to go on a walk and drink some water or something.
I don’t know. And that’s probably because I’m 23.
“Let’s listen to Olivia Rodrigo’s GUTS.”
“Does this top go with this skirt, be honest.”
“If I have to talk to a stranger on the phone today I will cry.”
And I think that’s okay too.
(I’m gonna be goofy now, prep for a tone shift.)
AYYOOO it’s survey time!
Let’s just say, if there’s a zombie apocalypse I call y’all for my survival group. You’ve been reserved and you’ll receive a Canva invite soon.
(I told you to prep, if you didn’t prep that’s on you not me.)
Taylor Swift was the most common answer for what celebrity you’d want in a survival group. That is so fair because there’s literally nothing she can’t do. This is the second shout-out she’s gotten in this Listserv which only serves to further that point. The second most common answer was Pedro Pascal for obvious reasons.
A whopping 43% of you agree that I would be the Chosen One in a zombie-apocalypse survival group. That is embarrassingly on the nose considering the content of this email. I wish I had checked the survey beforehand so I could choose a different topic of rambling, but alas! This was closely followed by Comedic Relief (30%) and the Problem Solver (21%), plus a few of y’all thought I’d be the Love Interest, I’m BLUSHING.
0% of you think I would be the medic or muscle! Thank GOD! I’m glad we all understand my weaknesses (pun intended.) Please never ask for my aid in a medical emergency because I will pass out at the sight of blood and then we will have two medical emergencies! Additionally, I am the physically weakest girl in the world, and frankly, I will not apologize or do anything to try to change that fact!
But it’s okay because y’all will save me, right?!
The answer is YES because the results for what role you’d play in a survival group were widespread and wide-spanning. It’s safe to say I’m covered. The two most picked options were the Problem Solver (38.9%) and the Medic (28%.) I have a lot of doctor-type friends I suppose. <3
The majority of you are grabbing a photo of your family and are using the power of love and friendship to defeat the zombies. You sweet lil saps. The majority of you also chose to end our journey by deciding that the entire apocalypse was all just a dream. Frankly, I’m disappointed in your lack of creativity, but admire your instinct for self-preservation.
Here’s this month’s survey. It’s love-themed for Pisces season. I’m excited. https://forms.gle/wF5rAjn9cQgF2skn6
One of you (you know who you are) is singing The Rock the soulful ballad that is “No Hands” as he takes his last breath. You’re my hero and on that note, please imagine Waka Flocka’s angelic voice ringing us out as I sign off.
You’re really cool and fun, and don’t you forget it.
Love,
Layla
*This month’s proof of life is a lil digital drawing I did in an attempt to represent David Hockney’s Portrait of an Artist because its tone is too spot-on to not be featured in this email.
Hockney’s portrait is a work of profound pop art (those of y’all who know, KNOW I am obsessed with the 80’s pop movement) and it also makes an appearance in my favorite television show of all time (those of y’all who know, KNOW I love Bojack Horseman). If you want to read more about the original Hockney or Bojack’s version, some links are below! If you don’t want to read more, don’t, because you have free will and I respect your choices #slay.
