DEAR MB #2- The Unedited Montage Conundrum

for those feeling the OVER in overwhelmed

How did you fight the feeling that it all felt too big and too far away? Does the imposter syndrome ever end or do you just learn to co-exist with it? Does it ever not feel embarrassing to not succeed?

Maybe it’s the feeling of new beginnings, or the fact that I turn 25 in 10 days, or that the headlines filling my inbox day after day feel beyond dooming, but the existential dread is At Large. How do I fight my Main Character Syndrome and Desperate Need to Change the World and let myself just exist and start small in something I’m still learning?

Hi friend.

I thought it might be helpful to boil your questions down to one singular branch that all these little anxiety seedlings are perhaps sprouting from.

In reading your message, I sensed that, underpinning the mental fireworks, lurks a very crystalline human fear that you and your life will fall short of your expectations. That the greatest disappointment of all is not necessarily failure or embarrassment (both inevitable), but that the expectations you/your peers/your family have placed upon yourself are “too big and too far away” to reach, let alone contemplate, creating a state of paralysis.

Let me just say upfront, I feel you. I vacillate between two extremes at all times. Some days I think, “THIS is the moment. Today I will start a non-profit that solves the teenage loneliness epidemic whilst moonlighting as a television star whilst side-hustling as a foster dog farm-owner whilst pursuing my Broadway dreams whilst being an impeccable friend who never forgets dates or birthdays whilst committing to my health by meditating on the regular and THEN and only then will I reach that blessed feeling of Here I Am, at last.” Or, I swing towards the other extreme: “Well, I woke up. I made it through the day with a modicum of dignity. Let’s run ourselves a bath, shall we? Is there wine in the cabinet? Oh, and choco-espresso beans? Yes, I think I deserve some of those, too.”

I am constantly punishing myself, fretting I will run out of time before I accomplish “enough”, and also rewarding myself for the sheer magnitude of bravery it takes to exist/be present in a world as unrelenting as ours.

So how do we comfortably make space for both (cue Wicked meme). How do we listen to that bestial call inside of us, which knows we are capable of magnificent things, and how do we simultaneously nurture that roar when, in pursuit of such magnificence, we inevitably falter, or fail, or give up.

I want you to first read this quote from Letters to a Young Poet, a book I try to revisit at least once a year as a sort of “compass realignment”. Read it slowly and out loud.

“With regard to any such disquisition, review or introduction, trust yourself and your instincts; even if you go wrong in your judgement, the natural growth of your inner life will gradually, over time, lead you to other insights. Allow your verdicts their own, quiet, untroubled development which like all progress must come from deep within and cannot be forced or accelerated. Everything must be carried to term before it is born. These things cannot be measured by time, a year has no meaning, and ten years are nothing. To be an artist means: not to calculate and count; to grow and ripen like a tree which does not hurry the flow of its sap and stands at ease in the spring gales without fearing that no summer may follow. It will come. But it comes only to those who are patient, who are simply there in their vast, quiet tranquillity, as if eternity lay before them. It is a lesson I learn every day amid hardships I am thankful for: patience is all!”

UGH. How annoying. Patience? FUCK PATIENCE. The world is a barbed wire-laced wicker basketcase, fertile eggs are dropping out of my body like a gumball machine with every lunar cycle, and each time I click the Podcast app, I am torpedoed by a a shiny, acrylic headline insisting it will help me “optimize” my life better. WHO HAS TIME FOR PATIENCE AND STARTING SMALL.

You do.

Perhaps the greatest casualty of blockbuster cinema is the act two montage. The moment when our Hero catapults into action and (by some alchemy of an addictively catchy pop song, flashy jump cuts, and a well executed time-lapse sequence) emerges from Montage Tunnel wholly changed, ready to dominate. These montages are so satisfying. I would like someone to craft a YouTube compilation, simply so I can watch them all whilst I fold laundry. That would be my personal ASMR.

And yet, a much as I wish we could fashionably pole vault from “newbie at Harvard Law School” to “getting a spot on Callahan’s legal team” (shoutout Elle Woods), most of life is the montage. Or, more accurately, the unedited version with zero music, zero color-correcting and definitely no one yelling, “Cut! WOW, that was AMAZING work. We got it! Let’s all go drink!” It’s the in-between moments nobody celebrates or knows about, the tiny failures where you learn what not to do. Furthermore, as someone who has gotten to experience her own “ME!” Moment (see below), I can tell you that on the other side of this massive high? Just another long, unedited montage of trial and error.

After Mean Girls ended, I thought I would feel badass Main Character Energy for the rest of my life. I thought I had reached the once “too big and too far away” future and that my life would now progress upwards from this professional highpoint.

