Defending the Fairy Tale

While newer movies like "Zootopia" and "Moana" earn raves from the public (and many critics), many of the older Disney features are falling out of favor. "Disney princesses are terrible examples for children!" I hear. "They're weak and passive and waiting for someone to save them! And they think that marrying a prince is their life's goal!"

I disagree; that's not what I see happening.

On the other hand Disney also takes heat for sanitizing the stories. Why is that even a criticism? Do we want the Brothers Grimm versions, where, for instance, the prince is so taken by the lady experiencing enchanted slumber that he has sexual relations with her while she's unconscious, and she wakes up to find herself a mother of three? Did anybody seriously like the original Andersen version of "The Little Mermaid" where the prince rejects her, and she's content to be turned into seafoam and lap at the base of his castle? Seriously, I can't imagine preferring those versions, even if they are the original source material.

I think, as well, that the critics aren't actually watching the movies, just repeating previous complaints. I don't see the problems they insist exist.

Let's take Cinderella, the original animated version; she catches a lot of flack. "She just waits to be rescued! She lets other people treat her badly! Why doesn't she just leave?"

First, let's address the idea that the victims of abuse are somehow responsible, because they don't leave. They just "take it." I could spend pages - volumes, even - citing research about the effects that abuse has, the complex psychological issues, the fact that leaving is the most dangerous and deadly time, the fact that it is never the fault of the victim, but let's just settle on the latter - never the fault of the victim - and move on.

Mostly, I'm touching only briefly on those issues because, although they are very valid and the conversation could stop there, when I watch Cinderella, she doesn't behave as though she's damaged.

I want to start with the late 20th/early 21st century assumption that Cinderella should just walk out, get a university degree, and open a fashionable boutique or become a women's advocate attorney. We should all be conversant enough in history to know that it was not physically possible for Cinderella, or anyone else, to be a "strong, independent woman who don't need no man." A woman could live three basic places - her father's home, her husband's home, or a convent. That's it. There was no  avenue to being a single, self supporting woman. Cinderella knew that she had, basically, two choices - live in the family home, or become a servant in someone else's home. She already had the tasks of a servant, so she chose - actively chose - to stay in the family home, rather than performing those tasks somewhere else.

Why? Because she wasn't about to let someone run her out of her own home, the one where she was born. Because she had the advantage of "the devil you know." Because the home held happy memories of her loved ones, as well as their physical belongings. Because she knew, having lost both of her parents, that parents die; she therefore knew that, chances were, her stepmother would pass one day, and the home would again be hers alone. She could wait it out.

Which brings us to another admirable trait, one we should all cultivate - she did not let her circumstances, or the opinions of others, determine her self worth. No matter how she was treated, or how often someone told her that she was worthless, she never felt that way.

She didn't start to droop and wince like a kicked puppy. She did not pine and suffer and ask, "Why are you doing this? Why don't you love me?" She did not lash out and become spiteful, spitting in their food. She knew that how people treat you reflects on them, and how you treat people reflects your character. She was calm and competent, no matter what the others around her might say or do. Do you know how hard it is to find and live that balance? She did it apparently effortlessly.

She befriended those that others overlooked, those who, in theory, can do nothing to benefit her. She doesn't feel sorry for herself - she's grateful for what she has, and doesn't consider it a second best substitute that she jetisons as soon as her circumstances change. And, guess what happens? They find a way to help her.

She was not looking for someone to rescue her. She didn't complain. She wanted a night out, not deliverance. She wasn't looking to get spirited away, or to find a husband. She wanted to attend a party. She didn't want to be the prettiest one at the ball, or to have men court her. She just wanted to be well enough dressed that they'd let her in.

Something people seem to forget, too - when she danced all night with a handsome man, she didn't know that he was the prince. He could have been the cook or the gardener or a distant cousin of the prince. She didn't care. When she makes her excuses to leave, she says, "I haven't met the prince," and he's surprised. "Didn't you know?" he asks.

When she hears that he's looking for her, she finally admits to herself that she wants to see him again. He was not the point of the evening; meeting him was a happy side benefit.

And, let's talk for a minute about the Fairy Godmother. She doesn't swoop in to alleviate or reduce difficulty. She doesn't take away problems. She just makes a night out possible. That speaks to me, as well. That's the way the universe works. Whatever you believe is the highest power - God, karma, whatever - does not make it so that you will never be unhappy, lonely, mistreated. It just helps you hang in there and bear the adversity that every life has. Then, when something good happens, it's not because you were helpless, and someone swooped in. It's because that's how life works, too. There is always beauty and happiness to be found, and you'd miss it if someone micromanaged your life for you; you'd be unable to distinguish it. Experience is what gives you perspective.

