The Effort Itself
A new year-ish dispatch... that's still fair game, right?
Brooke left me a voice memo the other week about a TikTok trend she attempted: cooking a breakfast sandwich the night before to consume the following morning, a little time saving hack to optimize the flow of the workday. Reader, as you might imagine, the breakfast sandwich was not on the right side of edible 10 hours hence. She explained this internet-induced debacle with her characteristic hilarity and self-deprecation. Arguably, most TikTok trends are not recommended for mere mortals over the age of 23. I once ran out and bought that mascara the girls were crazy about only to look like a chimney sweep moments after application. Some things are best left to the young and their mysterious editing tools.
I laughed of course, imagining that rubbery-ass breakfast sandwich. But the thing I underscored to Brooke in my voice memo back is that while perhaps the fruits of her labor were, er, disgusting, the thing to commend is the effort itself. Why the hell not try something, anything, especially in this opaque wintery tundra? Why not try to do a favor to one’s future self in the evening in lieu of farting into a snuggy, business as usual? So you shoot your shot and it doesn’t exactly swish. It’s the effort we must applaud.
I know this is true, and I see it so clearly in celebrating my friend’s sandwich effort. Yet I am really bad at taking my own advice. We all are, especially in this economy, the one that wants results, and fast. We are confronted with those results most plainly on s****l m***a, the place we go to brag about whatever, even breakfast sandwiches. But effort is everywhere, so gorgeous and earnest. I see this at the gym, especially this time of year. The classes I frequent (and make little progress in) are maxed out in capacity, everyone hurling their bodies through space, making efforts. The class size typically subsides to pre-resolution levels around March. We are all there because we want results, sure, but I also like the ritual: the structure that 45 minutes imposes on my day; seeing gym friends and gym enemies; titrating the weight of the weights; wiping down the mats.
I’m deep into drafting a book—on intuition, AMA—and I’m trying to be honest in my efforts. I’ve been on this merry-go-round a few times now (by the grace of goddess), and I know that the effort is all there really is. The outcome is totally out of your control, no matter how much wishing and hoping and thinking and praying and sending hair-on-fire emails. But did I mention I’m really bad at taking my own advice? The thing about effort is that it’s not pretty and it requires oh so much effort to look effortless. It is a system that is neither elegant nor efficient. I recently turned in 120+ pages to my editor and I’ll be pleased if 1/3 survive in some iteration. People often compare writing a book to giving birth. I don’t think the analogy works for a bunch of reasons but mostly the fact that you can stop writing a book at any time and no one cares. Not so much when you are in labor. But one similarity remains: is this—writing oodles of pages for them to inevitably meet the woodchipper/pushing a very large thing through a very small hole—the best we’ve come up with? Unfortunately.
Indulge me with a troubling thought I’ve been having lately: I think about the facts of our world--climate change, the rise of fascism—and what my kids might say to me when they are older. You knew this was coming. What did you do? I don’t think they’ll be super keen to hear the honest answer which is, I watched prestige television and read apocalyptic novels that satirized the coming doom. Sometimes someone would post a worthcause on Instagram and I’d donate to it or repost it. I held up signs. I tried to make peace with tending my proverbial garden, making change in my own community because really the broader world was too scary. I felt powerless and very very afraid, so much so that I ostriched. I skimmed the headlines and they made me queasy. I listened to a lot of Bravo recap podcasts. I don’t know if I can change the tide of history, but I want my answer to be better than what it would be today. The effort itself can be a frustrating answer. But unlike an outcome, which is theoretical and fleeting, the effort is solid and right now. The outcome can let you down. The effort, though, is a good friend.
(What effort is my little hand making there?!)
In the midst of your efforts, you gotta take a break! And when you do might I recommend:
Bottoms Up and The Devil Laughs by Kerry Howley: Literally my favorite writer writing today. Would give a limb to be called the poor man’s Howley. Will follow her into any blazing inferno.
The Vaster Wilds by Lauren Groff. I love LG and this new one SLAPS. She is famous for refusing to answer questions around her prolific output in light of being a mother, but this profile spilled the beans.
Mike Birbiglia comedy specials: Never let it be said that Liz Greenwood did not find succor in the ramblings of a white middle-aged man. I’m finding his cadences so relaxing lately?! And any reference to a St. John’s cattle call dance is *chef’s kiss*. Reader, I was the cattle.
A satisfying evisceration of Saltburn by the best critic of our time, Wesley Morris.
Ask Ronna podcast particularly this episode with American hero June Diane Raphael, which features a question that had me rolling on the floor of a very crowded bus. Ronna’s Mass accent is like ASMR.
American Fiction: My top movie of 2023.
Buena Vista Social Club the musical: If you happen to be in NYC til Jan 28, go go go!
This Fresh Air interview with Ava Duverney.
Easy Beauty by Chloé Cooper Jones: If you thought you’d had it with essay collections, you must read this essay collection!