how should a person be?
on being less & becoming slug
i’m reading sheila heti’s how should a person be. part novel, part self-help manual for female artists in their twenties.
i’m not a female artist in my twenties. that’s because i’m not in my twenties anymore & because the word artist feels big on me. like being a kid and slipping into my father’s size 47 doc martens, clomping around, pretending.
still, the book is for me. because i ask myself this all the time. how should a person be?
how should a person sit across from friends at a table
& really, really be there (& nowhere else)
& then go home on time
& get 8 hours of sleep
& work hard (so hard)
& make enough stuff
& make good stuff
& keep their teeth clean
& the floors too
& sweat once a day or else
& rest (but not too much)
& drink water at perfect intervals
& eat the broccoli before it wilts in the crisper
& protein to be strong when they’re old
& don’t think too much about being old (but also, maybe do?)
& make sure they don’t look it (old that is)
& call their mom
& read the news without falling through it
& really really feel the pain of others
& pay rent
& save enough to maybe buy a place
& not let that dream eat them alive
& give generously to those who have less
& never ever forget to text back
& put the thing they made into the world
& then do it again?
these ampersands. just scaffolding wobbling in the wind. & the question, still there. hanging off it like a flag. it keeps asking. keeps asking. keeps asking. how should a person be.
lately, i’ve stopped answering. i’ve stopped trying to know.
i’ve decided to be less. to be part slug. slick & slow.
soon the first slug object will arrive. sourced from the pine forests of finland. inviting you to soak with me. to let your skin ripple, fold, feel. to slide into this question together: the question of how to be.
in time. we’ll get there.
all in due time.
love,
ilona