I'm a bit miffed, too, at criticism that her "happily ever after" includes getting married. Ask any person in a happy relationship if their relationship is one of the most important, most cherished things in their life, and they'll say "yes." Heck, a significant number of people in unhappy relationships would still say "yes." So, why would you criticize someone for wanting something that's important to you? She doesn't "define herself" by her marital status. She's just glad to have what most people want.

And once she gets the chance to leave the house with her tormentors in it, and craft the life she wants, she does not do any of the following: complain that getting there took too long, insist on revenge, gloat, punish those who did her wrong, insist on telling the story over and over so that "people know the truth." She just walks away. (And she takes her friends with her.)

I'll take those life lessons, for children or adults, any day.

I (Don't) Feel Pretty

I'm thinking about prettiness.

I wonder sometimes about what it feels like to be pretty. I'm considering it in a purely theoretical sense, like wondering what it would be like to live in a colony on Mars. I have no real experience in this area.

Now: STOP IT. Every time I say something like that, people leap at the opportunity to tell me how tragically low my self esteem is. They say, "You're just beautiful!" They're sure that I'm sad, or angry, or depressed. I'M NOT. I have no experience in being European, or redheaded, or speaking Portuguese, either, and none of that affects my self esteem. I've already covered this ground ( in "I'm OK, You're Mistaken"). I am fabulous. I am bright, talented, capable and many other wonderful things. I value all of those things much more than I value "pretty." In the right culture and/or time frame, I would be considered very pretty. I know this. PLEASE, for heaven's sake, let's ALL move past this idea that a woman cannot be whole unless she feels pretty. I am happy with myself.

Ironically, that attitude - that women NEED to be/feel pretty - is what leads me to contemplate it.

Of course, I've wondered what it would be like. I've concluded that it would probably be nice, at least most of the time. I've also wondered what it would be like to have nearly unlimited money - I'm talking the "burn my crumpled bills" kind of obscene wealth. I've concluded that it would probably be nice, at least most of the time. Yet, I have never factored it in to my day to day living, never figured that my life would be empty and unfulfilled without it. I do not feel that I have "settled" or given up or any other such drivel. It's an unnecessary outcome.

Talking to other women can be alienating. One of my dearest friends confided in me, long about the time we hit our 40s, "Every head doesn't turn when I walk into a room any more." She was in actual pain, I could tell. She was hurt. I should have been sympathetic, should have assured her that she remains beautiful (because she always has been). I should have helped her feel valued. Instead, I was entirely unsympathetic.

"Welcome to the real world! The rest of us have been living here for years."

Another friend once said, "Remember how it was in your 20s, when guys constantly hit on you, no matter where you were or who you were with?" No. I never experienced such a thing. Guys hit on my friends, sure. But aside from the fact that I've been married practically since childhood, most of the times that anybody hit on me, it tended to be the "you have girl parts; therefore, you'll suffice" kind of attention. It had nothing to do with me, personally.

You know how, in a lot of movies, TV or even books, a guy will have a female friend who's funny, loyal, great to be around and clearly adores him, but he never considers her female until he sees her dressed up for some fancy occasion; then, he'll suddenly realize that he loves her, because he realizes that she's pretty? I hate that convention. I hate those scenes. SO shallow. You can tell me all you like about how men are hardwired to respond to visual stimuli, how it's natural selection at work, how you can't fight biology, blah, blah, blah, and I'll still find it shallow.

The only time I watched one of those scenes and really applauded, it was on "Dawson's Creek." Joey (who is female, by the way, in case you never saw the show) has had a crush on her best friend Dawson for years. She's been trying and trying to get his attention. Then, she enters a pageant; she needs scholarship money for college. Dawson, after blowing off her advances, sometimes very rudely, sees her in her evening gown, with her hair and makeup done, and he swoons. He compliments her. He makes a pass at her, finally. Joey's response? "This is just a dress. This is makeup. It washes off." She wants nothing to do with his newfound intentions. She blows him off - not to make a point or teach him a lesson, but because she's not interested if all he's attracted to are the trappings.

