No one really falls in love
Stop looking at love as something you fall in. As romantic as that sounds, it also sounds like a trap. And it also feels time sensitive, like you need to make some big life changing decisions quick because you have “fallen”.
Instead, see love as a discovery process. You are exploring, not only another person but yourself. Notice how you feel around someone, especially how you feel about yourself. Notice the differences. The similarities. Notice everything. And discover. Discover. Discover. That way there will be no surprises. Which is why you’re afraid. You had way too many surprises last time. It doesn’t mean you won’t get hurt.
Some people wonder: Are memes art? I think that context and intention is everything. The internet is a wonderful platform for art because of how accessible it is, but at the same time it inflates the value of that medium. I make most of my memes when I’m slumped over on my couch, glaring at my phone. Other times I will be ruminating for days on something that’s bothering me about society or my relationships, and I’m able to articulate my feelings via a meme in a succinct moment of catharsis.
“[Wicked problems are] problems where there is no way of formulating the issue at stake definitively, nor any such thing as a single or definitive solution. Each wicked problem is a unique set of circumstances, themselves entwined with other sets of problems.
One example of a wicked problem is economic success. We use a fuzzy word like “success” because the big picture is too complex to capture in a meaningful way. What is a “successful” business? More advertising? More product? Customer satisfaction? Better hiring? Is it all of these things? If so, in what ratio? How do I prepare for economic downturns? And so on, into infinity.
We had so many honest, hard conversations. There was a period of time where I was like, it might just be easier if I go away, do my thing and come back when I’ve got it all figured out. Men want to be perfect before we commit to somebody. But there is no such thing as perfect — that’s what I learned from other married people. It is way more valuable to grow with somebody.
We got engaged this December.
I used to be in marching band and drum corps when I was in high school, and we took a lot of the parental support and resources for granted. While there's a lot to be said about the dedication, work ethic, and discomfort masquerading as camaraderie in the marching arts, it's important to know that these things all cost money and that programs like these require time, effort, funding, and support to be sustainable.
When Hendee’s band travels and sees competitors like Homestead, the disparity between the programs is stark. Students sometimes ask, “Why can’t we do that?” He doesn’t have a quick answer. But as Homestead’s program exemplifies, the difference is what parents can afford to do.
The two schools get about the same amount from taxpayers. In California, public schools in the wealthiest communities raise, on average, 50 times more money than those with the poorest — $144 per child versus $2.82, according to a 2015 study by the Public Policy Institute of California.
Homestead High has “an amazing level of parent support — they are the haviest of haves,” says Cal State Stanislaus’ Sims. But he adds, “Those kids at Homestead work 12 hours in the heat and no amount of money makes hard work easy. They earned the life lessons they are getting out of it.”
Students in high-poverty schools, though, are less likely to have access to music education. Those schools that do field programs typically provide fewer courses and often lack dedicated spaces for music, according to a 2012 study by the U.S. Department of Education.
While Homestead students may be defined as privileged, what that means is “they have access to what should be normal, what everyone should have access to,” Sims says.
Forming an identity by "acting out"—something that is, by definition, reactive—is deeply related to actually being able to engage with and understand people in the long term. Possessing an actual, strong, and positive sense of self is crucial to understanding that other people have identities, too, even if they’re not the same as yours. They’re separate people. And it’s impossible to stave off that process forever. Growing up happens and our identities calcify, whether we want them to or not. So taking the process of youthful, masculine rage as far as it can performatively go raises the question: what’s next?
Asians are the loneliest Americans. The collective political consciousness of the ’80s has been replaced by the quiet, unaddressed isolation that comes with knowing that you can be born in this country, excel in its schools and find a comfortable place in its economy and still feel no stake in the national conversation. The current vision of solidarity among Asian-Americans is cartoonish and blurry and relegated to conversations at family picnics, in drunken exchanges over food that reminds everyone at the table of how their mom used to make it. Everything else is the confusion of never knowing what side to choose because choosing our own side has so rarely been an option. Asian pride is a laughable concept to most Americans. Racist incidents pass without prompting any real outcry, and claims of racism are quickly dismissed. A common past can be accessed only through dusty, dug-up things: the murder of Vincent Chin, Korematsu v. United States, the Bataan Death March and the illusion that we are going through all these things together. The Asian-American fraternity is not much more than a clumsy step toward finding an identity in a country where there are no more reference points for how we should act, how we should think about ourselves. But in its honest confrontation with being Asian and its refusal to fall into familiar silence, it can also be seen as a statement of self-worth. These young men, in their doomed way, were trying to amend the American dream that had brought their parents to this country with one caveat:
I will succeed, they say. But not without my brothers!
