“Get back to where you once belonged”

I have just returned from my first trip back to Montreal in fifteen years. This is an ode to the city I love most.

Montreal was my home for just over five of the most transformative and glorious years I’ve experienced so far. I arrived on “the new continent” at twenty-four with two suitcases. I left at thirty with two dozen boxes filled with the objects and memories of the life I had built overseas. I’ve been back only a couple of times since, and by now far too much time had passed. This long break can be explained by a succession of circumstances, including becoming a mother, the worldwide shut-down due to the COVID-19 pandemic, and others.

Why, then, do I use the term “going BACK” if I only spent a fraction of my life there? Because I used to spell it “MON-tréal” in my French correspondence to family and friends abroad – as in “MY-treal”. It was mine, and somehow it still is. And just as I had made Montreal my own, it had also made me its own. As I wrote in a 2019 post about synchronicity in one’s life, I discovered a part of myself that had been waiting for me there all along:

“The one who had sprung from the starry-eyed exuberant little girl I once was. The one who is reconnecting with her intellect, her emotions and her body.”

Street art on the Avenue du Mont-Royal (photo by Ljuba)

Being back there, it didn’t feel like seeing an ex and nostalgically remembering how great we used to be together. Rather, it felt like running into an old flame and realising you had never stopped loving them—that you loved who they had become just as much as who they had once been. Everything from its history to its dialects, from its way of life to its geographical situation, from its folk music to its metro stations permeated my being.

Living there awakened a sense of awe and pride that I’d never had. A patriotism. There is a short book by Neil Pasricha titled “Canada is awesome“, but for me, it would be more accurate to say “Montreal is awesome”.

During my recent stay, a very special person asked me why, having lived in several countries, I chose Montreal as my home. It got me thinking about how to explain what I only felt intuitively. And this is the answer I came up with:

Because it’s just big enough to allow anonymity, yet small enough that you can easily run into people you know, by chance.

Because its streets are lined with trees and flowers. Because its distinctive roofs and colourful façades make everything else feel colourful too. Because its outdoor staircases and porches are like faces on each building. Because in its back alleys, people hang their laundry and neighbours bear witness to one another’s lives.

Because I’ve always felt like Montrealers don’t judge each other based on appearances. Because here, you live and let live.

Because the St. Lawrence River is never far.

Because the buildings aren’t overwhelming at three or four storeys – except downtown, where you’re transported somewhere else entirely – and the wide streets let you breathe.

Because you encounter so many cultures, and you’re in a largely bilingual (French‑English) city.

Because its walls tell stories through street art.

Because as soon as the weather allows it, everyone is outside all the time, and culture lives in the streets through festivals. Culture is democratised for the public, and class divisions feel less present.

And then, there’s also the fact that here, you can speak loudly, be a little wild in your ambitions and dreams, and you’ll always find someone ready to help.

Of course, I also know what I missed from Europe when I lived across the ocean: the complexity tied to its many distinct national identities, the incredible food you can get at your local farmer’s market in every neighbourhood, the historical architecture and countless museums, and many other things. But even with all that, Montreal remains the one I love the most.

Between the Carré St-Louis and Boulevard St-Laurent (photo by Ljuba)

“And what about Quebecers?” he asked “What’s so special about them?” To which I replied:

“If I may allow myself a broad generalisation, I feel that Quebecers are concrete and dynamic, they’re doers, they’re enthusiastic.

They made me grow wings while Europe often felt as though it weighed my ankles down with the leaden weight of doubt. They welcomed me immediately and unlocked doors for me, they seemed to answer every call, and opened their homes and their hearts.

They wait in line instead of cutting ahead, instead of pushing to get there first.

They allow you to remain yourself and value inclusion over assimilation.

And the masculinity as I’ve known it here appeals to me: a true, embodied masculinity without toxic machismo. A generation of men who aren’t afraid of strong women and are there to support without crushing, without controlling.

In Montreal, I never felt as though men were undressing me with their eyes. Instead, I saw an implicit respect, and it was both refreshing and gratifying.”

View from the top of Mount Royal (photo by Ljuba)

What’s more, having gone back to my former home after almost twenty years, I realised that – like in any lasting relationship – I no longer idealised Montreal as I first did. Of course, I had my honeymoon phase when I first moved there in the early 2000s, but it gave way to a deeper understanding of the city, with all its qualities and flaws, its complexity and contradictions. And yet, it still manages to make me smile, it still makes me feel free and optimistic. It still gives me wings. Not like the ones I wore when I was younger and fresh. This new set of wings isn’t quite as fluffy or light, but it seems to suit my middle-aged back. I am curious to see where they might carry me if I decide to take them for a spin…

Time will tell. In the meantime, I am grateful to have experienced, and continue experiencing, this extraordinary love for a place nothing in my early life had prepared me to call home. But when I came across it, I knew. Like you sometimes know about a person. You can’t explain it. It isn’t rational. You simply know you have to take the leap, lest you miss what life is all about.

“Get Back” by the Beatles (rooftop concert in 1969)

(Title quote taken from the Beatles song “Get back” written by Paul McCartney, and credited to the Lennon–McCartney partnership)

“Dumb people got it all figured out”

For the general health of our society, we should all welcome – or at least come to terms with – the relative discomfort of taking nothing for granted and questioning everything.

It is certainly more comfortable to go through life without asking questions. As the comedian Trae Crowder says in his show “Trash Daddy”:

I think it’d be great to be dumb… because dumb people are confident… Dumb people don’t have doubt.

Smart people are racked with doubt. [They wonder]: “I think I’m going about this the right way, but what if I’m wrong though? What if there are factors I’ve not yet considered?”

Why do you think [alcohol] is so popular with smart people? … Because [it’s] ‘liquid stupidity’.
People call alcohol ‘liquid courage’ like it temporarily makes you confident.
No, it temporarily makes you dumb, and confident is a side effect of dumb – that’s how it works.

We’ve all experienced it: You go out drinking… and you’re the life of the party – in your head. [Then] you wake up the next morning [and think]: “Why did I say all that dumb shit last night?”
Well, imagine you never had to wake up that way, you never had to feel that shame.
That’s what being dumb is.”