Only once in my life did I ever have something even remotely similar happen. I was 17 or 18; the "Dawson's Creek" kids wouldn't be born for years. I had a lot of friends in the theater departments of other high schools, because theater kids tended to know one another and stick together.

I was visiting my sister at her apartment. I went out to the pool by myself; she was doing something, and was supposed to come join me as soon as she finished whatever it was. The pool was empty, which was great. I like to be alone.

Then, a kid that I knew appeared out of one of the apartments facing the pool. He seemed delighted to find me there. I'd known him for about a year and a half. He'd never spent time with me alone, never given me his number or asked for mine, never invited me over, even in a group, never treated me any differently than you'd treat a distant relative that you saw every few months (definitely friendly, but not seeking you out), but suddenly he was acting like he was my best buddy, and he'd missed me so much since the last time we saw each other. "Do you live here?" he wanted to know; then, "Which apartment is your sister's?" ("Um - I forget the number. (That was a lie.) It's over there" - wave of my hand in a westerly direction.) He asked me to a party at his apartment that night - asked repeatedly and rather forcefully, when I responded with a vague, "I dunno. Maybe."

I did not feel pretty. I did not feel desirable. I did not feel noticed or wanted. Maybe I was too hard on the guy, but the only way that I could interpret this behavior, this change in established behavior, was, "I, myself, am a fan of breasts, and I couldn't help but notice that you possess some."

I did not attend his party. I did not take him up on the "call me sometime" invitation. I fled the pool.

If you would have asked people who knew me what my best physical feature was, the answer would be divided along gender lines. Most girls would have said it was my hair, long, thick and wavy. (It started to fall out - or at least, I started to notice - when I was 16. It's been less impressive ever since.) Guys, I think, would have said my breasts. They were larger than most other girls' breasts, and kind of obvious. Plus, teenagers are hormonal. I knew that people noticed, but that's a far cry from feeling pretty. I was the girl with the "great personality."

This is my favorite photo of myself from high school. It's not exactly "me," though, even though those are my clothes, on my body. This is Gwendolyn, a character I played as a high school junior.

I'd been acting for five years at the time, and it was the first time I'd ever been given a role that had a smidgen of sex appeal. I was always cast as the spinster aunt, grandmother, or mother. That's kind of ironic, when you think about it; how do women become mothers if they're lifelong celibates? Still, mothers were not sexy or attractive in any way. Gwendolyn may not have been outright sexy, but she was somebody's date, and that was new for me. Having a director decide that I was capable of portraying that was new and unexpected and wholly delightful. (Thanks, Andy.)

I was grateful for the role, and I worked hard at it. I felt capable of projecting the idea that someone would find me desirable. In one scene, I walked into a poker game, and the poker players were supposed to gape at me. They were all my friends, we were all in character, so it was fine. I got comfortable with the scene. When we started working in costume, though, one of the guys continued to look at me as though I was a steak dinner and it was two hours past his dinnertime, even after the director called "cut" and stopped the scene to iron out problems. That was deeply unnerving. Not because I didn't like him - I did; we were very close. I just didn't know what to do, how to react, how to be someone's steak dinner. Gwendolyn could, but I couldn't. I was glad when I got to put my regular clothes back on and be myself.

When this photo was taken, I liked it, but all I could see were "flaws." My stomach is rounded, and I have round "saddlebags" at the top of my thighs, even in control top pantyhose. My eyelids droop. My chin recedes. It took years to be able to say, "Flaws are OK. A person can have flaws and be pretty." Still, I did not personally feel pretty.

I did not date in high school. I was actually asked out only once, when I was too young to date. Nobody else bothered. I was not gorgeous, I was not promiscuous, and I was therefore off the radar.

Very occasionally, I would recognize flirtation. A bisexual girlfriend once said, "Look, if you're ever curious or bored and you just want to know how the other half lives, call me." I actually found the straightforwardness of that to be very sweet; no code words to decipher, no pity, no game playing, just a sincere offer. If, indeed, I wanted to date women, she would have made a lovely and considerate partner. I just wasn't interested.

Knowing that she meant it was nice, though. It was, and is, important to me to feel attractive and desirable. I just never thought that "pretty" was a prerequisite. Plenty of people are deeply attractive and very desirable without being lovely to look at. It's a whole "different ball of wax," as the saying goes.

