I hate the pushing of the concept that everyone can “do what they love” and still survive. Capitalism doesn’t work that way. Unless every ballerina or football player or high-powered lawyer also moonlights as a construction worker, or a janitor, or a waitress, there are going to be a fuckload of essential industries that fall apart.
Capitalism requires that someone be stuck with the short stick, performing the work that the rest of us don’t want to do. And then, of course, those on top throw down, along with their shit work and actual shit, shitty advice that shames and demeans those who don’t have the fancy jobs.
“Do what you love” disguises the fact that being able to choose a career primarily for personal reward is a privilege, a sign of socioeconomic class. Even if a self-employed graphic designer had parents who could pay for art school and co-sign a lease for a slick Brooklyn apartment, she can bestow DWYL as career advice upon those covetous of her success.
If we believe that working as a Silicon Valley entrepreneur or a museum publicist or a think-tank acolyte is essential to being true to ourselves, what do we believe about the inner lives and hopes of those who clean hotel rooms and stock shelves at big-box stores? The answer is: nothing.
: Where do stories begin? Let me try:
once I pretended I could lightning. I broke
my mother’s heart. She would never tell me this.
I spent years practicing unshattering for her, silent.
Pumzi - dir. Wanuri Kahiu // Kenya
In a dystopian future 35 years after an ecological WWIII has torn the world apart, East African survivors of the devastation remain locked away in contained communities, but a young woman in possession of a germinating seed struggles against the governing council to bring the plant to Earth’s ruined surface.
neeeed to see this