The Contain-Her Store

And other places I will not go.

Once when I was young and green, I met with a Very Important Editor.

I gazed around her office at the escalating signs of eminence — shelves packed with blockbuster titles, walls covered in framed reviews, bestseller lists, and book-to-movie posters. Outside the window, the sun glinted off the Chrysler Building, as though she’d recruited it to be impressive.

“Have you ever considered writing a book?” she asked.

“Yes.” (Only every day since birth.)

Then she said something I’ll never forget.

“At some point soon, you’ll have to make a decision. Do you want to be the kind of writer who writes about dating, or do you want to be the kind of writer who writes about…everything else?”

A lull descended over the room.

“A serious writer,” she added, by way of clarification.

At the time, my work included a fair amount of essays about dating. Or relationships. Or whatever I was assigned. As long as a topic felt authentic, I was happy to cover it because a) I was just grateful to be writing, and b) one does what is needed to get paid.

But now, I’d been given reason to doubt this approach. If I had to pick a lane, it was no contest. I wanted the bigger, juicier option. I wanted to write about…everything else.

I didn’t write that book for a whole host of reasons — some practical, some emotional, all of them boiling down to “because I wasn’t ready.” But now, I am. As I sat down to consider the scope of it, that old question came to visit.

“Do you want to be the kind of writer who writes about dating, or do you want to be the kind of writer who writes about everything else?”

I’ve turned these words over and over, like the lucky stone I carry whenever I’m faced with something daunting. By this point, I could fill an entire book with my feelings about them (that would be ironic). How a man would never be faced with the same choice. How plenty of serious writers — world leaders and cultural figures and authors of respected literature — divulge personal stories in meaningful, significant ways. How relationships of all kinds, at all stages, are a wellspring of material, and if divorce and commitment and adultery make for respectable topics, why not the beginnings of relationships, too?

But that’s not what bothers me most. What really bothers me is our tendency to put each other in boxes.

I shall not be contained.

Any time a question begins with, “Do you want to be the kind of…” or “Are they the type of person who…” I stop in my tracks, because I know we’re about to take a trip to The Contain-Her Store.* And that is a place I do not shop.

(*Thus named for rhyming purposes, but substitute any pronoun you’d like.)

Of course, genres serve a purpose. Like adjectives, they give us information that helps us find what we like. But writing — or any creative pursuit, for that matter — has no place being put into containers. Neither does parenting. Or leadership styles. Or personalities. Or spirituality. Humans are complicated, nuanced beings, and our contributions reflect that.

It’s not just that labels limit us, lead to othering, and inspire the kind of judgments we make about strangers, politicians, or certain celebrities involved in high-profile court cases. It’s that they dismiss that most liberating of factors: YOU. CAN. CHANGE.

While many find it soothing to watch the team behind The Home Edit reconfigure the contents of closets and refrigerators into neatly labeled vessels sorted by the colors of the rainbow, the scope of our humanity cannot follow suit.

Simply put, you can label the crap out of your dry goods, but you cannot do the same for your self.

It’s taken a while, but I finally have an answer to her question.

I want to be a serious writer. The kind of writer who takes risks and courts nuance. The kind of writer who approaches the page with honesty and vulnerability, without worrying what anyone else will think. (Easier said than done, of course, but this is my imaginary career buffet, and I’m putting it on the menu.) The kind of writer who writes about what moves me — something I expect will shift over time — and in turn, hopefully moves others.

I’d like my body of work to reflect that, beginning with this book.

It’s going to be about dating. And everything else.

Card of the Week

Here is this week’s card for the collective, as well as some thoughts to carry into the days ahead. As most modern readers will tell you, the tarot is not about fortunetelling, nor is it about neat, definitive answers. The cards are simply one path to reflection, a way of better knowing ourselves and others through universal themes. If this reading resonates with you, great! And if not, no worries. Take whatever may be helpful and leave the rest.

Featuring the NYC Tarot by Magickal Michelle

Within a deck of tarot cards, there are those that provoke a groan, and those that elicit a smile. For me, the Five of Pentacles used to be the former. But now, I rather like it. This is only fitting, as a change of perception is what it’s all about.

Traditionally, this card shows two people who are down on their luck, trudging through the snow. They don’t see what we see — there is a church immediately behind them. Whatever they seek, be it shelter, a warm meal, or emotional support, they can have it in just a few paces. But instead, they stay the course.

As a baby tarot reader, I took this card at face value, as though its appearance in a reading meant I was, or would soon be, down on my luck. But if we look a bit deeper, we discover this is actually a card about awareness. The solutions we seek are often close at hand. But first, we have to notice.

This interpretation shows a sidewalk full of pedestrians going about their lives. You can hear their thoughts — stress about that email, that bill, the doctor’s phone call. Replaying conversations, imagining worst-case scenarios, looping through familiar cycles. Like them, we can become so wrapped up in our own stories that it’s a challenge to see beyond them.

The Five of Pentacles urges us to expand our perception, something that is easier said than done. We may not realize we are caught inside a narrative. We may be operating under core beliefs we’ve carried for years, which may feel like second nature. Even if we suspect they aren’t working for our greater good, it can feel easier, certainly more comfortable, to stick with what we know.

But what about the alternative?

This card tells us that whatever patterns we may carry, it is never too late to change. It is never too late to break a cycle. It all begins with awareness.

In Seventy-Eight Degrees of Wisdom, tarot genius Rachel Pollack writes, “Human beings can get used to anything, and when they do they will often not see opportunities for change; they will even resist an end to their problems.” These words crashed over me like an all-too-familiar wave.

It’s a bit like that awful tale about how to boil a frog. If you put a frog in a pot of boiling water, it will naturally try to escape. But if you submerge it in lukewarm water and slowly turn up the temperature, the frog will make it all the way to boiling without perceiving danger. It is much the same for people.

As the heat gets turned up around us, we may elect to remain in the comfy confines of the familiar. We may prefer to be numb. We may put off changing until tomorrow, thinking the threat hasn’t quite reached our backyards.

But guess what? You are not a frog.

In a world full of bad news, at least there is this. You have free agency. You also, if you choose to use it, have the gift of awareness. The ability to sense the temperature and act accordingly.

Like the frog, we may be prone to inaction in certain areas of our lives. Those things we procrastinate or avoid altogether. But the thing about inertia is that it only takes a tiny bit of movement to shake it all up. Momentum will follow.

In the days ahead, remember to take a step outside the usual. Share your feelings with others. Utilize the resources available to you. If you need help — of any kind — this card promises it is there for you. Commiseration, too. All too often we can become siloed, thinking we are alone in what we face. But a shared burden is lighter than one we carry alone.

The Five of Pentacles promises there is a way. To access it, you needn’t venture far. It’s waiting just beyond what you’ve allowed yourself to see.

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Thank you so much for being here!

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