By my fourth semester at Vassar, I learned that it was fashionable to call Cole’s predicament “privilege” and not “power.” I had the privilege of being raised by a Grandmama who responsibly loved me in the blackest, most creative state in nation. Cole had the power to never be poor and never be a felon, the power to always have his failures treated as success no matter how mediocre he was. Cole’s power necessitated that he was literally too white, too masculine, too rich to fail. George Bush was president because of Cole’s power. Grandmama, the smartest, most responsible human being I knew, cut open chicken bellies and washed the shit out of white folks dirty underwear because of Cole’s power. My job, I learned that first year, was to dutifully teach Cole to use this power less abusively. I was supposed to encourage Cole to understand that his power brought down buildings, destroyed countries, created prisons, and lathered itself in the blood and suffering. But if used for good, Cole's power could lay the foundation for liberation and some greater semblance of justice in our country. Cole's power, I was taught, could one day free Brown.
As the chief brand officer, my primary responsibility is to create and navigate the brand of Uber, externally. So it's really about assessing what the brand is today and then figuring out a way to connect what is emotional and human about the brand—the drivers and riders and the cities that we're in—to our customer. So [I’m] coming at it from both ends, from both a human standpoint to connect those emotions to the end user, as well as being an example myself for company culture. The way I behave, the way I interact, the way I live in my life is going to be as important as what I do in my daily work. I'm part of the community and the culture. So I'm going to be a part of what is going to be the future of what the company looks like.
It’s such an extraordinary thing to grow up with a family where you depend on each other so much because the institutions that are supposed to protect you are not quite there, and I wanted to capture that in these stories. So often in stories about immigrants, they’re about second-generation children who rebel and hate their parents and feel so much shame about the culture and country their parents came from. I didn’t want to give into a white American gaze that wants these stories about immigrants hating themselves. I wanted to show families that love each other. The burden is not that they want to be white, or that they wish they didn’t have families with such unreasonable expectations for them. The burden is coming from a family that loves each other too much. I didn’t want to show these Chinese immigrants as outsiders. In their world, they’re insiders.
For years now, Instagram has sat at the center of trends in food and beverages. Rainbow-colored “unicorn foods” are often designed with Instagram in mind, and entrepreneurs responsible for popular treats like the galaxy donut and Sugar Factory milkshake often see lines around the block after images of their products go viral. Firms like Paperwhite Studio specialize in turning restaurants into Instagram bait by designing twee sugar packets, menus, and coasters bearing slogans like “hello, my sweet” and “hug more.”
Now some entrepreneurs are taking the idea a step further, designing their physical spaces in the hopes of inspiring the maximum number of photos. They’re commissioning neon signs bearing modestly sly double entendres, painting elaborate murals of tropical wildlife, and embedding floor tiles with branded greetings — all in the hopes that their guests will post them.
If healthy relationships — especially in the digital age — are predicated on answerability, it makes sense that a lack of communication would feel like a breach of trust. But articulating negative feelings with tact is a task most often assigned to those whose feelings are assumed to be trivial. When fear for my family — black, migratory and therefore targets of the state — is equated with the mundane anxiety of a standardized test, I find it a relief to absent myself from the calculation. Saying, without anger, ‘‘This is how you hurt me’’ feels routine, like a ditty, and articulating the nee
In an “Art of Fiction” interview in the Paris Review, Murakami says his job as a fiction writer is “to observe people and the world, and not to judge them.” He describes with incessant detail his characters eating and preparing food, and their behaviors immediately become familiar to us when we view them through this lens. We’ve all experienced Yuki’s cravings for junk food when we feel empty inside, Tengo’s mesmerizing waves of calmness as we cook dinner at home after a stressful day, and both Torus’ sense of loneliness and yearning when we eat a meal alone that we’d rather be eating with someone we care about.