^{– Trae Crowder, stand-up comedy show “Trash Daddy”}

And although we sometimes wish we could be dumb, and rid ourselves of doubt, it is this constant questioning—of ourselves, of others, of this world—that allows our evolution, both as a species and as individuals. Stability is sometimes necessary to strengthen us, but it does not move us forward.

Perhaps the goal is to move through life like a voyage by boat: after facing rough seas, we enjoy anchoring in a peaceful bay, or even spending some time on solid ground. But to keep the boat from deteriorating, and not to lose our reflexes, sooner or later we must set sail again. Going from island to island, meeting different people—family, lovers, friends, colleagues. Some for part of the journey, others just for a moment, others still for a lifetime.

But to breathe, to take in the most incredible landscapes, to discover our limits or become aware of our strengths, we must climb back on board again and again—sometimes despite ourselves. Little by little, we end up finding our own balance in the constant motion of the waves, the currents, the winds. We find our own rhythm, with others and without them. But we can never quite lower our guard or fully let go—lest we fall… into boredom.

(Title quote taken from Trae Crowder’s stand-up comedy show)

“A stranger I was born, a stranger I wish to remain!”

I recently went to see the play “Girls like that” – by British-Canadian playwright Evan Placey – which stirred up deep emotions in me. Through his characters, Placey dissects the devastating impact of a leaked naked photo on a group of teenage girls, within the broader context of the toxicity of patriarchy and the cruelty of modern cyberbullying. The skilful Belgian director France Bastoen turned this already truthfully harsh and well-constructed text into a hard-hitting play, which affected me particularly directly. As I mentioned in my post “Dripping water hollows out stone” (about mechanisms of victimisation) I was bullied by my classmates in school.

*The Belgian cast of “Girls Like That” directed by France Bastoen, 2026 (photo: ©Lara Herbinia, article in “L’Écho” by Eric Russon)*

Having experienced systematic bullying from the ages of eight to fifteen, I applaud the way in which Placey managed to grasp teenage girl group dynamics, as well as their individual inner turmoils. Only one sentence in the play sounded more like wishful thinking than a genuine reaction in such situations: when confronting her bullies, the main character, Scarlett, tells them that they will never forget her, while she will go on to forget them. Based on my own experience, but also on numerous accounts of similar experiences by other adults, I can safely say that anyone who has truly been bullied during their childhood or adolescence never forgets this experience. This is not to say that they cannot outgrow it. Quite the contrary. They will often rise far above their bullies.

I dislike the expression: “Whatever doesn’t kill you makes you stronger,” because I feel that suffering can sometimes weaken you deeply. But in this particular case, I think it may apply. I would, however, add a caveat, namely that I doubt becoming stronger is caused by being bullied. Rather, I believe that truly original people or misfits have an innate strength that makes them a threat to flocks of sheep, or herds of any kind. That is precisely the element that causes them to become the targets of bullies. Some victims do end up being destroyed by the viciousness of group violence – whether verbal, psychological, or physical – over time. But those who are not often go on to be much more exceptional than any member of a flock.

As Matt Stone, co-creator of South Park, said in Bowling for Columbine:

“(In high school) they scare you into conforming (…) by saying if you’re a loser now, you’re going to be a loser forever. (…) They just beat it in your head as early as sixth grade: ‘Don’t fuck up, because if you do, you’re gonna die poor and lonely.’ And of course, it’s completely the opposite: all the dorks in high school go on to do great things.”
_{– As Matt Stone in Michael Moore’s “Bowling for Columbine“, 2002}

Matt Stone being interviewed by Michael Moore in”Bowling For Columbine”, 2002

Although I am by no means an aggressive person, I could partially empathise with the two kids who shot their schoolmates at Columbine High School. Naturally, I don’t condone their crime in any way, but I do see how ostracised and bullied teenagers could be driven to that point of no return. The depth of wounds classmates can inflict upon their prey is often underestimated. I personally still bore the figurative scars twenty-five years later, as I was pregnant with my daughter. At the time, when thinking of what lessons I wanted to pass on to my unborn child, the first thing that came to mind was: she must never silently endure bullying! And that is how I came up with the idea for my children’s book “Leona, My New School” about a little girl who is bullied by her classmates.

*Image taken from “Leona” written by me and illustrated by *Tijana Djapovic* (All rights reserved, 2017)*

And, unlike me at the time, it only takes Leona one year to change schools and find happiness, rather than bearing metaphorical punches and literal humiliations on a daily basis for seven years. This children’s book is meant to spark conversations with five- to eight-year-olds about bullying, and it especially aims to reassure bullied kids that what they are experiencing is not their fault. The goal is to encourage them to fight or flee the situation. Either is fine, as long as they stop enduring the pain and save themselves.

There are many other examples in pop culture of kids who were bullied at school and carried this wound into adulthood. The legendary sitcom “Friends” springs to mind, with Monica as the former “fat chick”, still bearing the burden of her former degradations. But in one episode, there was also the character Susie Moss (played by Julia Roberts) who was humiliated by Chandler in high school and gets revenge on him twenty years later. Realising what is happening, he says, incredulously:

Chandler: “That was in fourth grade! How could you still be upset about that?”
And having humiliated him back (at long last), she responds:
Susie: “Call me in twenty years, and tell me if you’re still upset about this.”
_{– Chandler and Susie in Friends S2E13, 1996}

Julia Roberts and Matthew Perry in Friends episode “The One After the Superbowl”, 1996

There was also a notable interview between former US Secretary of Labour, Robert Reich, and Pod Save America host, and former speechwriter for Obama, Jon Lovett, who both recount their experiences of having been bullied at school. After having told his experiences of being held upside down over the toilet by taller boys as early as kindergarten, 79-year-old Reich asks 43-year-old Lovett if he, too, was bullied at school, to which Lovett replies:

“You bet!”
_{– Jon Lovett, Pod Save America}

To me, this was such a memorable reply, because it implied that any highly intelligent, slightly shorter than average boy would be bullied at school. These two men are both extremely successful today, and have received a great deal of recognition in their careers, and yet, they cannot speak of their formative years without mentioning being bullied.

