The Psychology of Winning - Denis Waitley

Day 151&152/100 days of productivity 27.+28.2.2021

There we go, starting into the new semester after 0 real days of holidays

Latin

Tutoring

Admin stuff

Italian and portuguese

https://www.instagram.com/p/BeSkO0_Aik7/

Perfectionism and Academia

I had an enlightening conversation last night.  I sat with two of my guy friends in the student government office at my university (masked up and socially distant of course).  We were each applying for the scholarships and awards of achievement our university offers to students each year.  

Upon listing all of my leadership positions which I had held throughout my four years of college (for the purpose of the awards application), I felt a familiar mix of emotions.  I felt proud, satisfied.  The paragraphs upon paragraphs exhibiting my various endeavors felt right.  They made me feel like I had done what I ought to and at the same time, I felt tempted to add to them.  They didn’t feel like enough.

What more could I have done if I had procrastinated less?  How much could I have done if I had worked harder?  Maybe, I could’ve fit in a few more accolades if I had wasted less time thinking about men who didn’t want me, gossips who didn’t matter, drama I’d forget about in a week tops.

I think about how many nights I’ve cried over my homework, how many sleepless nights have been spent planning banquets and presentations, how many cold Saturday mornings where I was standing in an elementary school parking lot doing community service.  It all felt compulsory and competitive.  It felt like a race and I enjoyed it.  I wanted people to wonder when I slept.  That was the goal.  To be stupendous.  

“Generation Wealth” (a Lauren Greenfield doc) is one of my favorite films.  It confronts the dangers that result from greed and conspicuous consumption.  One line from the film comes to mind.  The girlfriend of a former tycoon’s son says, “If a lot is good, more is better.”  That line stuck in my head for months after I first heard it.  I’ve recited it to myself a couple of times the way one would recite a chant.  Not to remind myself of the perils of greed or the dangers of vanity, but as motivation.  It was (and sort of still is) my whispered battle cry.  

Reading this, I understand that I sound absolutely nuts.  I sound like the overcompensating daughter of two narcissists (which is pretty spot on).  Today, was the first time ever that I said to myself, “Maybe I have a problem.”  It was today when I deliberated on the fact that the leadership positions and awards didn’t make me happy.  They were armor.  They were protection against the feelings of being unwanted or unloved or ugly or fat.  If I had them, I could foolishly tell myself that I was winning the important prize.  I’m not sure when I forgot the idea that the most important prize was a good heart.

I’m Tired of Well Off College Kids Pretending to Be Poor

Okay, I realize that came off combative.  Hear me out.

More than ever, I feel like young people who are not poor are pretending to be.  There is an understandable fascination with Hood culture and the kind of grit and creativity which often results from growing up without things.  Most of the music we enjoy is (and really always has been) made or inspired by things that were created by poor people.  So much of popular culture (hip hop, fashion, rock n roll, beauty trends, comfort food, k-pop) begins (and often ends) with Hood culture.  

There are obviously racial elements to this and the most visually obvious way that we observe this cultural diffusion (or robbery??) is in the way that white, wealthy girls in Calabasas are wearing the same things that poor, Black and brown girls in Brooklyn were wearing thirty years ago.  Don’t get me wrong, if you want wear Jordans and gold chains and slick your baby hairs, I understand that is more or less harmless in the long run (especially if you do the right thing and give credit where it is due), but I do find it problematic when ‘being poor’ is used to describe someone’s condition during the few days when they are waiting for Mom’s bi-weekly Zelle contribution.

I hit the wall on this issue when I was speaking with my roommates in our kitchen the other night.  One of my roommates, who I’ll call Marisol is basically my closest friend (the only individuals I care about more than Marisol are my cats and my Mother™).  My other roommate, who I’ll call Priya is someone who’s relationship with me has essentially functioned around our roommate-ship.  There are certainly things I like about Priya (she pays her rent on time, she’s occasionally funny, she’s a good cook, she bought me a humifier* for Christmas...), but in general, I don’t consider her a close friend.  For the purposes of this discussion, it is worth noting that Priya’s family has way more money than Marisol’s family and my own.  

Priya has an inheritance.  Her parents bought her a car as a present in 2020.  She grew up in a pretty affluent suburb in Massachusetts* and one time when her debit card got stolen, her mother Venmo’ed me several hundred dollars with very little ceremony in order to pay her portion of the rent and utilities for the month.  It’s safe to say, that while Priya is not filthy rich, she is definitely comfortable.

Priya has made it clear that she’s disinterested in adhering to the standards that many of the members of her large, close-knit South Asian family believe in.  She expresses this by communicating general apathy toward the degree she is earning, using substances regularly, and posting bikini pictures on Instagram (honestly go off sis because they are fire bikini pictures).