I was about to list certain actors to illustrate my point, but that would be rude. "Look at (Name Censored). He's hideous physically, but he's still incredibly attractive." Instead I'll try to explain what I find "attractive." To me, it means, "This person possesses qualities that make me want to spend time around them." "Desirable" is close, but more specifically romantically oriented - "This person would be a great partner."

What's attractive? Talent. Oh, good heavens, talent. If you're good at anything - performing, writing, building, programming, gardening, I don't care what - it's swoonworthy and deeply attractive. There are a few plain to ugly men that I would have no trouble at all casting or watching as Prince Charming, because I would totally buy it. I would be convinced that they were both royal and The Perfect Man for the princess. Talent also tends to increase my estimate of your physical features. I may have once thought you were plain, but then I saw what you're capable of, and now you look lovely indeed.

If I was ever to be a groupie of any kind, or if I was ever to decide to be promiscuous, fame, status and money would not interest me at all. Talent would.

Any quality that you'd list if asked, "What makes a good friend?" is attractive. Sense of humor, fun to be around, honest, supportive, spiritual, trustworthy, brave, hard working - all attractive.

Loyalty tops the list of what makes you desirable. I have no interest in, or time for, people who can't handle monogamy. Don't waste my time. All the above qualities help, too. "Desirable" speaks to the long term.

Occasionally, it would seem that someone found me to be either attractive or desirable, even though I was not pretty. I think that's as it should be.

One of my best friends said to me, when I was roughly 18, "If no one else ever marries you, I will." We were in a group at the time, and I gave him major grief for the awkward wording of that compliment.

"Oh, gee, every girl wants to hear that. I feel warm and fuzzy all over now."

"No! No! I meant it! I just mean, well, you'd make a good wife."

I ribbed him pretty hard, which wasn't very nice of me. Chalk it up to teenage angst. At the time, though, and more and more as I got older, I knew that his actual sentiment looked something like, "I've noticed that you're good wife material. I'd be happy living with you." I'll take that compliment. I'd much rather have that than be pretty.

There was one time when I was growing up that I felt not only attractive and desirable, but cherished. I was comfortable being affectionate with my friends, but there are levels of physical affection. Some are fine no matter your age, gender, marital status or familial ties. Some are a little more exclusive. Some are romantically motivated - those can get iffy. Some just say, "I like you," some say, "I love you," and some carry other messages.

Most romantically motivated affection, at least when you're young, is geared around what you, personally, want. You want to behave in a certain way because you enjoy it, or because you think that it will lead to things that you enjoy. It's rarer to do something just because you know that the other person would enjoy it. (Are you rubbing her feet because you have a foot fetish, or because you know that she enjoys it? Are you happy with just her gratitude, or do you hope that she'll express that gratitude by doing something for you that you enjoy?)

Someone expressed physical affection toward me in a way that probably carried no reward for him. It doesn't come with bragging rights or rank anywhere on the "bases" list. Yet he did it not only unprompted, but willingly. It also carried the message, "I am so lucky to be here, with you." It was - delightful. Sometimes, when I need a pleasant memory, I call that one up. If I'd known how rare those moments are, I would have enjoyed it even more.

It took a long time for me to learn how and when to express any interest in someone. People asked me, when I was a teen and long afterward, "Why didn't you take the initiative and ask someone out?" My usual answer was, "If they wanted to go out with me, they would have asked." I was not about to put some guy on the spot, and risk either a pity date or rejection.

The first time I chose to make a pass at someone, it was someone who'd already kissed me in a non-platonic fashion. That made it safe, I hoped - I had no wish to have him be horrified.

I don't think he was horrified, but he said, "I think we should stop." Ouch. It wasn't any behavior that was morally objectionable. Neither of us was cheating on someone or touching forbidden places or undressing. Man, rejection stings. It was very painful. Everyone has to learn how to deal with it, but it doesn't make that first time any easier. Or, any subsequent time.

I never want to date again. I am not just the marrying type, I am the married type.

Which is good. I've spent more time married than I spent single. I intend to stay that way.

Sometimes, though, I still wonder about being pretty.

One friend told me that it's tedious and predictable. Another told me that it's a great tool for getting what you want. Another said that it means constant fear that you'll lose it.

I don't know. So, I wonder. Not that it matters.

And there's life in that Martian colony to consider.