Jon Lovett interviews Robert Reich on Pod Save America, 2025

Therefore, I don’t think that Placey’s Scarlett should have said that she would forget the people who bullied her – however much we would wish this to be true. What she could have promised them, though, is that she would outgrow them. And even that she would be happier than any of them. Because, as Elizabeth Bennet says to her sister in Jane Austen’s “Pride and Prejudice”:

“I shall never be as happy as you till I have your goodness. I never shall; and, dear Jane, do not believe that every body is as good as you are”
_{– Elizabeth Bennet in Jane Austen’s “Pride and Prejudice”, 1813}

And that is something I deeply believe. A person’s happiness can only grow with their kindness: happiness lives in the heart, and a truly big-hearted person cannot be a bully.

No one who is good, kind, and happy needs to harm others. Therefore, bullies and their herd of sheep can never be as happy as a former victim of bullying who has made their peace with their past. This means that the formerly bullied individual must have risen above the pain, and seen these bullies for who they are: mere mortals who know not what they do. For if they did, they could not live with themselves. We all know that there are innumerable bullies who are former victims of bullying. But none of them have made their peace with their past – and themselves – or they would not have to inflict on others what they themselves suffered.

*This election poster reads “YOU are the majority” (Photo montage by René Maltête, 1987)*

What is so hard about making your peace with having been bullied, is that it forces two very hard realisations. The first is that you were powerless in that situation, which is probably one of the hardest states to find yourself in as a human being: impotence. The second is that you were othered, pushed to the margins, which is also one of the most vulnerable positions to be in. And yet, it is possible to come back from both states. It is possible to see yourself as a worthy person again, and perhaps even embrace your estrangement from others.

Once you do, you start to see being “strange” as a strength. You can acknowledge the comfort members of a herd must feel, while rejoicing in not being one of them, but rather an individual who stands out in a crowd. So the very aspect of you that made you a target becomes your vessel to a different mindset and unique creations – freeing you from the shackles of your former state of impotence and humiliation.

“Raise Your Glass” by P!nk, 2010

This reminds me of P!nk‘s song “Raise Your Glass”:

“So raise your glass if you are wrong
In all the right ways
All my underdogs
We will never be never be, anything but loud”
_{– P!nk “Raise Your Glass”, 2010}

Iraqi-American anthropologist and journalist, Louis Yako, spoke about the importance of strangers in these words:

“(We are taught) to avoid strangers, yet life teaches us that human awareness can only be born of the dagger of strangeness… that life is tasteless without mingling with strangers… that familiarity is opposed to life! Thus I loudly declare: A stranger I was born, a stranger I wish to remain! And I ask that you issue my death certificate the day I become familiar.”
_{– Louis Yako’s “Cancer Everywhere”, 2025}

And although it took me a decade after leaving that school to start embracing my “strangeness”, I finally did. So much so, that I was able to go back and face my past demons, look them in the eye, and realise that they still could not admit to who they once were, even when confronted with the truth as adults. They are not monsters, and most of them have gone on to lead pleasant lives. But they have not had to question themselves or their behaviour the way I did. They never had to leave the flock, explore broader horizons, or reach new heights. Which tells me that my experience did bring me further – not just than where I once was, but also than them. And it’s no thanks to them, but rather to my own otherness.

(Title quote taken from “Cancer Everywhere” by Louis Yako, 2025)

“It’s never too late to be what you might have been”

One year giving way to another is an obvious time to look back and reflect on what the past twelve months have brought us – both good and bad. As media and people around me are quick to point out, this year has seen a lot of bad, a lot of pain, suffering, and frightening escalation in international conflicts and various inequalities. Much of this is tied to the Large Orange Elephant in the Room. And it has been our great misfortune to realise the endless scale of this “room” he’s omnipresent in. One could say the whole world is his “playroom”. There are many reasons to speak about the disastrous, tragic, and appalling consequences of this mindless and despicable President’s actions. Democratic adviser Philippe Reines said:

“He’s an amoeba…”
_{– Philippe Reines on Pod Save America}

But an immensely dangerous one. For the first time in decades, the concept of a Third World War is sounding less and less hyperbolic.

And yet, precisely because the world feels so fragile, I want to begin the year on a different note. Thus, I have chosen this optimistic title quote, attributed to George Eliot, that I find fits my personal experience of the past year. Adelaide Anne Procter phrased it differently, and perhaps more poetically in her Legend of Provence:

“No star is ever lost we once have seen,
We always may be what we might have been.”
_{– Adelaide Anne Procter}

Both quotes speak to me because 2025 has been a year of reconnecting with who I essentially am, and of unexpected encounters and achievements for me – ones that I didn’t even dare to hope for anymore.

This thought, that I may now (again) be coming into my own, takes me back to my blog post of February 2019 I should have been a great many things, Mr Mayer (quoting Louisa May Alcott). At the time, I was reflecting on all the paths I could have chosen, but didn’t – all the selves I could have been, but wasn’t. I was deeply immersed in a feeling of missed opportunities and nostalgia for what might have been. What made me think of this is that I am now in the exact opposite situation. I feel that I am where I need to be. Or, in the words of someone I hold in high esteem:

“I feel more fully (and better) inhabited.”
_{– Personal Source}

This has happened like everything else in life does: as a chain reaction. One that I am trying to unravel. In creative writing, an often-used technique to decide what happens between the beginning and the end of a story is to start from the end and work your way backwards. This works because – in fiction and reality alike – each event that happens is the result of something prior, even unbeknownst to the characters, or to you. To trace back my present fortunes to their points of origin, I sat on a sunny terrace, overlooking the city I have grown to love, sipping a glass of wine while writing in my little notebook. It was somewhat like 19^th Century author Hannah Crafts‘s texts, where idiosyncratic dashes seemed to be “sewing” her story together.

I was assembling pieces of my recent history, like pieces of a quilt. This task revealed one clear message: Whatever happens to us, we must learn, move forward, and love. Always.