Hatred of art isn’t hatred of beauty. In fact it’s closer to the opposite. It’s hatred of capitalism for trying to make us accept the fact that we can only find beauty in art. Or in some other commodity, or some commodified experience. (On Instagram everyone lives in paradise.) Of course it’s also hatred of the people who buy and sell and talk about art, because they’re mostly rich assholes. Nothing mysterious about that. For academics, though, it’s a lot easier to come up with elaborate theories about iconoclasm than it is to admit that iconoclasm is usually quite easy to explain.
Silicon Valley culture encourages it. Google calls engineers who aren’t managers “individual contributors.” Technical skills are valued above soft skills or business skills. “Anyone who deals with a human being is considered less intelligent,” said Ellen Ullman, a software programmer and author of a new book, “Life in Code.” “You would think it would be the other way around, but the more your work is just talking to the machine, the more valuable it is.”
First, get good at self-deprecating, which is the opposite of everything you’ve ever done. Self-deprecation humanizes leaders, creates connections with employees, and makes people think the self-deprecator is even more powerful than she is: After all, if she can afford to mock herself, she must be confident in her abilities. It also signals to employees that they are allowed to be funny.
Silicon Valley likes a uniform. Standing out with a personal style in tech is generally shunned, since it implies time spent on aesthetic pleasures, rather than work. Tech leaders often adhere to strict personal dress codes (like Mark Zuckerberg’s gray T-shirt), and young entrepreneurs study the social media cues of the venture capital class, who tend to select investments in part based on who looks like them.
In the beginning, my parents were looking for somewhere comfortable to live—somewhere that wasn’t quite as crazed as the city but cosmopolitan enough that you wouldn’t stand out while ordering a steak. But for newer immigrants, “ease of living” was the least of their concerns. Even a pioneering city like Monterey Park began to seem run-of-the-mill compared to the newer, fancier suburban settlements available to the affluent. Throughout Taiwan, Hong Kong, and China, developers were building new neighborhoods designed to mimic places like San Marino and Cupertino—with their accompanying restaurants—places that, to those regarding America from afar, had become as famous as Beverly Hills.
In an email conversation, he stressed the importance of not conflating all Asian-American ethnic groups and their individual drug use patterns with one another, but also that “there is much less research on Asian-American youth culture than on Caucasian youth culture or on African-American or Latino culture.” And the research that does exist on the latter two is less concerned with what they do for fun and more so with perceived issues like gangs and teen pregnancy. Asian-American youth, he said, are perceived as having fewer social problems, and so they “fly under the radar.”
“I do think that there’s this element of people think of me this way anyway, so this must be who I am,” Godfrey said, adding that the behaviors—things like stealing and sneaking out—reflect stereotypes perpetuated about youth of color. “If you’re [inclined] to believe that things are the way they should be, and [that] the system is fair, then you’re maybe going to accept stereotypes about you more easily.”
“It’s about honoring what happened,” she said. “You met a person who awoke something in you. A fire ignited. The work is to be grateful. Grateful every day that someone crossed your path and left a mark on you.”
Writing a relationship contract may sound calculating or unromantic, but every relationship is contractual; we’re just making the terms more explicit. It reminds us that love isn’t something that happens to us — it’s something we’re making together. After all, this approach brought us together in the first place.
Two and a half years ago, I wrote a Modern Love column about how Mark and I had spent our first date trying a psychological experiment that used 36 questions to help two strangers fall in love. That experience helped us to think about love not as luck or fate, but as the practice of really bothering to know someone, and allowing that person to know you. Being intentional about love seems to suit us well.
Who is she? She’s intellectual, cool, and a bit of a romantic, but she doesn’t give her approval easily or smile too much. She might run around in black-tipped Chanel slingbacks, or barefoot if she’s on vacation. She has a signature perfume. She eats cheese without abandon and nurses a single glass of wine all night because she’s a master of reasonable indulgences. She’s almost always white, hetero, and thin, and you can only conjure her by willfully ignoring the many French women whose daily routines do not involve bicycling along the Seine in mini skirts with baguettes tucked under their arms.
American life is based on a reassurance that we like one another but won’t violate one another’s privacies. This makes it a land of small talk. Two people greet each other happily, with friendliness, but might know each other for years before venturing basic questions about each other’s backgrounds. The opposite is true of Indians.
“You don’t necessarily engage with a tweet the same way you’d engage with a real person,” he says. “Twitter is often thought of as a shallow, superficial thing. In reality, there’s a lot of honest pathos and humanity in it.”
