> CD #31: I would prefer not to
Have you heard about the return of Crocs? More importantly, have you read Scaachi Koul’s rant on the return of Crocs? Apparently, all the cool kids are wearing them now, but Scaachi is having none of it. A sample:
The Croc is so profoundly hideous that wearing it is either one of two things: a mandatory shoe choice because you work in a job or live a life that requires standing for 8 to 12 hours a day, or you are a beautiful person who just wants to prove that you can look hot in anything. Don’t you think I know? Don’t you think I am aware? It’s one thing for Nicki Minaj to wear a Croc—Chanel accoutrements or not, she is objectively hotter than me and can therefore wear just about whatever she wants and still look great. But me? I wear a Croc and I go from New York 6 to a Calgary 2, and while I don’t expect you all to understand the math on that, please know it is a precipitous drop.
The words that resonated most with me from Scaachi’s piece—besides the mention of Calgary… “She said the name of my city!!”—were these:
My refusal to wear a shoe that looks like a child’s helmet tells me that I’m still alive, I’m still trying, I’m still vying for a better life.
A bold statement, when you think about it, after everything we’ve gone through in the past 14 months. Me, I am still very much in survival mode, just muddling my way through each day until I can find my way back to bed. I don’t have the energy to vie for a better anything. I fear I am, in a way, becoming the human equivalent of a Croc: kind of pathetic, but still functional.
But all is not lost. And I think Scaachi is onto something. Maybe her refusal to give in to the Crocs revival is a pattern I can follow to save myself? Maybe the key is in practicing refusal?
I say this because last week I received three minor requests through my author website to do stuff that I wasn’t at all interested in doing. Normally, as a pathological people-pleaser, I would’ve said yes anyway. I have a hard time saying no, which is a consequence of my personality, my upbringing, societal pressures, and the fact that I’m an “emerging” author, whatever that means, and I should be happy that people even bother to ask me for anything.
But I said no to all three requests, and it felt good. It was like giving myself a little injection of agency. For a moment, I was Bartleby: “I would prefer not to.” (Fun fact: I was supposed to read Bartleby, the Scrivener in my first-year English class at university, but never got around to it. I still managed to get an A on the mid-term, though, because I’d paid attention during lectures and knew what the prof wanted to hear. Same applies to Heart of Darkness.)
Saying no to stuff (aka setting healthy boundaries) is something I’ve been working on over the last year, and one of the most helpful frameworks I’ve come across is from the podcast Call Your Girlfriend, when Aminatou Sow interviews Jenny Han, author of the To All the Boys trilogy. Han says her way of dealing with author requests is to ask herself three questions:
Is it fun?
Is it easy?
Is it worth it? (where “worth” is determined by you and could mean anything from “well paid” to “prestigious” to “educational”)
And she only pursues an opportunity if she can answer yes to two out of three. If it’s one out of three, she might try to negotiate the terms to make it a better fit. Or not. And if it’s zero out of three, then it’s an obvious no.
Now with all this extra time on my hands, I can turn my energies toward determining whether I’m a Calgary 6 or a Calgary 7. At last, something fun, easy and worthwhile.
:) Teresa
ps. For me, practicing refusal also means saying no to injustice and the killing of innocent people. Today I donated to the Palestinian Children's Relief Fund. The situation may be more complicated than I understand, but I’m with Haruki Murakami when he says, “Between a high, solid wall and an egg that breaks against it, I will always stand on the side of the egg.”
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