I'm OK, You're Mistaken

Let's get one thing clear – my self esteem is fine. Really. Depending on your yardstick, it's more than fine and up into "inaccurately inflated:" for instance, in high school I was, like every other teenage girl, frightfully insecure about my looks and my weight. (It truly did not help to constantly be hearing, from "helpful" folks, "You could be pretty if you'd only...") It didn't take me too long into adulthood to decide that I was just yummy, thank you, and if you don't like it, it's because I'm not your taste. At almost 100 pounds over my high school weight, I felt SO much more attractive than I did at 16 and 17. I'm now decades older, and I still feel more attractive. I am clear on the fact that others don't agree with me, but it's their loss. Born at a different time and place, I would be the epitome of attractive, and skinny girls would be pitied.

The year my husband and I were engaged, his sister phoned me to ask what size(s) I wore, so she could Christmas shop for me. When I told her (accurately!) she said, "You are not that big!"

"Yes, I am. That's what I wear. That's what I have on right now." This was only two years after high school. I was maybe 10 pounds heavier than I'd been in school, but I was no longer overwrought about it. And I have never been one of those women who wants to receive clothing that's too small. That's just silly and a waste. If I own something, I want it to fit. I have never had "fat clothes" for "bad days" and "skinny clothes" for "motivation."

"You shouldn't be so hard on yourself! You are an attractive young girl! You should dress like it!"

"Well, thank you, but that's what size I wear." I offered to let her look through my closet.

"You are not that big!"

I spent the next 20 minutes getting a ringing lecture on self esteem, and on how I should never get "down on" myself. I sat there wondering not only why she wouldn't take my word for it – if I was going to lie or be delusional, I would have made myself smaller! - but which of us was more "down on" me, me or the one who thought I couldn't be attractive at my size.

She bought me a 100% cotton, button front blouse, 2 ½ sizes too small. I crammed myself into it once, washed it in cold water and hung it to dry, and it still was never again going to button over my chest. Months later, she asked my husband why I never wore it, and he told her. The next Christmas she bought me socks. I loved those socks – I wore them for years, until they had holes in them.

Of course, I've also alienated other large women. Not on purpose, mind you, but I'm just too blunt and literal. They tend to assume we're kindred souls, and say things like, "You know what it's like to struggle with your weight," or "You know what it's like to try every diet and fad out there." No, I don't. I don't struggle. I've never been on a diet, much less a fad diet. I've never asked my doctor for a weight loss prescription. (I know a few people who thought I was crazy or not very bright when I didn't get on Fen Fen – until it turned out to cause heart failure.) I've had women say to me, "You know what it's like to stand there eating Haagen-Dazs over the sink at 3 a.m." and, "You know how it is when you nibble on a salad in front of people, then go home and eat an entire pizza by yourself." Again, no. I don't. I've never eaten in the middle of the night, even when I was awake with pregnancy or kids. I've never eaten a whole pizza, alone or otherwise. I don't nibble in front of people. If I want dessert or another trip to the buffet, I get it.

I find this to be admirable. Others call it being oblivious.

I have discovered that my factual-to-understated way of communicating lends itself to misunderstanding – the irony is that I communicate that way precisely to avoid misunderstanding.

Years ago, I complained to a friend that I always got cast in bit parts, frequently without lines. He was appropriately sympathetic. I thought it was understood that the reason I was frustrated was because I was capable of playing much larger parts, and doing it well.

When I was cast as a lead, I invited him to the show. Afterward, he said, "You never told me you could act."

"I've been doing this since I was a kid! You knew that."

"But you never told me you were any good."

What? I was not understanding this line of inquiry. He wasn't understanding why I was puzzled.

"You said you always get little bitty, no line parts."

"I do."

"I figured that meant you couldn't act! If you can act, why do you get little bit parts?"

"I don't know! That's why it annoys me!"

OK, that's oversimplifying. I did have a good idea why. Sure, I'm talented, but so are lots of other people. Plus, I rarely look like the picture a director has in their head. Maybe they're turned off by my lisp. Maybe they want someone younger, thinner, older, darker … whatever.

Years after the fact, I heard something second hand that may not be true, but sounds pretty credible. A director I frequently auditioned for, who praised my work but rarely cast me, was somehow testing me. This director was apparently waiting for the day I stormed in, furious over a casting decision, and 1. demanded to know why I wasn't cast in a lead role and 2. demand a larger part. Then s/he'd know that I was "ready," that I "really want it."

