Dear Ali,Ā
Last week, we saw sea lions in Santa Cruz, then ate ham sandwiches on a bench with an ocean view. We drove into San Francisco. We fell out of yoga poses on the patio. We thrifted heels and jeans, and took long walks in Palo Alto neighborhoods, stopping to smell fist-sized roses. At night, we ate bowls of ice cream and watched an old Jeopardy! college tournament.Ā (Congrats Sam from USC!)
An observer might call our time together āself-careā: a series of necessary breaks and indulgences designed to soothe and sustain. Maybe it was. Iām not above these little things we do for ourselves that make life more bearable.Ā Ā
Yet lately, Iāve been less confident in the idea of āself-careā at all: or at least, how our culture conceives of it. Light an autumn candle! Take a walk! Make pudding from scratch! Do a craft! Womenās magazines tell us to do these things. I do these things. (I love them.) But sometimes, when theyāre done as āself-care,ā they feel more like self-avoidance.
Let me explain.Ā
During your visit, in-between our shenanigans, you watched me apply lipstick for interviews, write cover letters, make tiny adjustments to my resume, and click around on LinkedIn and Indeed. š±Ā
As you know, Iām in the middle of a job search.
As the search has progressed, Iāve become increasingly angry and whiny. Anger sometimes turns to regret and self-loathing.
How foolish to think I could get a job right now. How foolish to think I deserve anything I donāt earn. Iām not smart or savvy enough. Iām not creative or dedicated enough. Something is wrong with me.
If youāve had these kinds of thoughts, you know they arenāt easily remedied by a nice lotion, or an exercise class, or an Instagrammed meal, or any product and service money can buy. They arenāt even remedied by Jeopardy! binges.
These days, my self-care has looked like self-talk: a direct encounter with that nasty voice, not a ātreat myselfā takeout order or pedicure.
Self-talk can look like a train of thoughts. Or a prayer. Or seeking out a bracing conversation with a trusted friend.
No matter what, it means zero tolerance: shutting down thoughts that degrade and detract, telling myself āthatās not true.ā Or hearing others say it, and believing them. It means saying āknock it offā to the mind, practicing a kind of mental tough love.
And most of all, it means taking a hard look at what this worldviewāwe donāt deserve what we donāt earnāmeans in practice.
If my self-worth requires a great job and great skincare, a wholesome diet and well-formed hobbies, self-care and self-striving, what does that say about what I value? How does that shape what I think about the unemployed or underemployed, the sick, the marginalizedāthose who donāt meet my metrics? If my vision of āsuccessā is so limited and harsh, who can fit into it? Is anyone worthy of respect?
Michael Sandel (who Iāve written about before) examines this idea in a recent interview on his new book, The Tyranny of Merit.
'[Meritocracy means] my success was my own doing and therefore I deserve the benefits that go with landing on top. Thatās the idea. And in many ways, itās an attractive idea.
The dark side comes when people who are successful inhale too deeply of their success, when they forget the luck and good fortune that helped them on their way. This induces what I call a kind of meritocratic hubris among the successful. This has become a growing feature of our public culture, especially among those who have flourished in the new economy over the past four decades, the age of globalization and of meritocracy. This is corrosive of the common good because the more the successful believe they did it on their own and deserve what theyāve won, the less often they are to identify with those less fortunate than themselves.
All of these ideasāself-care and self-worth, meritocracy and compassionāfeel interconnected to me. Iād love to know what our readers think. One of the gifts of friendship, after all, is that this confrontation (and care) can happen in community.Ā Ā
Send us an email this week at lettersfromhomeandaway@gmail.com. Tell us how you define your self worth. Fall candles? Yoga? Something else? Anything goes.
My book pick
This week, Iām recommending one of my favorite books: How to Do Nothing by Jenny Odell. Odell writes about resisting the āattention economy,ā i.e., refusing to let social media companies use us for profit. She connects these recommendations (unplug! take time to form your opinions!) with bigger arguments about politics and the environment, labor and art. The book is a great example of how private habits can inform public calls for change.
The book:Ā How to Do Nothing
My rating: šøšøšøšøšø
Read more:Ā Jenny Odell on nature, art, and burnout in quarantine
Love,
Kate