That’s not, like, some self-help mantra. Or maybe it is.
I felt like I had some breakthrough on Monday. I was reading an interview with my favorite writer, Cheryl Strayed, whose advice to aspiring writers—“write like a motherfucker”—adorns an empty coffee mug I keep on my office desk. (Empty because I have a naturally over-caffeinated brain).
In the piece—a Q&A on how to write like a mofo—the interviewer mentions Neil Casey, an improv comedian I actually interviewed recently. (Irrelevant to my larger point, but isn’t it cool how sometimes it feels like we’re all connected?). Anyway, there’s a point in the article where the interviewer mentions an improv class she’s taking and says,
Someone recently asked [Will Hines, who runs Upright Citizens Brigade Theatre in New York]: “Is improv a road to nowhere?” The question focused on Neil Casey, an improviser who was hired at Saturday Night Live after more than a decade of improvising. Hines responded: “When [Casey] was 20, . . . SNL was not on his mind. . .. If he never got a job, and now I can speak from experience, then he’d only have a life spent being happy behind him. . . . Spend your days in love with what you’re doing as much as fucking possible, and thank the stars for your chances to do that. Be nice and honest and brave and hopeful, and then let it go.” Don’t you love that?
Strayed responded, “I do. That’s exactly it.”
Spend your days in love with what you’re doing as much as fucking possible, and thank the stars for your chances to do that. Be nice and honest and brave and hopeful, and then let it go.
Damn, that spoke to me!
And it’s exactly what Ms. Mahogany has been saying: “Leave it to God.” “Rub yo’ own clit, girl!” I’ve known she was right for months—it’s helped me be better, work harder, yada yada—but somehow, something in me changed when reading that.
Partly because I’ve been carrying around so much anxiety over my job. Much of it due to the past, to the pain of working hard and being unappreciated, disrespected and taken for granted. It’s been weighing so heavily on me that I’ve forgotten that I actually have the best job in the world. I get to write! Like a motherfucker! And not just that, I get to tell some of the coolest stories ever. I am profoundly lucky. I have the job of my dreams, and while there’s the inevitable bullshit, there’s also so much damn beauty.
Of course, there are times when I compare myself to others who do less and make more. Like Becky with the Good Hair, who makes more than me to scour shopping websites all day long. Or the “communications strategist,” who makes a six-figure salary though not a single person knows what she does. Then I feel shitty that I work nights and weekends and still can’t afford to take my girls to Disney.
But I know it’s not all about the money.
“When you achieve results, lead with integrity, and stand up for what you think is right, it will get noticed, ideally by people with influence.”
I recently wrote that as part of a larger story on Boss Bitches. That article required me to travel to Harlem at 8am, midtown Manhattan that afternoon, and then five hours south the following day. When I asked my boss, the Duck, for some much-needed administrative support from our administrative assistant at the time, she said no, and I realized then that she wanted to see me fail.
But I didn’t. I achieved results and led with integrity and lately both the Duck and her boss, Claire Underwood, have been treating me and Enrique with kindness and respect. It was unsettling at first, like the guards at Auschwitz had suddenly brought us Easter candy, but really, I think they finally realized that we’re good at our job and that maybe, just maybe, they shouldn’t shit all over us.
Steve Martin once said, “Be so good they can’t ignore you.” That’s part of being a Boss Bitch.
Lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about what it means to be a Boss Bitch, and I think it boils down to hard work, humor, and humility.
If you’re lucky enough to love what you do—as I so fortunately am—then you don’t wallow in the bad, you don’t obsess with the have nots. That’s not the Boss Bitch way.
About a year back, the Duck and I went out for drinks after completing our first kitten dress. I didn’t mind that she was getting the credit for my Saturday nights at work. She hadn’t yet crapped all over me (though that would come), and so we toasted to the future, laughing and drinking for hours.
She’s got a terrific personality, that Duck, and if she hadn’t treated me like a toilet, I’d love her for a million reasons, including her pothead husband and her (at times) genuine warmth and support.
“Do you smoke?” I asked that night, after perhaps one too many sips of wine. She said no, with no judgement in her voice.
“But your husband does, right?” I prodded like an investigative journalist.
“How’d you know,” she asked, and I mentioned a few things she’d said over the months to imply that she had a favorable opinion of the substance.
And then we laughed and I “came out” as a pothead and shared with her an essay I had been working on for months, one I had hoped to pitch to Modern Love. The Times rejected it, but the Duck loved it. “I love all your writing,” she said, and I felt enormously grateful to have her as a boss and friend.
“What’s your long-term plan,” she asked, and I said, “This. I could do this job forever.”
Then I sipped another sip and said, “Or High Mom. If I could be successful at that.”
The Duck laughed her wide and effusive laugh. “You’d need a cape,” she exclaimed, donning her chest out like a superhero, and I loved her in that moment.
Kitten Dresses or High Mom. Will I ever be in a place where I have to choose? Could I ever be both? Or if it came down to it, who would I be?
I love my job. I love Enrique, Ms. Mahogany, and yes, the Duck. I love what I do, which is so deeply a part of who I am, and when I feel closest to Boss Bitchdom, I think it’s because of my job, because of all that I have accomplished. Enrique says, “Find pride in your work and you will find pride in your life.” It’s true.
And yet, I believe High Mom could have an audience. In fact, I know it. But until then, I will do my best to spend my days in love with what I’m doing as much as fucking possible, and thank my lucky stars for my chance to do it.
I will be nice and honest and brave and hopeful.
And then let it go.