As I said, the other night my roommates were discussing money and career prospects.  The topic of discussion went quickly from student loans to post grad career choices (which obviously must be made in order to pay off said loan debt).  Priya has mentioned to me several times that she wants to be a psychologist and I suggested that she consider a career in consulting so she can pay off some of her loans while she figures out her plans for grad school.  The suggestion was more or less dismissed not only by Priya, but by Marisol. And the idea which followed was presented by Priya: she might just become a stripper.

Wait!  Don’t throw tomatoes at me yet.  I have no problems with the idea sex work.  I believe it is key to promote policy which will make performers and workers able to conduct their business safely and lucratively.  That being said, dancing is a kind of sex work which is really accessible especially to young people who need money quickly.  Some of the girls I went to high school with are now dancers and the fact of the matter is that they along with many of the girls they work with typically chose to start dancing because they didn’t have any other options that were lucrative enough to compare.  Most of them started dancing because they needed to help their families out of compromising situations or they themselves needed to get out of compromising situations.  And what happens to the girls who needs to dance to make ends meet when a job they could’ve gotten is taken by a girl like my roommate who doesn’t need to strip?

I found myself reacting viscerally to Priya’s statement and the fact is, I don’t think she thought about it as hard as she should’ve before she said it.  Even in the moment, it was so obvious that she had no idea what she was talking about.  It was almost like she was using “I might just become a stripper.” as filler for “I’m not sure where my career is going.” which is a more common than not feeling when you’re a university upperclassman.  It doesn’t change the fact that academia is hard and that sex work is hard.  Trivializing poverty as an aesthetic or a ‘life choice’ is problematic because it implies that people decide to be poor which in general isn’t a view that is supported by fact.  

We can all be fashionable and acknowledge the fact that the human condition is difficult and complex without masquerading as what and who we are not.  Personally, I’m waiting for the trend where people do not hijack a struggle that isn’t theirs for the sake of attempting to sound edgy during late night convos.

*Some details are changed because I can fight, but as a rule I don’t.

Cats are weird

Should I Care If I’m Getting Fat?

TW: Disordered Eating, Restrictive Eating, Eating Disorders mentioned, Mental Illness briefly mentioned

In the formerly dark abyss that is tumblr, I almost feel like I am provoking the possibility of internet troll aggression, but in spite of my love for stable things, I will forge on (because let’s be honest, few people will see this).

I grew up pretty thin.  I was a really active kid.  I ran track and did ballet for many years.  When I was young, it was difficult to keep on weight and until around age 10, I was considered underweight.  It was around then that the brunt of puberty hit and I went from happily flat chested and lanky to an average weight.  

From primary school age, I have always been hyperaware of my body’s shape and my weight.  I used my mother’s bathroom scale more than she did.  That hyperawareness turned to obsession when I entered middle school.  I personally did not feel insecure when I looked at models in fashion magazines.  When I saw a model’s body, I did not feel that I was looking at a body that was so different from my own 11-year-old one.  My main concern with myself was that I did not like my face and in order to accommodate for my unfortunate looks, I had to have a ‘nice body’.  I have always been intelligent.  I have always been well-rounded, talented, and creative, but I can vividly recall that my greatest pride and my favorite thing about myself at age 12 was that I could stay on a strict diet.

I felt proud of myself when I went long periods of time without food.  I felt that I was disciplined when I purged and a great deal of my self-worth was attached to getting thinner.  As I entered the 8th grade (age 14), I felt the need to relax my restricting.  I noticed that I couldn’t dance as well because I was hungry and my teachers began to complain about my mood.  Slowly but surely, I succumbed to the temptation of bacon and friend chicken and carne guisada.  I fell into the urge for pastelitos and white rice.  I was no longer satisfied with skipped lunches and by the time I entered high school, I was chasing the reality of a normal body weight with a restrictive diet that required me to eat a handful of saltine crackers for lunch.

With the addition of breasts and (sorta) hips, I was “body goals” to my classmates.  My collarbones were practically renown (I can still remember admiring them in the bathroom mirror before cheerleading practices) and although I hated my body, I liked that other people didn’t.  The compliments smacked of that fluttery feeling of validation that I told myself I did not want and it didn’t matter that it wasn’t coming from boys, because it was coming from girls.  Girls who I thought were way more attractive than I was.

Realistically, my body did not change much in high school.  It wasn’t until college that I had problems with weight gain.  I gained 20 pounds in my first two months of university and for the first time ever, the weight would not come off.  That 20 pounds was followed by another 20 by the end of my freshman year which was followed by 10 more my sophomore (2nd) year.  By the end of my junior (3rd) year, I had gained 60 pounds and as I type this, the current weight gain count is at 80 pounds since I started university.