Even after I've had a long time to consider this (and yes, it does appear that other people had such tantrums and it worked), this still makes no sense to me. I can't stand whiny, prima donna fits. Why in heaven's name would anyone want to promote "it's not faaaaaiiiir, what about meeeee?" behavior? The theory, apparently, was that it prepared you to survive in a cutthroat business, but I don't buy it. I've known people who wanted it so badly they hurt down to the roots of their teeth, they lost sleep, they couldn't eat, they would have sold their own mothers – that wanting has zero effect on a person's talent, and more importantly, on their work ethic. In my opinion, "wanting it" is a poor reason for casting decisions.

But again, apparently word went around that I had low self esteem. After all, my only reaction to both praise and to a walk-on part was to say, "Thank you." Apparently the belief was that if I believed in myself, I'd be more self centered and greedy. I find that to be particularly amusing and flawed thinking – I've always found blowing one's own horn to be a sign of low self esteem.

I think anyone's work ought to stand on its own. If my work is good, hire me. If it's not, don't. Pretty simple stuff.

It's annoying to me when someone asks about my "qualifications" or training instead of just asking to see my work. This is not because I'm embarrassed by my credentials, but because I've known extensively credentialed hacks and amazingly talented amateurs. Look at my work – my acting, writing, photographs, anything I've done - and tell me what you actually think, not what you think my credentials indicate.

I've learned, through trial and error and observing human nature, not to do certain things, even though I personally see no problem with them. I know that, for instance, if I had mentioned that I'd never had a solo singing role, I wouldn't have gotten the first one that I did; the same goes for the first time I wore a mic for a singing part, and the first time I made a wedding cake. Say, "I've never..." and chances are, you never will. Say, "Of course I can," and you'll get the chance.

I know not to express any reservation or dismay to a client – at least not if I want the job. I thought that people who'd known me for years should be exceptions, though; they're not.

A friend hired me, years ago in the days of film photography, to do some publicity photos. They wanted studio photos, with a cloth backdrop and studio lighting. That's more complicated than shooting on location photos, my specialty. Back in the days of film, it also meant light meter readings and Polaroids to make sure your settings were correct. If you screwed up, you wouldn't know until the photos were developed, and by then it was too late to fix it. You'd have to set up another shoot and try to get it right this time, and the images would never be exactly the same.

My husband is good at things I am bad at, and vice versa. (I think that's why God planned for conception to require input from two people.) At the time, he was unarguably better at studio setups than I was. He might still be better. Still, he was unavailable for this shoot, which had to be done in time for things like publication deadlines. I had to transport our portable studio, set up, take readings and shoot on my own. I mentioned to the client, an old friend, that I wished my husband could come along and cover my back. "You'll get perfectly decent, serviceable photos; he's just got more experience than I do."

The shoot went very well. The photos are delightful; I was proud of them then, and I'm proud of them now. One participant used the individual portrait taken of her on that day as her business portrait for several years afterward. Still, it was more work than I'm used to, since I couldn't slack off and run on autopilot, and I had no backup.

My friend seemed amazed out of all proportion. "These are great! These are amazing! I can't believe how good these are!"

Finally I said, "You know, all that enthusiasm is a tiny bit insulting. It's as if you didn't think I could do it."

"Well, I didn't. I mean, I had my doubts."

"I told you you'd get perfectly decent, serviceable photos! If I couldn't do it, I wouldn't have taken the job!"

"I figured 'decent and serviceable' meant total garbage. I was thinking we'd have to reshoot with Dan."

Wow. My literal tendencies bite me in the butt again. Here was someone who'd known me for years, had seen my work, and still didn't "get" me.

I've avoided having a blog for years because it just seemed a little too "all me, all the time!" I've been writing since I was a kid. I have the binders, the stationery, the yellow legal pads, and now the word processors full. I have the requisite manuscript that should be sent to a publisher. Still, I rarely had anyone, even my own family, read anything. This was again taken as a sign by some that I thought the work was no good. I'd get little pep talks about how good I was, how I shouldn't hide my talents, how I should believe in myself. It gets a little old, this idea that I think I'm no good at anything.

So, for the record, and forever immortalized, here it is: I realize that I am bright. I know that I have talent. I really, truly do. I am not afraid that someone will dislike me or my work. I am well aware that yes, indeed, someone WILL dislike me and/or my work, and that's OK. Opinions about alien life, Elvis' death or Lady Gaga's talent DO NOT actually form or alter reality. I am what I am despite what anyone, including me, might say or think.

OK? I'm amazing. Can we give it a rest?