On this subject, author Marguerite Yourcenar, wrote:

“The best remedy for the mind’s turbulence is to learn. It is the one thing that never fails. You may grow old and tremble, you may lie awake at night listening to the disorder in your veins, you may lose your one love and you may lose your money to a monster; you may watch the world around you laid waste by dangerous madmen, or know that your honour is being trampled in the sewers of the vilest minds — there is only one thing to do in such conditions: learn.”
_{– Marguerite Yourcenar “Sources II”}

Learning may not guarantee success, nor can it necessarily prevent future pain or failure, but it does ensure constant evolution, which is key to living a full life. And even when you think there is nothing to be learned, one lesson that is always valid is this famous idea from ancient Greek philosopher Heraclitus:

“Change is the only constant in life.”
_{– Heraclitus (paraphrased)}

As long as you exist, think, and feel, you plant seeds. Every day. Some will grow, others won’t. But what I have seen is that, of all these seeds I planted over the last few years, some ended up growing in the most unexpected and wondrous ways.

Learning also means getting up again after each fall – regardless of the time it takes you. Because life will knock you down in countless ways. Still, just as people continue to breathe when they have little to live for, we must get up after each fall, if for no other reason than to satisfy our curiosity about what will come next.

Whilst trying to pinpoint one specific decision that led me to where I am today, I found that it had been the act of turning my back on jobs I was doing for acknowledgement, a fancy title, or a good paycheque. Bearing abusive behaviours by an erratic boss, or being surrounded by people I had little to do with, just made my reorientation easier. Since going back to writing creatively, sharing my work, attending workshops, meeting other creators, I have seen a gradual change in me. The light inside me seems to have come back. I have given a voice to parts of me that had been dormant for too long.

And thus, bit by bit, the bricks I once used to build walls – shielding me from the world – are now helping me build a new path ahead – reminiscent of the classic musical The Wizard of Oz.

“Follow the yellow brick road!”
_{– The Munchkins in Victor Fleming’s “The Wizard of Oz”}

Nonetheless, my road has been uneven, and it has not always been easy remaining positive. As I often tell my daughter, it’s easier – and sometimes justified – to be negative and defeatist, or blame others for one’s misfortunes. Trying to find the right path, applying for jobs in my forties, balancing getting back into shape with being a mom and a breadwinner, trying to be open to new relationships and connections, accepting the things I can’t change – including my many imperfections – none of it has been easy! Had I not fought to stay positive, I might have collapsed under the weight of my own unmet expectations.

And just like Dorothy, I couldn’t have gotten to where I am today if I had travelled this road alone. Learning from past mistakes, I steered clear of people who might see my guilelessness and enthusiasm as naivety or weakness. I most definitely chose my travelling companions wisely.

At long last, I started writing for myself, and not for an unknown audience or for some sort of recognition. I began communicating consciously, rather than just expressing myself. And I’ve been keeping my expectations in check. Not my hopes – just my expectations.

I have, in the process, found a true calling that I didn’t know I had, teaching curious and passionate young minds about the power of art and culture. I’m opening up to feelings I’d tucked away behind those invisible walls. For the first time in my life, words have poured out of me like ink, and they materialised as a play, just as Elizabeth Gilbert describes in Big Magic (see TED Talk, below).

“Creative living is a path for the brave. (…) If I want creativity in my life – and I do – I will have to make space for fear, too. (…) I am who I am today, precisely because of what I have made and what it has made me into.“
_{– Elizabeth Gilbert “Big Magic”}

Just like that, 110 pages worth of words traversed me, and came out of my fingertips. And when the opportunity arose to have it read by professional actors, I seized it – even though the play wasn’t ready. Because Why not?! What did I have to lose? Never before would I have dared to share an early draft with people who could tell it wasn’t fully baked. This exercise was very uncomfortable, but it propelled me forward by months. And this year, I took every chance I got to have my work published and read, even though I know authors who might have written those texts far better than I could.

Likewise, when I started teaching my course to students, I compared myself with my co-professor, whose experience far surpasses mine, and whose smooth style differs from mine in many ways. And then I stopped comparing us. Because all that I may learn from him can be learned without comparing us.

As simplistic as it may sound: I am me. And a big part of how I got here has been based on learning without comparing myself to others, choosing whom to trust, accepting who I am, and going towards risks that I have deemed worth taking. Today, I am at home within myself and in my life. Surely enough, further changes will come about – both good and bad. Because such is life. And that is why I am making sure I enjoy all the good things I sometimes doubted I would have (again).

My final note here is inspired by my youthful days, working on the stage musical Pink Floyd’s ‘The Wall’. The main character, Pink, spends the entire story building emotional walls to protect himself – from trauma, loss, fame, and isolation. Then, at the end, he reaches a breaking point, his psychological defences fail, and he is finally exposed. The Wall is destroyed, and all who were trying to help Pink all along – whom he could only see through the filter of his giant wall of fear and mistrust – can be seen for who they are. And he can finally be who he is. The lesson being that only baring yourself guarantees the possibility of connection and growth. And that is one that speaks to me.

(The Judge:)
“Since my friend you have revealed your deepest fear
I sentence you to be exposed before your peers.
Tear down the wall, tear down the wall, tear down the wall!”

(The wall collapses. Pink is exposed.)
(Narrator:)

“All alone or in twos
The ones who really love you
Walk up and down outside the wall
Some hand-in-hand
And some gathered together in bands
The bleeding hearts and the artists make their stand
And when they’ve given you their all
Some stagger and fall, after all it’s not easy
Banging your heart against some mad bugger’s wall”
_{– Pink Floyd (Roger Waters), “The Wall”}

It may be harder to live without those big sheltering walls around you, but I have found it more rewarding and real. The world would certainly be much more peaceful if the people in charge of it dared to live with their fears. But since I can’t change them, I’m glad I’ve managed to change myself at least.

(Title quote attributed to George Eliot.)

“A very small heart… could hold a rather large amount of Gratitude”

Last night, I reflected upon an email I sent to the Master’s Course Director, who gave me an exciting new opportunity to teach a course on “Art and Culture for Change”, thanking her. Why this impulse, this need to share my joy of the moment or to express my gratitude toward her? While it’s in my nature to share my joys and sorrows, I’ve also made a habit of telling people the good I think of them. Because I don’t think we do it enough.

