Work hard, know your shit, show your shit.

A couple of weeks ago, I picked up Mindy Kaling's book Is Everyone Hanging out Without Me? by chance and really enjoyed the candid, funny and very honest tone that she takes. So after reading the book, I developed a serious girl crush on the author-comedian and actually went to check out The Mindy Project, which is created and starred by Mindy herself. Needless to say, I was hooked on the series and ended up binge watching it. I love the kooky, strong, independent career woman character who was looking for love and was not afraid to be vulnerable in love. And honestly, I loved the episode where Mindy began thinking about and carving a life for herself as a single mother when her aspirations did not follow Danny's.

To continue with my Mindy addiction, I went to get a hold of her second book, Why Not Me?, and went from cover to cover in just a couple of hours. The essays on life, love, fame, family, friends and self acceptance were funny and relate-able.

 

I particularly loved the part about confidence being earned through sheer hard work, bravery and determination. It reminded me of an article asking what one is willing to struggle for to have the life that they want. Well, I want to be a great Speech Pathologist, have great friends, be financially independent, and find the one who I want to come home to after a hard day's work. And in order to get there, I need to work darn hard, and not shy away from difficult and complex cases, be willing to fail in the course of my work and learn from my failures and the examples of other more senior colleagues, be willing to put myself in uncomfortable networking situations and grow my professional network. I need to learn to let down my walls and be vulnerable, to put myself out there and bounce back after rejection, to connect with others and let people in. I need to cut out frivolous purchases, confront my fear of numbers and learn to do my own financial planning. And most importantly, I need to learn to be bolder and not care about what people think, to not be a doormat, or operate passive-aggressively. These are what I am willing to do as I step into the next stage of my life. And surely, borrowing from a particular school motto (although I do not have the best impression of the school boys), the best is yet to be.

"Work hard, know your shit, show your shit, and then feel entitled. Listen to no one except the two smartest and kindest adults you know, and that doesn't always mean your parents. If you do that, you will be fine." 

I am, I am, I am.

"I took a deep breath and listened to the old brag of my heart.
I am, I am, I am."

As it is International Women's Day, I guess it is fitting to feature the only novel written by American poet Sylvia Plath. I have long been fascinated by the poetry and the life of Sylvia Plath ever since I read her poem, Mad Girl's Love Song. A chance coincidence made me pick up the similarly titled biography of her life before Ted Hughes and threw me back into her genius and the intense emotional highs and plunging lows that characterised her life. Re-reading The Bell Jar was then the natural next step in my private study of Plath. I was struck by the brutal honesty of a young woman struggling to carve out an identity for herself while grappling with societal expectations of womanhood and domestication, and her eventual breakdown.  

This book rewards multiple readings, but the the lines written spoke particularly to me this time, especially as I am nearing the end of my twenties as a (rather) newly single female who is trying to establish my own independence and peace with myself.

"I saw my life branching out before me like the green fig-tree in the story. 

From the tip of every branch, like a fat purple fig, a wonderful future beckoned and winked. One fig was a husband and a happy home and children, and another fig was a famous poet and another fig was a brilliant professor, and another fig was Ee Gee, the amazing editor, and another fig was Europe and Africa and South America, and another fig was Constantin and Socrates and Attila and a pack of other lovers with queer names and off-beat professions, and another fig was an Olympic lady crew champion, and beyond and above these figs were many more figs I couldn't quite make out. 

I saw myself sitting in the crotch of this fig-tree, starving to death, just because I couldn't make up my mind which of the figs I would choose. I wanted each and every one of them, but choosing one meant losing all the rest, and, as I sat there, one by one, they plopped to the ground at my feet."