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We didn’t watch the Emmys. It’s a shame because we’d seen almost every show nominated this year—which, I don’t think has ever happened. The truth is, award shows no longer hold the attraction they once did in our household, and we’re certainly way past the importance they had while I was growing up. But I’m always curious, so Monday morning I scoured the news to see who’d won what, and I noticed a buzz around Michaela Coel—the multitalented creator/writer/actor/everything behind the series I May Destroy You. After winning the Emmy for limited-series writing, this is what she said: “Write the tales that scare you, that make you feel uncertain that isn't comfortable. I dare you. In a world that entices us to browse through the lives of others to help us better determine how we feel about ourselves and to in turn feel the need to be constantly visible -- for visibility these days seems to somehow equate to success -- do not be afraid to disappear. From it, from us, for a while and see what comes to you in the silence.”
Time suddenly slowed to a crawl. There is so much to unpack in this one, short paragraph, about whom and what we’ve become as a society. The constant need for validation, the scrutiny of others, the fear of irrelevance through absence, of being forgotten. And this deep-seated aversion to silence and emptiness, even as we pin our hopes on the latest mindfulness trend, and endless promises of serenity. But what’s even more damning, is that we seem to have lost the right to disappear. Not to go all philosophical here, but Descartes’ “I think, therefore I am” may no longer be valid. Thinking isn’t enough anymore. Existence now requires visibility. We’re defined through publication and exposition, expected to be reachable at all times, alive only as long as our online thread remains unbroken. And yet, she’s right—we should and must retreat. Transformations require episodes of obscurity. It’s where we get to rethink long-held beliefs, to break away from repeating patterns that may be holding us back, or just keeping us still. I later watched a video of her acceptance speech. The words are read from a card, quietly, carrying the weight that comes from certainty, but also tentative; she reads them, as if conscious of the disruption she’s proposing, almost sad at having to remind us of something so essential. Her hands tremble, too, slightly. Nerves will do that.
But so will passion and resolve. Inspiring. Now for some links…:)
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