There is, of course, that tendency to shower each other with: “I appreciate you, I value you, I see you.” But it often sounds like copy-pasting. It’s “ready-to-speak,” mass language.

In that same vein of ready-made phrases, there’s the famous “practice gratitude!” which irritated me until recently. This injunction rings false when you’re not doing well, and it annoyed me more than anything when nothing I undertook seemed to work. The bad people around me seemed to be succeeding, while I was struggling without seeing any result from my tenacity. Yet, I was supposed to “be grateful!” For what, exactly?

In Croatian, we say that as long as everything is going well, you have a thousand worries, whereas when something serious happens to you, you only have one. So, we should remember that we are lucky to have a thousand worries. And that is true. But…

But where I had neither the desire nor the capacity to be truly grateful while I was tirelessly fighting, now, my “thank yous” are generously—and also conscientiously—distributed. Why?

Because, without everything being exactly as I would like, a multitude of buds are now blooming. This follows two years of incessant sowing that often seemed futile. Because, after facing malicious or disrespectful people, the benevolent individuals shine in contrast. And I feel the need to let them know. Also knowing that “the kind ones” are often no strangers to slaps and setbacks. They, therefore, truly need to hear that they are appreciated, valued, seen.

And so, without having repeated any mantra like “Be grateful!”, it turns out that I am. Not because a self-help book prescribed it to me, but because it became obvious.

There is no moral to this story, except that there is no universal recipe, nor are the consequences always predictable. And while it is necessary to remain active to ensure some form of evolution, forcing things does not always bring the desired results. But we must move forward, because something new will eventually arise. Always.

As French reggae singer Tonton David once sang: “Chacun sa route, chacun son chemin.” (“Everyone their own road, everyone their own path”.)

(Title quote taken from “Winnie-the-Pooh” by A. A. Milne)

“To thine own self be true”

As one year has drawn to a close and another begins, I am looking back on my overall experience of the past twelve months, while contemplating what the coming year might bring.

In this time of transition, mainly what I see and feel around me is a general wariness. Some believe it is related to our growing anxiety linked with the ongoing wars that affect us, either directly or indirectly. Others feel that it is tied to the escalating dehumanisation of our society, in correlation with the fast expansion of AI and our post-COVID isolation (see my post about mental health issues and fear). The obvious impact of ever-rising prices on a shrinking middle class is certainly also part of the equation. However, even if we cannot necessarily influence these global issues, what we can do is change certain aspects of our lives.

Thus, in the spirit of Anne Shirley in the children’s classic “Anne of Green Gables”, I want to step into the new year thinking:

“Tomorrow is always fresh, with no mistakes in it.”
“Anne of Green Gables” by Lucy Maud Montgomery

This last year has decidedly taught me that it is never too late to change course. I have recently come to yet another fork in my road, where I need to choose between two paths, both of which offer advantages and disadvantages. In simpler terms, one provides creative freedom at the cost of financial stability, while the other offers the opposite.

With this in mind, I remembered Polonius’ popular words to Laertes, in Shakespeare’s “Hamlet”:

“This above all: to thine own self be true,
And it must follow, as the night the day,
Thou canst not then be false to any man.”
“Hamlet” by William Shakespeare

But what does it mean to be true to yourself? There are many aspects to each personality and sides to the prism of who you are. So, which “Self” are you meant to be true to?

Excerpt from the teen comedy “Clueless” (1995), showing how present this Hamlet quote is in popular culture

Both paths stretching out before me are in line with equally valid sides of my Self. One is my rational and reasonable “left-brained” side. It listens to my need to provide my child and myself with a stable existence, which is by no means to be undervalued. By doing jobs that I had some interest in, but no passion for, I have been able to pay the rent and spend quality time with my daughter. And then, there is the “right-brained” path, which is aligned with my irrevocably creative nature. Despite all my past efforts to function without it, my creativity has proven to be a resilient creature which will not be silenced. But unlike in Hollywood films, the path of passion never miraculously provided financial stability just because I dared to quit a paying job to follow my dream.

Top 10 Movies That Make You Want to Quit Your Job

This duality within me has repeatedly swung me back and forth between jobs for money and jobs for the soul. And now, this pendulum has swung again towards my creativity. Although creativity is often mentioned in the corporate world, in my experience it is seldom seen as a desirable quality in employees. It is, after all, somewhat of an untamed beast, in direct opposition to the culture that has shaped the West and been enforced by colonisers – past and present. Creativity does not care about hierarchy or the establishment.

And as of recently, the “creative beast” which had restlessly been awaiting her time to be set free once more, has resurfaced in my life. Suddenly, doors that had been closed are opening onto new horizons. And just like that, a short story I wrote with no expectations, based on the lives of both my grandmothers, was published (order “A Story of Two Europes” here). I was then selected to participate in a programme for writers-directors with budding projects, organised by mediarte. During those few days of open and honest interaction with a dozen young filmmakers, I found that I was among “my tribe” again. We were not there to earn money nor promote ourselves, but to learn how to best feed and nurture the projects we so care about.

_{Poster for the mediarte programme I attended (left)}_{& mediarte magazine (feat. actress Priscilla Adade on the cover) (right)}

During this programme, one of the trainers emphasised the importance of living by our values and seeking joy in our daily work. The term “joy” stood out for us all. Perhaps it is because in our society, we are so focused on being happy that we forget about joy. And while happiness is vague and vast, joy is an identifiable emotion that can be ignited in many situations. Moreover, the pursuit of happiness can be weighed down by expectations about it. We all know people who thought they would be happy once they found a partner, got a lucrative job, had a child, only to find that achieving this goal did not live up to their vision. Joy, on the other hand, can readily be found in smaller undertakings and successes. As French philosopher Frédéric Lenoir writes:

“More intense and deeper than pleasure, more concrete than happiness, joy is the manifestation of our vital power.”
“The Power of Joy” by Frédéric Lenoir

I have often been in situations where I traded in joy for a paycheque, and have found that this inevitably creates a crater in the soul. It leads to needing psychological crutches to support you, such as buying material goods, turning to that “wine o’clock” big glass of Chardonnay, eating more than you should, just to make up for what you are denying yourself. After all, everything comes at a price.

