How to Be a Social Distancing Warrior

I wrote about how to love effectively and practice creativity during the coronavirus pandemic for Relevant Magazine.

I Quit My Job Of Not Being Allowed

This piece originally appeared in Witches Mag, Issue #3, “Labor”

This story is about chipped nail polish. That’s what they decided was important. That’s what they decided could define sexiness and beauty. 

Until I decided they couldn’t – not for me. 

This is a story about fighting a battle with myself and others – and how I came away from the fight still covered in hair and fat and chipped nail polish. But knowing how to be sexy and beautiful...for me. 

Before we get to the chipped nail polish, we need to get into the mind of who I’ve been for most of my life. At an early age, I learned that I wasn’t allowed. 

I was not allowed to be imperfect. 

Now I think humans in general learn this – not allowed to be late, or have depression, or need a minute. But as a woman, I learned all these things and more. 

My body especially was not allowed to be imperfect. 

By being taught that I couldn’t be imperfect, I was also taught that I must be constantly judging myself and assuming the judgment of others. 

And I didn’t just accept judgment for my “imperfections” that were static, and there to stay. I also accepted judgment for the “imperfections” that are stages in natural cycles – nails growing, oil building up on hair and skin, teeth looking a bit yellow, hair all over the body sprouting in wiry fields. You know, things that need tending to. 

This “tending to” seemed to fall into a woman’s responsibility for her imperfections. Women are taught to spend hundreds of hours and thousands of dollars every year on keeping the imperfections at bay. To ward off the evil spirits, who might actually enchant some passerby to see beyond the surface. It’s a lot of work. 

I remember a friend telling me to try to hide my fingers when I was talking to a certain guy because he thought chipped nail polish was gross. I made fists and hoped he wouldn’t notice.

I grew up understanding that I needed to practice good hygiene. That I needed to have a skincare regimen, that I needed to brush and somehow style my hair, file my nails, the basics. There were even some fun elements like picking out lip gloss at Target and deciding which shampoo made my hair the shiniest. 

But here’s what shocked me as I grew older and wiser:

The unwritten rule that this tending to must be done almost in secret. With all the appearance that you were already tended. That really, you don’t even need tending. That maybe this tending  – like everything – is all for show and fun. 

That truly sexy women don’t even need facials, they just get them because they’re relaxing. 

Some women do it so well that I really believed the sleight of hand. Add then, of course, judged myself for being less subtle. 

You know who and what I’m talking about. 

The women who arrive to get a manicure with their nails already looking pretty damn good. 

The women at the gym who already look “perfect.” 

The women who look “put together” (whatever that means) even when they’re cleaning the house at 11 pm. 

The one who bounces into the hair salon with hair washed, cut, and styled in a way that I’d pay a lot to walk out with. 

The one at the wax center who looks like she’s never in her life experienced any form of leg hair. 

Me on the other hand…..

Am I not allowed to be “imperfect” even for the sake of striving closer towards “perfection?” I mean, I’m trying! Look, here I am at the salon! 

I’ve been judged for being red-faced and sweaty at the gym. By myself and others. I’ve been judged for having split ends while I am sitting in the chair waiting for a haircut. By myself and others. For having hair that I wish to remove when I show up at the wax center. For having a skin problem when I show up at the dermatologist. These are the people who were supposed to “fix” me. But I allowed myself to believe I was supposed to already be fixed.

All this judgment  and striving, and attempted trickery was out of fear – fear that I would be “letting myself go” (in my 20s) otherwise. Fear that men and women would consider me gross, unkempt, grimy. A wearer of granny panties (because I also am so gross that I forgot to do laundry). A skipper of showers. A neglecter of nails. Naive in the ways of sexiness, seduction, and…beauty. 

But while I was afraid of “letting myself go,” I was actually letting go of myself. My real beauty. My delight. 

When I feel like I’m not allowed to be just my natural self now and then, then I start asking questions like Then why am I even here? What is even the point? What’s the trick? The one where you can look “perfect” without trying? Where I can stop all this pretending. 

I used to put on makeup just to FaceTime with friends, even though we were both supposed to be in PJs drinking wine – you know, letting our guard down. But the mask stays on. (And sometimes it’s a facial mask, but even then you need to look pretty and have the mask perfectly outline your face and show your threaded eyebrows. And your styled “messy” bun needs to stay perfectly on top of your head – not lurching violently to one side as mine often does mid-conversation). 

I do my hardest workouts at home. Because I know my sweaty, red, fat, acne-scarred face will press up against the floor like an idiot when I’m done, and the sweat will mix with a little bit of drool and drip onto the mat during that last excruciating plank. I’m sorry that I can’t look sexy while attempting to look sexy. Sorry that I want something more real than that. 