By that stage, I was sick of trying to pander to an art world audience, and thought, 'Wouldn't it be great to make work for a different audience?' So much public art is forced on people. I thought that if I gave everyone a copy of the book at least they'd have some control over it. I also thought it would be a kind of critique. I'd always been intrigued by this kind of uncomfortable voyeurism I had, looking at a book by someone like Martin Parr. There's some kind of exploitation almost of the subjects — because they're not getting these books or benefitting from them. I wanted to make everyone there feel some sort of ownership towards the book.
This is a cutting of the vacuum seal sex education sometimes places around sexual health and behavior, as though young people’s choices can be separated from their surroundings and upbringing, as though they won’t be swayed by anything but knowledge of the facts. Including a discussion of the effects of traditional gender roles and the consequences of unequal power in relationships better reflects the reality that young people’s choices about sex will take place in.
Pretty much from birth, people are “actors.” They have personality traits, they interact with the world, they have roles to play—daughter, sister, the neighbor’s new baby that cries all night and keeps you up. When they get old enough to have goals, they become “agents,” too—still playing their roles and interacting with the world, but making decisions with the hopes of producing desired outcomes. And the final layer is “author,” when people begin to bundle ideas about the future with experiences from the past and present to form a narrative self.
Freedom is responsibility,” he says. “This idea that the only thing stopping you is your own imagination–that’s beautiful, but you still need structure, you still need boundaries, even if you’re making them yourself.”
Joking about reincarnation once, she said I must have had great karma to be a human in this life.
“It couldn’t have been that good,” I said, “or I wouldn’t have wound up in a girl’s body.”
She rolled her eyes. “It’s not a girl’s body. It’s yours.”
ingularitans is that once you make an AI “smarter than humans” then all of sudden it thinks hard and invents an AI “smarter than itself,” which thinks harder and invents one yet smarter, until it explodes in power, almost becoming godlike. We have no evidence that merely thinking about intelligence is enough to create new levels of intelligence. This kind of thinkism is a belief. We have a lot of evidence that in addition to great quantities of intelligence we need experiments, data, trial and error, weird lines of questioning, and all kinds of things beyond smartness to invent new kinds of successful minds.
The more choices technology gives us in nearly every domain of our lives (information, events, places to go, friends, dating, jobs) — the more we assume that our phone is always the most empowering and useful menu to pick from. Is it?
The “most empowering” menu is different than the menu that has the most choices
In this fictive world, black female emotional pain can be exposed and revealed. It can be given voice: this is a vital and essential stage of freedom struggle, but it does not bring exploitation and domination to an end. No matter how hard women in relationships with patriarchal men work for change, forgive and reconcile, men must do the work of inner and outer transformation if emotional violence against black females is to end. We see no hint of this in Lemonade. If change is not mutual, then black female emotional hurt can be voiced, but the reality of men inflicting emotional pain will still continue (can we really trust the caring images of Jay Z which conclude this narrative?).
Such courses are hard to teach well. Computer scientists often don’t take them seriously, are uncomfortable with non-quantitative thinking, are overconfident because they’re mathematically brilliant, or are convinced that utilitarianism is the answer to everything. But universities need to try. Professors need to scare their students, to make them feel they’ve been given the skills not just to get rich but to wreck lives; they need to humble them, to make them realize that however good they might be at math, there’s still so much they don’t know.
When deciding which platform to use and how to use it, as well as how to interpret communications you receive—or don’t receive—you have to know which platforms your friends tend to use and how they use them. Some will answer texts but not emails. Others don’t check their phones regularly, so you can’t rely on texting to reach them. The proliferation of platforms means more options to exploit but also more opportunities for your messages to be misinterpreted.
As an INFP, you’ll know that you’ve finally found your soulmate when you stop having to invent anything about them. Because their reality is already poetry. Because their easy smile is already art. Because the way they drink coffee in the morning is already a goddamned masterpiece. The story the two of you share will be better than anything you could possibly have dreamt up.
When I look at the repertoire of work that White chefs and restaurateurs have built on ethnic cuisine, it feels in a way, dehumanizing. White people are able to establish outrageously successful careers for being experts and authorities on the stuff that racialized folks do every day simply by existing. But of course, people of colour will rarely, if ever, be called experts on how to simply be themselves. It's as if racialized folks and their ways of life are objects to be observed—study material, of sorts—rather than entire countries, cultures, and individual complex lives.