While I know those numbers will look different to everyone, I feel that I should be honest about what they mean to me.  Usually, I feel a great sense of shame about them and at the same time, I feel way too overwhelmed with depression symptoms and grief (not to mention the stuff I actually have to do to like... ya know... keep my job and get my degree) to stop burying my emotions in food or using food as a distraction.  I miss those days of knowing exactly how I felt about my body because now I don’t know how to feel.  Sometimes I feel really comfortable with myself and then I see myself in a photo and I cringe and think about the fact that there are weight loss show contestants who weigh as much as I do.  And it makes matters worse when my beautiful, thin friends act like our problems are the same when they are half my size and gorgeous.

On one end, I can’t help but feel very deeply.  I don’t want to be fat and ugly.  It is so easy to tell someone that they should love themselves, but how can you blame them for not loving themselves when they live in a society which devalues everything they are.  On the other end, I almost feel that it’s time I stopped caring.  If my choice is to adhere to a beauty standard and be hungry and sad or ignore that standard and live without the benefits of adhering to that standard and be ‘okay’, should I choose what is hard or what is easy? And for goodness’ sake, which is which?

Disclaimer: I understand that being heavier doesn’t automatically make a person ugly or lesser and the fact is, being fat isn’t necessarily bad, I’m just being candid about my own thoughts about my body image and how it can feel society responds to people who are larger or fat or exist without adhering to conventional beauty standards.   Just thinking aloud.  Be kind.

Grace Jones by Antonio Lopez, Paris 1975

sometimes you need to do the hard thing. study for your test even if it’s boring and you want to avoid it. get up an hour early to exercise even if you feel like death. go out of your way to help someone else even if it’s inconvenient. do something alone even though you’re afraid of being judged. go somewhere new even if it’s scary and disorientating at first. confess to the person who makes u blush even if it means risking rejection. let go of your old habits even though it feels like you can’t live without them. it’s supposed to be hard. life isn’t going to have amazing rewards if you’re always feeling comfortable.

Thinking About Love

I think back to when I was beginning college.  I remember how sure I was that my life would be really different.  I went to a visual art and design high school in New York City and unsurprisingly most of the students who attended high school with me were female.  I was in high school for a couple of weeks before I started to feel attracted to one particular girl in my class who I’ll call Danielle.  The only difference between the crush on Danielle and the handful I had had before was that the focus of this one was a girl.  

She was curvy and she had long curly hair.  She wore big glasses and she played softball.  Like each of the boys I had liked before, she did not like me back and she wasn’t going to.  I was shy and a little cringey around her (par for the course when you’re 14) and I would continue to be those things even as I got older and, in the eyes of some, prettier.  

There would be many crushes to follow the crush I had on Danielle and they would all end the same.  With nothing.  I would gawk and be scared and do nothing. I didn’t have the stomach to do anything about crush.  And sooner or later, I would care less.  4 years later and I am in the same place.  No boyfriend.  No girlfriend.  No regrettable exes.  No embarrassing make out sessions in my dorm.  Nothing more than the understanding that if there is something I am truly bad at (and that list is short), it is getting someone I want to want me back.

The feeling is failure and it’s difficult to cope with.  After 4 years at a public university notorious for hook up culture, I am still chaste as a nun and by myself.  Even if the people I know don’t have partners, they at least have prospects.  It’s hard not to feel like there’s something wrong with me.  Every insecurity bleeds through: I’m ugly, I’m fat, I’m annoying, I’m too loud.  And to make matters worse, I spend so much time thinking about love and whether or not I’ll find it.

All of this rejection or lack of general activity has led me to a central question.  Is it worth it at all?  If you’re like me and nothing will stick, is it worth to keep dragging yourself through it or remaining open at all?  Sometimes I think I’ll never get love.  And if I can’t get love, I’ll take success. I’ll take the degrees and the kickass career.  If I can’t get Valentine’s Day and French kisses, I’ll just win at something else.

It seems simple and... empowered, but I’ll be honest (as I always like to be) and say it still makes me sad.  The truth is, I want to husband and the kids and the only time that feels foolish is when I think I’ll never get them.  Thoughts?

Is Anyone Out There?

Hey Tumblr!

I’m extremely sure the response to this will be underwhelming, but I’m okay with that.  I’ve have this tumblr for awhile now, but I’ve used it rarely.  I can objectively say that I have a lot to share on Tumblr about my life.  I’m preparing for the possibility of law school and my family is almost as chaotic as my thoughts.  I haven’t taken care so far to write much of it down or share it.  So, I’m going to try to do that here.  Enjoy!

College is hard.

I feel like I’m never going to catch up.  I want to work hard and do well for my own sake and somehow that is never what ends up happening.  I don’t what to wake up one day and realize that I lost the opportunities that were important to me because I was too sad and too tired to take advantage of them.

dangerous women

honestly what did we do to deserve asian american twitter