So, to all the people who’ve judged me (including myself), 

Sorry that my nails were chipped when I came to the manicure place to have them repaired. I’m sorry wax technician, that you had to see my hair before you yanked it out. I’m sorry that my hair was greasy as I stepped into the shower to wash it. I’m sorry that I bleed on my period. I’m sorry for being hungry at mealtimes. I’m sorry for being tired after work. I’m sorry that I’m bloated after eating. I’m sorry that there was something in my teeth while I was chewing. I’m sorry for having messy hair in the mornings. Sorry for answering the door in mismatched pajamas at 7 am. Sorry for that cellulite right where it always is. I’m sorry the chair made red lines on the back of my legs while I was sitting in it. Sorry for that merlot staining my teeth when I was having too much fun to worry about it. Sorry that you had to point it out. I’m sorry for all the ways my body failed you and failed me in your presence. 

And you know what? I’m sorry for all these things becoming so important. I’m sorry for caring. I’m tired of caring. Sorry for being tired. 

Sorry for needing some other way to be a woman. 

Stretch marks, bloated period abdomens, and expanding vaginas tell us that we’re capable of great labor. And I’m not going to spend my strength on hiding – sweaty face or pubic hair or chipped nails. 

The work of imperfection is never quite over. But I can see the fruits of my labor – hairy, scarred, bloated, accepted, beautiful fruits. I choose delight instead of judgment. 

Delight will reign over all things beautiful and sexy and real in my life until you can’t tell the difference. I’ll zap off the hair on my vulva if it makes me feel better. I’ll also spread out my prickly pear legs at the pool if that feels more fun. Yeah, I think manicures are boring. Yeah, I went up a size. Yeah, I have hair there. Now pass me that piña colada. 

Are you Introverted, Extroverted, or Unique?

“Wait, he’s introverted? That’s so weird because I had such a great conversation with him!” My friend says this with confused enthusiasm as she refers to the first time she met my husband, who works in sales and also loves the beach to himself.

“She’s really extroverted, I don’t get why she didn’t wanna come tonight,” someone says about another friend of mine, who tests as extroverted but often craves time alone to reflect.

“Introvert” and “Extrovert” are terms often thrown around as characteristics to qualify or disqualify someone for certain positions or to measure chances of enjoyment or success. Often, we use the terms to explain and describe ourselves or others. Introversion and Extroversion are categories that are referenced everywhere from job interviews to first dates, counseling sessions to cozy chats with good friends.

Humans love categories, and we need categories sometimes. Categories help us learn about, communicate to, and reference the world around us. Carl Jung popularized the terms Extrovert and Introvert in the early 20th century with the intention to help us learn, communicate, and reference differences in personalities. The problem is that today we often use the terms without understanding their true definitions and implications, and so we miss truly understanding the people we’re talking about.

The terms extroversion and introversion originally developed as ways to understand where someone gets energy from. The very basic definition is that extroverts get energy from other people and introverts get energy from being alone. But before we start using the terms, we need to understand two things:

1. Most, if not all, of the original minds behind the terms believed that there are no true introverts and extroverts, rather everyone is an Ambivert – a unique point on the spectrum; meaning a beautiful, messy overlap of both extremes. Occasionally, the extrovert needs to be alone (some more than others) and the introvert needs the company of others (some more than others). Different degrees, different occasions, different contexts, even genetics determine the unique place each individual might fall on the spectrum. Jung said, “There is no such thing as a pure introvert or extrovert. Such a person would be in the lunatic asylum." So be crazy but not that kind of crazy.

2. Since their introduction into our vocabularies, the terms have taken up lives of their own. The mainstream understanding of the terms today is not only different than the original definitions, but also polarizing. We have lost sight of the original intent of the terms and see instead the mythical stereotypes that surround them.

In short, the terms that were never supposed to fully define any one person have developed personalities of their own, and we often use this mutant definition to label someone’s personality. The stereotypes that surround the terms lead to misconceptions and gaps in understanding each other.

So how can we start to peel away the labels to see each other face to face?

One thing to remember is that everyone defies their personality type in some way. As a fiction writer, I am always trying to understand what makes characters realistic. One of my favorite insights is from Robert McKee’s Story. He says characters must have dimension and “dimension is contradiction.” This has helped me understand the apparent contradictions of my own character. Often the “contradictions” are only contradictions to what people have said about me: those helpful categories that result when people mean well, but don’t work hard enough to get to know you (or when you don’t work hard enough to be known). For example, people say I’m an easy-going person. But why does a bad restaurant experience turn me into a vengeful Yelp-reviewer seeking justice over something that doesn’t matter? Because I’m a living-breathing contradiction, thank God. That’s what makes us interesting, that’s the fuel for stories, the stuff plot twists are made of, the thing that makes relationships a constant path of discovery.