How can we accept that when it comes to our bodies (and everything else, for that matter), the only inevitability is change? And what is the key to caring less about change as a marriage evolves — things like how much sex we’re having and whether or not it’s the best sex possible
I apologize, too, for the times I co-opted your triumphs. Perhaps this is true of all parents, but one of my greatest mistakes as a mother was to conflate your success with mine. Every accomplishment of yours meant less working-mom guilt for me: if you got an A on a test, I gave myself an A; if you made the varsity team, so did I.
I didn’t fall in love with him word by word or sentence by sentence. I fell in love with him slowly and steadily through time, in the spaces between the words, held up by the words. Losing the words sometimes feels frustrating, but that forgetting also removes the scaffolding from a finished past—a past that was never really containable in a logfile.
The onus is on the city of Atlanta to figure out how to harness hip-hop's hustle. Because the culture doesn't need Atlanta to succeed; Atlanta needs the culture. The question is whether an independent ecosystem that has turned Atlanta's underserved music community into a global beacon would be helped or hampered by the city's interference?
Racism exists everywhere. Pretending it only exists in the South lets a lot of white Northerners off the hook when it comes to taking responsibility for their own privilege. For me, being in the South opened a whole new window onto diversity. I considered myself nonracist but being in the South made me do some painful self-examination. I carried a lot of assumptions about race that I never had to confront until I actually lived among people of color
The world is such a noisy place. Loud, haranguing voices lecturing me to hustle, to improve, build, strive, yearn, acquire, compete, and grasp for more. For bigger and better. Sacrifice sleep for productivity. Strive for excellence. Go big or go home. Have a huge impact in the world. Make your life count.
Asian American success is often presented as something of a horror — robotic, unfeeling machines psychotically hellbent on excelling, products of abusive tiger parenting who care only about test scores and perfection, driven to succeed without even knowing why.
More than two decades into that endeavor, Mr. Sikoryak found that the iTunes terms and conditions appealed to him as source material precisely because they don’t lend themselves to illustration. “It’s anti-comics,” he said. “It seems counterintuitive, and if it’s counterintuitive, it’s probably interesting to do.”
But dating can be more than a tool by which society bends us to fit its romantic design. It’s also a way of discovering the self, of testing out different lives and different loves. Inevitably, some of those lives crack and dissolve. The self changes, as the self is liable to do. It can be painful, this sloughing off of earlier selves, this reconsidering of earlier desires. It can be necessary, too.
There has never been one women’s movement. It’s difficult, for example, to say that the American feminist project started in Seneca Falls, N.Y., in 1848, because black women were not invited to that convention. It’s hard to say that electing a woman as president would have been feminism’s crowning achievement, because the success of one woman does not naturally trickle down to all. The history of the women’s movement is one of warring factions and sharp self-criticism. But its 150 years of navigating internal disputes put it in a position to lead what seemed, at the end of last fall, like a highly divided left.
The only reason the Grammys still matter is because they’re a reminder of surface-level progressions serving as a convenient smokescreen for one of the stories of America — the never-ending push to keep so many of us in our place. Beyoncé and Kendrick’s alternating losses for AOTY over the past four years stink of reminders of what happens when we don’t stay in our lane. And their losses serve as a reminder that making “important” music — art that mirrors the discomfort of our times, art that disrupts the status quo — is not what these Grammy gatekeepers hold at a premium, or to some degree, even appreciate.
It resides in the way that we speak, in the ideas that get refined and reworked and encoded in ordinary words until they seem harmless enough. It’s the ability to fit things into a narrative that flatters our ability to reason. Normalization is the process through which wisdom becomes conventional and utopian ideals slam against questions of feasibility.
Chiron’s world is also one white Americans know exist, but have a tendency, whether conscious or subconscious, to try to avoid thinking about. It is uncomfortable, especially for wealthy white Americans, to admit that a boy like Chiron is out there right now, in the richest country in the world, alone and scared. It is even more uncomfortable to grapple with the fact that a gay, black boy could start life so far behind everyone else. It is sad, and hard, and so much easier to go see Ryan Gosling and Emma Stone frolic in the hills of Los Angeles.