Lately, another experience challenged my perception of the choices I’ve made, and the ones I want to make going forward. My childhood hero, the beautiful and exceptionally talented Petro Ivanovitch, passed away. This celebrated Romani (Gypsy) musician and singer was a dear friend of my family and played a significant role in my grown-up life. Our regular visits to his family’s chic Paris restaurant “Les Tziganes Ivanovitch” – always filled with the crème de la crème of Romani performers and celebrities – later led me to write and direct the musical play “Romano Drom” about the Roma people’s history and to create the Romani culture festival “Romani Yag”.

“Les Tziganes Ivanovitch”: Petro (centre) with his beloved brother Slobodan, who died in 1985 (right), and Andrei Chestopaloff (left).

Petro’s passing made me look back on my eight years of passionate and committed work to shine a light on the diverse abundance of Romani culture worldwide. Despite numerous hurdles and tests, I had managed to gain some notoriety for the work I was doing internationally to bring together Romani arts, culture, activism, and information, in order to challenge the old narratives about “Gypsies”. But over time, continuous attacks by opponents to my festival or to me tainted my enthusiasm and wore me down. Just like in the fable about The Little Red Hen, I’ve heard many stories from individuals who worked hard towards a laudable goal, all the while having to fend off envious and frustrated antagonists who only saw the results and glory, and not all the hard work that had made it possible.

At this point though, even if I often regretted having left my path with Romani Yag behind, I have become kinder to myself, and now see regret as:

“a fundamental part of how [we] learn to reason and make decisions (…) Our cognitive apparatus is designed at least in part to sustain us in the long term, rather than bomb us in the near term. We need the ability to regret our poor decisions (…) precisely so we can improve those decisions in the future.”
“The Power of Regret – How Looking Backward Moves Us forward” by Daniel H. Pink

What I have learned from this is never again to quit a path I believe in because of external pressures. And I will try not to walk this path alone. As you age, what you lose in availability and energy, you need to make up for by surrounding yourself with the right people. A middle-aged filmmaker I know recently hit the nail on the head when he said that, while you are young, energetic, and free to dedicate all your energy to just one venture, you can fight your battles alone. But as time passes and your duties multiply, it is wise to share the burden of responsibility with trusted collaborators, partners, family, friends.

Thus, at the dawn of this new year, I will choose a path that is as close to an intersection between my different authentic selves – the elusive “Ikigai“. And I encourage others to do the same if they do not experience a healthy daily dose of joy in their lives. If we can, we should strive to live in line with our core values and our intrinsic nature, despite anyone who might try to format us. For me, this entails birthing my creative projects that had been sitting on a shelf for years, untouched but never forgotten.

(Title quote taken from Shakespeare’s “Hamlet”)

“Thoughts arrive like butterflies”

From my mid-teens to my mid-twenties, I was an unconditional Pearl Jam fan. I had all their albums, went to their concerts, knew the lyrics to all their songs by heart, and Eddie Vedder’s poster hung on my student room wall. To this day, I admire their body of work. They were the voice of the Western world’s nineties youth, addressing all the uncomfortable truths of that generation. The chorus of their song “Even Flow“, about a homeless man, begins with:

“Even flow, thoughts arrive like butterflies
He don’t know, so he chases them away.”
“Even Flow” by Eddie Vedder and Stone Gossard

“Even Flow” by Pearl Jam – lyrics here

I have often remembered this line, as my mind is regularly stormed by thoughts I want to chase away. Lately, I find that in order to stray my mind from unwanted cerebration, I’ve been listening to audio books, podcasts and series to control what populates my brain. This constant influx of content may feed my mind, but at the same time, it tires it and slowly stifles my creativity.

In the Croatian documentary film “Spomenko”, directed by my ex-husband, the exceptional and nonconformist priest, to whom it is dedicated, mentions the importance of solitude in processing all that constitutes our everyday lives.

Full documentary film “Spomenko”* by Bruno Lovrenčić and Dražen Nenadić (Croatian with English subtitles). Passage about the importance of solitude: 5’40”-7’10”.

Our minds need to breathe. They require a break from input in order to create relevant output. And yet, many people cannot handle silence. They go so far as to listen to audio content (whether guided meditations or music) while they sleep. My goal is not to criticise the tools individuals find to cope with whatever is weighing them down. Rather, I wonder if we are not overburdening the brain with never-ending flows of words, thoughts and emotions from the outside in.

Likewise, I am dubious about the overall benefits of brief daily meditations. However helpful, I wonder if they can truly suffice to let the dust of our emotions, encounters, worries and plans settle, which is necessary to try to make sense of it all. As a society, we have been moving faster and faster, and while we are trying to focus on the positive aspects of our existence, we cannot shut out the negative, like we do on our social media profiles. We must learn to live with thoughts that may eat at our brains like bugs. Perhaps we should even welcome them, since countless uneasy questions, worries, sadness or anger, have given birth to an invaluable wealth in art and philosophy over centuries.

The problem now is that, for the first time in history, we have access to an infinite source of distraction and information. This puts us in a position of constant reaction to what we hear and read, as a way to externalise the impact this influx has on us. We are on the receiving end, rather than being the instigators and creators of original thoughts. Whereas welcoming silence and solitude is more challenging in the moment, it brings with it more peace of mind in the long run. And more creativity, too.

As I look out onto the pristine Adriatic Sea, sitting on what was once my grandparents’ terrace, high above the madding crowd, I have made the decision to pause the constant input from my phone. I have taken out the faithful companion that is my notebook and am finally writing again – letting the butterflies back in to fly around my head, come what may. Time to slow down again and just be, and let be. Life is not a long quiet river.

