on rest and work
Naomi Osaka was coming up a lot in my casual internet browsing a few weeks ago. I saw her name mentioned on a few side bars for news sites, but it wasn’t until I noticed a bevy of Black women voicing support for her on my social media that I took a deeper dive. Osaka bowed out of the French Open tournament, citing her struggles with depression and the need to take care of her mental health.
Naomi Osaka is 23, so she’s a member of Gen Z. I find that twentysomethings are more comfortable saying no than earlier generations. There’s a trend on YouTube of “I don’t dream of labor” videos where Gen Zs and young millennials proclaim that they don’t have a dream job, nor do they believe in one. I first heard this concept from one of my coworkers at my old job. My initial reaction was annoyance. At the time I’d also shelled out $1,000 for a program that would help me land my “dream job”...incidentally, I ended up getting a new job entirely independently from the program.
The truth is, working remotely has altered my professional identity in ways that I’m still parsing out. I’m glad to be doing work that feels impactful, especially when art teachers tell me that their grant funded program was the highlight of their students’ year. But the work feels different when I’m alone in my home with my cat for company. I’ve only recently begun to socialize in person on a somewhat-regular basis. I haven’t had a lot of opportunities to field the “what do you do” question.
Then there’s the conversation of how to sustain an artistic practice while working full-time. That’s what I’ve done since finishing undergrad six years ago. I don’t know if I'm always doing a good job. I always feel I could be revising more poems, returning to unfinished essays, fleshing out old short story drafts. Sometimes I’ll go down the MFA rabbit hole, though I know the answer: an MFA program is what you make of it. An MFA program can be wonderful for a lot of writers. Then I do the math and add my undergrad debt. I don’t want to be a starving artist. I value my financial security as much as I value my creativity. And I know this is because I don’t have a big inheritance waiting for me or anyone who can subsidize my lifestyle. I’ve always been proud of my financial self-sufficiency in this adult life, and the thought of risking it for a masters in creative writing is unsettling to me.
(Plus I enjoy creature comforts, like velvet loveseats and splurging on baked goods every now and then.)
I love the idea of pleasure activism in principle. I haven’t read all the details on it yet, but I believe in pleasure and rest as activist practice, particularly for those of us with marginalized identities. I was never meant to thrive in capitalism. No one is, save for those with the odds already in their favor.