Before assigning the people we meet to their “introvert” and “extrovert” teams (and all the stereotypes, myths, and generalizations that come with them), let’s keep in mind that  contradiction as an essential human characteristic. Be on the lookout for that introvert who loves dance clubs, that extrovert who hates having Friday night plans.

We need to keep in mind that there are no rules when it comes to these personality types, and to instead be wary of the rules people think are associated with each type. For example, “loud” does not equal extrovert and “quiet” does not equal introvert. Sometimes, even positive stereotypes like “extroverts have the most friends,” and “introverts are more creative,” can end a conversation instead of deepen it.

Labeling yourself can also endanger discovery. Don’t let your personality test results be excuses  you make for yourself, like: “Oh sorry, I’m just feeling introverted,” or “Oh sorry, I did that because I’m extroverted.” This doesn’t help the conversation. And doesn’t help people understand you, because it stops at a label.

The bright side is that acknowledging a world of 7.6 billion ambiverts means endless discovery. Your “type,” a.k.a YOU is waiting to be uncovered, a unique contradiction and combination of all the things we know, or thought we knew.

Contact With Mystery

I wrote this piece on Cormac McCarthy, Flannery O’Connor, and what 'The Revenant' misses on purpose over at Christianity Today. 

“Iñárritu doesn’t offer a deus ex machina solution to a problem his protagonist can’t solve. Rather, the climax is a form of grace that reveals a better resolution than Hugh determined to achieve. Usually the end of a story is about a giant choice that changes everything. Hugh makes a passive choice rather than an active one.”

— "Contact With Mystery," by Elsa WIlson

Taken As We Are

I wrote this reflection on rejection, resurrection, and Vincent Van Gogh for Mockingbird.

“As I approached the first room of the exhibit, I wondered how they could make Van Gogh more “alive” than he already is. He is perhaps the most alive of any painter I know. The Olive Trees pulse at the edges of their frame every time I see them at the MoMA, New York City. But as I watched the exhibit’s narrative unfold – an arrangement currently on tour in Warsaw – I realized that it wasn’t only the art that was resurrected there. The experience seemed to exist as a reminder that we, too, could be resurrected. As I wandered between the projected light beams and the wall, the paintings were literally placed onto me, turning myself and other unsuspecting participants into image-bearers in a vaguely biblical sense.”

— "Taken As We Are," by Elsa WIlson

Writing the Wound: Wim Wenders Narrates Grace

I wrote about Wim Wenders over at Mockingbird.

“The Salt of the Earth follows Brazilian photographer Sebastião Salgado’s global pursuit of compelling images and stories. His photo projects take him from the gold mines of his native country to post-genocide refugee camps in Rwanda. Although Salgado narrates most of the film, Wenders’s vision for and attraction to the content shape our reception of the story. Salgado was entranced by the sense of dislocation in the people he photographed, and Wenders in turn reveals this dislocation to the viewer. Near the beginning of the film, Salgado says that photography is “writing and rewriting the world with light and shadows.” ”

— "Writing the Wound: Wim Wenders Narrates Grace," by Elsa Wilson

A Major Risk: What Liberal Arts Students Can Learn From Birdman

I wrote about faith and Birdman (2014) for my college newspaper, The Empire State Tribune. 

“Faith is the evidence of things unseen. Studying (or practicing) the humanities requires faith. It requires faith not only in your art, but faith that any art could be worth doing. When is it more than a hobby? When is it worth four years of education and hefty tuition prices? ”

— "A Major Risk: What Liberal Arts Students Can Learn From Birdman" by Elsa WIlson

Review: The Theory of Everything

The Aristotelian Triangle published my review of The Theory of Everything. 

“Instead of over-emphasizing the scientific component of the story, the film focuses on the human element – where the real discovery happens. It’s about wondering, yearning, and searching for answers. “Where there is life, there is hope” says Stephen.”

— "A Theory of Hope: An Explanation of Stephen Hawking" by Elsa Wilson

Can't Stop the Tweet

Forbes shared my thoughts on how social media and smartphones are changing the concert experience. 

"Whether or not they should coexist, they do. Smartphones invading musical experiences are inevitable, but so are creative solutions. Some artists request that pictures and videos only be taken during the first few songs. A start-up called Yondr distributes cases for phones that auto-lock once the concert starts, giving fans the peace of keeping phones on their person while removing the temptation to use them. Yondr advertises phone-free hands in the air celebrating a collective, almost tribal, human experience under the slogan “Be Here Now.”

The American Authors show left me disconcerted. Bright screens attached to waving arms looked like some kind of extraterrestrial seabed, or the luminescent Tree of Souls in Avatar. I took a few videos, but did not feel the need to prove I was there. Four dynamic artists lost their voices proving that to me. Maybe other audience members engaged in the concert through their social and camera apps, but I did not feel present until my iPhone was in my pocket. I told myself be here now. I’ll remember."