Feeling Apocalyptic and Whatnot
On the individualism embedded in new years and finding hope in a system designed to beat you down
At the end of every year, as I turn inward like most folks do, I find it quite hard to disentangle my individual affairs — personal achievements, spontaneous trips, and momentary grievances — with that of larger forces at work during the year: politics, warfare, corporate greed. I gape openmouthed at an instagram post from someone distant I know which proclaims, “Can’t believe this was the best year of my life!” and wonder how that is possible when in the past several months we’ve bared witness to an ongoing genocide paid by our own tax dollars, egregious worker abuses in the name of sustainability, and devastating wildfires, just to name a few things. I’m once again reminded the emphasis is on my — my year, my life.
As an ardent lover of fresh starts and all things New Years, this was one of the first times since I can remember that I truly felt despair trying to scrounge up motivation to set personal resolutions for an entire year. Maybe it’s in part due to living through the height of a pandemic which exposed in many more ways to the general conscience the need for an overdue uprooting of a system that is failing us, only to watch us just as quickly fall back into line even through a resurgence of COVID. These days, even writing cultural analysis, something I love to do, feels depressing.
From the past few months since I first posted, I’ve collected an array of pop culture paraphernalia in my notes app to expound upon: The Hunger Games release and the re-emergence of dystopian literature (one of these days I’ll get around to re-reading the Uglies series and writing about lip flips), George Santos on Cameo and then Ziwe, and of course bows and girlhood as the next wave of pseudo-feminism. As much as I understand the need for critical thinking now more than ever, I feel the exhaustion of those who cry, just let us enjoy things!
Under all the isms we know and hate, even what I’ve liked to view as a sincere and much needed moment of respite and reflection (especially for Americans who move from one thing to the next as quickly as you can scroll to the next video on your feed), can be easily commodified and re-packaged to us as tools for optimization. And I find myself so quick to admit defeat as well.
If only I became hotter (I want to keep my blonde hair, but is it to conform to western beauty standards and heal my inner childhood trauma of not belonging, or is it because I actually think it reflects my philosophy of style?). If only I was better at my job (Am I actually excited to be in this new role because I’m passionate about what I’m doing or have I just satiated my need to climb the corporate ladder and prove my self-worth through my professional accomplishments for just a bit longer?). If only I had a little more composure (surely regularly scheduled yoga and gym sessions will do the trick…). If only all of these things society tells us, I’d be my best self at whatever the cost to others, and more importantly, nothing would hurt me in this cruel, cruel, world.
But of course this is a false defense. While I hustle primarily just to keep up a lifestyle I think I am entitled to, the gap only becomes wider between what I think my purpose on earth is (to be human, make art, and create change) and what I actually do. So, that all being said, instead of any grand resolutions this year, I set a few intentions and realistic to-do’s for the next three months, one of them being to find hope.
And as my holiday break and annual existential crisis came to a close, I started to find just that in the small things around me: being able to hug my mom again after both of us got sick, my dad chatting with me for hours one evening after dinner - dissecting everything from BDS to Hindu fundamentalism to the questionable advancement of science, seeing one of my favorite childhood book series come to life on screen with more inclusive casting and nuanced storytelling, a thoughtful card from a friend, the taste of a ripe orange, feeling myself becoming a faster and better writer. As silly as it sounds, Julie Andrews kinda popped off when she sang, “I simply remember my favorite things and then I don’t feel so bad,” in The Sound of Music. Because that shit works! And is so worth remembering to keep up the good fight.
P.S. If you want to join or follow my very unofficial, let’s-see-how-this-goes nonfiction book club to support my intention to keep learning this year, I’m going to try and meet y’all here next month with a mini book review to help me synthesize my thoughts. This month’s pick is Cultish: The Language of Fanaticism by Amanda Montell.
Here’s a sneak peek at some of the other cute topics I’ve been brainstorming and saying I want to read more of for forever. Let’s see how many of them we can hit!