*The view from my late grandparents’ house*

Life is not – nor can it be – a constant source of joy, excitement and gratitude, even when all is well. It is a complex multitude of layers, experiences and emotions, tainted by fears and insecurities, highlighted by joys and serenity. And it is certainly much easier to be offended, complain or be envious of others, than it is to accept what is. But acceptance is necessary at times. As is said in the Serenity Prayer, made famous through its use in AA groups and subsequently in popular culture:

“God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change,
the courage to change the things I can,
and the wisdom to know the difference.”
More about its source here

Acceptance is not resignation. Rather, it is about letting the dust of the daily hustle and bustle settle, letting the fog of injustice, aggression, excitement and euphoria clear up. Only when this happens can we see more clearly, and act rather than react. Swift reaction may well be essential when you are in danger, but it is usually shortsighted and can ultimately misguide you in any other context.

Quieting the voices in our heads by turning on our phones is in some ways comparable to escaping reality through drugs. And like drugs, the relief from our thoughts and emotions that we get through this content is short-lived. What awaits us at the other end is the same feeling of helplessness or the overwhelmingness of everything. This drives us to continue using our “escape-drug” to remain distracted. Detoxifying your mind by only using your phone when you actually need it may take a few days, but I am noticing the positive effects in me already.

My mind is slowing down, the jumbled puzzle pieces are slowly falling into place, allowing me to breathe and make lucid decisions. As the dust is settling, I can see the green fields with colourful butterflies again. For now, I’m just letting them fly about – until I catch one, when I’m ready.

(Title quote taken from the Pearl Jam song “Even Flow”)

*In memoriam Luka Lovrenčić, cinematographer on “Spomenko” (1978-2015)

“Tears are words that need to be written”

Lately, I have found that whichever conversation I have, or whatever I read about, the topics that come up are exactly the ones I have been writing about on this blog. Among them are isolation, screen addiction, absence of community, bullying, powerlessness, desensitisation, lack of nuance, obsession with performance, and this giant corporate monoculture that keeps on spreading. There is also the issue of the “Potemkin village“-like society we live in, where the façade of forced optimism is meant to erase all underlying injustice and imbalance.

What I draw from this is not that I am exceptionally perceptive, but rather that we are all suffering of similar aches. Some are just better than others at concealing it. Generally speaking, our mental health is damaged. In many cases, this even affects our physical health.

Some argue that having mental health issues is a luxury reserved to the wealthy. Others, in turn, consider that only the weak will be afflicted with mental health issues. But I would beg to differ with both these views. These kinds of simplistic statements remind me of one I recently heard from an elderly woman I know: she said that in her childhood, bullying did not exist among kids. Of course, one just needs to read the classics, like Jane Eyre, to know that this is not true. But what this woman’s view reveals is that bullying was not considered or treated as a concern back then. And the same can be said for mental health issues, which were not recognised until fairly recently.

A century ago, and all the centuries before that, most of the population constituted the working class, working fourteen-hour days. They certainly had mental health issues, but the option to diagnose and treat them did not exist. Still, they managed to function, but at what cost?

As mentioned in a previous post, our mental health has been affected by our gradual isolation, exacerbated by the lockdown and the resulting post-COVID social patterns. These include working from home, having food delivered rather than eating out, ordering everything instead of going to shops. Likewise, the digitalisation of every service we use has led to increased screen time, and while we all know that spending too much time watching a screen is detrimental to our mental health (as is clearly explained in this article in Time Magazine), it is very difficult to escape this trend.

Moreover, in our navel-gazing culture, our obsession with ourselves removes us from a journey towards balance. Instead, it forces us to turn inwards and dissect every part of our own behaviour and emotions, thereby further isolating us. It is a rabbit hole from which it can be challenging to resurface.

Understanding and categorising our emotions is certainly important. As we have seen, individuals who are disconnected from their emotions are likely to misidentify sadness or fear as anger. This can easily lead to outward violent behaviour or to inward eating disorders, to compensate for feelings of powerlessness, loneliness or frustration. This is why, early on in my child’s life, I started reading books to help her identify her emotions, such as the excellent “The Color Monster” by Ana Llenas.

Ana Llenas’ “The Color Monster”, read by Joshua Brooks

But identifying and labelling your emotions is only the first step. Once that is done, you still need to process them, and act or react. Physical activity is recommended, as it helps channel (self) destructive energy. And yet, I don’t believe that this is enough. Nor is listening to 5 minutes of daily affirmations on Headspace or similar apps. These habits do help, but there is no quick fix for deeper-rooted problems and a dysfunctional structure.

In my post about victimisation, I mentioned the key element of fear, as a tool of manipulation. Employers, media, heads of state knows this well, and make use of it on a daily basis to steer us in the intended direction. They have planted seeds of fear in us and have continuously nourished them, thereby slowly reducing the spectrum of our freedom and power. I don’t believe that any amount of running or meditation can resolve this issue. So I have started digging into the notion of fear.

In Michelle Obama’s recent book “The Light We Carry: Overcoming in uncertain times“, she talks about being “comfortably afraid”, which is an interesting concept.

“What does it mean to be comfortably afraid? For me, the idea is simple. It’s about learning to deal wisely with fear, finding a way to let your nerves guide you rather than stop you. It’s settling yourself in the presence of life’s inevitable zombies and monsters so that you may contend with them more rationally, and trusting your own assessment of what’s harmful and what’s not. When you live this way, you are neither fully comfortable nor fully afraid. You accept that there’s a middle zone and learn to operate inside of it, awake and aware, but not held back.”
“The Light We Carry” by Michelle Obama (2022)

Michelle Obama talks about fear, and how it narrows your perspectives, as well as isolating you from others

Fear is often seen as something we need to either overcome or avoid. We are seldom taught to live with fear and accept it as an integral part of our life experience. When we are young, we are much more inclined to challenge our fears and ourselves. But as time goes by, as we build a life for ourselves and our family, we seek security. And human security is founded on freedom from fear.