I was so unbelievably wrong. The imposter syndrome got worse and my fear of failing increased tenfold. It felt like everything I did post-MG closing needed to be as big, as successful, as personally impactful and fulfilling. The expectations I put on myself were even bigger now: it was no longer enough to say, “I just want to work and be respected.” Now I felt the need to be acclaimed, to be multi-hyphenated, to one-up my own self. To quote Friends:

Phoebe: You'd be in competition... with yourself.

Monica: That's my favorite kind!

I Monica’d my next few years so hard, eager to taste the sweet nectar of that next apogean accomplishment. I produced and hosted a feminist talk show that so epically failed, I will personally pay someone to scrub any existing footage from the interwebs. I spent months writing a half-hour comedy pilot assuming it would sell in a heartbeat, then pitched said pilot to a dear mentor and friend who was placed in the tricky but necessary position of letting me down gently. I wrongly felt the only things worth doing were projects I was the lead of (a la Mean Girls) and so I devoted my time to leading a new musical project that was so disastrously disappointing, it made me question if I should leave musical theater.

Did I feel embarrassed sometimes? Yes. Did I feel like I was falling short of my expectations of myself? Absolutely. But what did I think was going to happen? That my entire life would look like what came with being the lead of a Broadway musical? That’s insanity. Nobody can sustain Main Character Energy for that long. Sometimes, ya gotta hole up on the couch Kathryn-Hahn-in-the- 90s style in order to emerge as Agatha All Along.

Over the past few years, I’ve learned to relinquish the vice-like grip I was holding on the “Expectations of my Life” folder. Some of that is, I’m sure, age. Some of that is a global pandemic interrupting everything I held dear. Some of that is being disappointed/disappointing myself enough times, I started to see there might be value in expecting less. I’m not saying we should settle for less in life, I’m saying we should try harder to see the value in the less Exciting™ moments.

There’s a great book that came out this summer, All Fours by Miranda July. In an early chapter, the main character’s husband discusses the difference between Drivers and Parkers.

“Well, in life there are Parkers and there are Drivers… Drivers are able to maintain awareness and engagement even when life is boring. They don't need applause for every little thing—they can get joy from petting a dog or hanging out with their kid and that's enough… Parkers, on the other hand … need a discrete task that seems impossible, something that takes every bit of focus and for which they might receive applause. “Bravo,” someone might say after they fit the car into an especially tight spot. “Amazing.” The rest of the time they're bored and fundamentally kind of… disappointed. A Parker can't drive across the country.”

It sounds that you, like me, are a Parker. You crave that moment when your aspirations coalesce into the Bright Shiny Thing you can point to and say, “That. I did that.” But I promise you, only a few moments in life ever have that quality. The rest is a long, long drive. No jump-cut editing allowed.

My drive over the last five years has been full of fits and starts, bursts of creative, philanthropic energy followed by periods of listlessness. And it taught me a couple concrete things.

1. Most “Park” moments cannot be accomplished alone (see: Kyle yelling at me to rotate the wheel “MORE. MORE!” every time I am forced to parallel in NYC). If you are feeling overwhelmed by the Main Character Expectation of it all, perhaps you’re missing your trusty Judy Greer-esque accomplice. One project I did that actually had some follow through? An engagement club for first time voters. How come that project came to fruition when so many others did not? I surrounded myself with smart, intelligent people who covered my blind spots. If I could give my younger self a piece of advice, it would be to have sought out a mind soulmate earlier in life. Not a romantic partner, but a collaborative partner who says, “what can I do to help make this vision a reality.” The Roy to my Walt.

2. Instead of getting overwhelmed by the A-Z vision, start with just A to C. Anne Lamotte’s book, Bird by Bird, is a great manual for not getting overwhelmed by the big picture. (This Substack is an example of me going “bird by bird.” I want to publish a book one day. What’s the A-C of that quest? Sit down, write, and don’t be afraid to let people see it. And I’ll see what happens from there. No expectations.)

3. “Failures” aren’t failures if you learn something. Ugh, that sounds so trite but my GOD it’s TRUE. Even if the thing you learn is: “I don’t want to try that again.” (ie, Me: after dyeing my hair red or Me: doing a feminist musical written by a man). Failing and learning from it is failing forward.

4. Small acts of sustained service over time are just as impactful as the big, 501c3, Nobel Peace Prize-ing, Change The World dreams. Don’t knock the importance of simply helping the helpers.

5. The Imposter Syndrome doesn’t go away. You just get better at not letting it take the wheel.

6. Even when you accomplish a “Park” moment, it will be followed by a big stretch of “Drive.” Learn to accept this necessary mode of life. Maybe not just accept but, dare I say, have fun with it? Try to drive just for the sake of driving. It’s how you get where you were always meant to go.

As always, leave a comment if this resonates with ya. Are you in a Park or a Drive moment? And direct message me if you have a question for the next DEAR MB entry.