The UNDP’s Human Development Report stresses that “there have always been two major components of human security: freedom from fear and freedom from want.” These ‘two freedoms’ are often considered the ‘twin pillars’ of human security.
United Nations Development Programme – Human Development Report 1994

As security sounds comforting, we accept the ever narrower range of action that is offered to us, as long as we are promised the removal of what we have been told to fear. Each planted fear closes a door for us. Michelle Obama also mentions a parent’s fear for their child, which I understand deeply. My fear for myself was never as great as that for my child’s safety and wellbeing. As Hanya Yanagihara writes:

[The love for one’s own child] “is a singular love, because it is a love whose foundation is not physical attraction, or pleasure, or intellect, but fear. You have never known fear until you have a child, and maybe that is what tricks us into thinking that it is more magnificent, because the fear itself is more magnificent. Every day, your first thought is not “I Love him” but “How is he?””
“A Little Life” by Hanya Yanagihara (2015)

But even this fear is one that we must all learn to live with if we want our kids to grow wings.

Today, so many people live in comfortable situations, that they are inclined to sacrifice their intangible wealth (such as freedom of thought or community) in order to keep their material one. The more they have, the less they dare. It is no coincidence that the people who built the American Dream had little or nothing to lose. Today, I do not believe that we can reach the same heights because we have too much to lose.

This is not to suggest that we should suffer and endure poverty as our ancestors did, just so we can build a new worthwhile dream. Rather, I wonder if the path back to mental health could be one where we accept fear as our daily companion. Perhaps master manipulators might then lose some of their hold on us, and we might venture to seek untrodden paths.

This could begin with small steps, such as sharing knowledge and ideas, without being obsessed with patents and trademarks. For me, that step was simply writing this blog. Through “Midlife Reflection“, I began sharing my emotions and failures publicly, writing words to replace the tears I was shedding – just as in this post’s title quote by Paulo Coelho.

If you can find the source of your tears, I believe you can find a way to turn them into words or actions that, in turn, might help others. And this could be your path towards mental health, balance and “comfortable fearfulness”.

(Title: Quote by Paulo Coelho)

“A time when decency has lost its hold on the public imagination”

I recently watched the first season of “The Diplomat“, which I thoroughly enjoyed. In it, one line caught my attention: David Gyasi‘s character, Austin Dennison, says to Keri Russell‘s Kate Wyler: “Perhaps you’re just a decent person in a time when decency has lost its hold on the public imagination.” I completely agree with this statement. This is not to say that people are less decent or kind than before. It’s rather that decency is generally no longer valued or exemplified the way it used to be.

Although quotes about kindness have become popular, it is not encouraged in practice. We would like to believe that being kind is better than being successful, but we know that in our society, success is more important. Perhaps it is so because, contrary to kindness, success is measurable. Thus, kindness is rarely valued, and it is mostly perceived as naivety or weakness.

Morality and etiquette, too, are outdated, as they are associated with a formerly oppressive and rigid system. But it seems the pendulum has, once again, swung too far in the opposite direction, and we have thrown the baby out with the bathwater. In our struggles against an overly hierarchical and stifled society, in favour of an equally exaggeratedly individualist one (as I mentioned in my previous post on current individualism), we have exchanged what was beneficial in our old codes of conduct for personal freedom and success as absolute priorities. Helping others requires energy and time that, according to today’s set of values, you should be spending bettering yourself or being kind to yourself.

In the corporate world, this is particularly noticeable. Regardless of the principles preached in giant tech and entertainment companies, where “brilliant jerks” are supposedly not welcome, the reality is that the said jerks and toxic managers are celebrated, as long as they bring measurable results and exceed KPIs. In this new world, employees are encouraged to act as though they care, but without actually getting involved. The unwritten rule is that your colleagues are supposed to ask you how you’re doing, and you’re expected to reply: “Great! Amazing! Awesome!” But no one is meant to be sincere, or to truly listen. What I have seen is that in the corporate sphere, helping people in need is done by donating money to a charity, and then patting yourself on the back for being such a decent human being. That way, you don’t have to get your hands dirty, and whatever you give is tax-deductible.

All of this differs greatly from the decency that was once taught, albeit as part of a broader set of restrictive rules. The forced “respect for elders”, which I am against as an absolute principle, did however ensure that young people helped the elderly who needed it. The fear of God, however constrictive, did come with rules that demanded charitable actions. I find there is a lack of nuance, which prevents us from perpetuating what was best in our old sets of rules, and combining it with our recently found freedoms. It seems everything has to be one or the other, black or white, good or bad. Perhaps the digitalisation of our planet, built on binary coding, is pushing us to view everything through a binary lens.

When Simon Sinek talked about performance versus trust, he clearly explained why companies should rather seek trustworthy employees, rather than simply high-performing ones. As he says:

“What we end up doing is promoting or bonusing toxicity in our business.”
Simon Sinek (“Trust vs performance)

This is because valuing numbers over human qualities is deeply ingrained in the corporate identity. While our colleagues may give us mugs with inspiring phrases about kindness and empathy, we are taught to avoid what requires energy if there is no guaranteed selfish profit. And though none of this is new, what shocks me today is the massive gap between what we say and what we do. Or rather what we are told and what is expected of us. Indeed, what is shown in ads or company culture is consistently at the opposite of what is actually being rewarded in these environments.

We speak and hear of authenticity, of empathy, of thinking outside the box. And yet, even though companies are now much more tolerant regarding employees’ appearance, if one looks past the diverse hairstyles, tattoos, piercings or other – all of which should express actual individuality (not individualism) – what remains are people who are formatted, similarly to past generations. They have just replaced one set of goals for another, and decency or kindness are not among them.

When I think of these values, I remember an eye-opening awareness campaign on Quebecois television about homelessness. In this ad, a young man was addressing the viewer, saying: “I’m a magician. Watch me, and you will see how I make myself invisible!” Meanwhile, the camera was zooming out, revealing him as homeless. He was greeting the passersby and they were all ignoring him. To me, being decent goes beyond simple propriety. It means having moral standards, having a sense of responsibility towards others. This includes homeless people whom, at the very least, we can establish eye contact with, because this is the most basic and simple way to acknowledge another’s existence. It requires a moment of attention and it means seeing something that we don’t always want to see. But it is one of many tiny, yet significant, steps we can take towards decency and kindness.

*What we are posting is not necessarily what we truly aspire to… (Image by Yuriz on Canva)*

Thankfully, in our own communities of friends and family, we can choose whom to be around, based on shared fundamental values. As individuals, we are usually drawn either to success and wealth, or to kindness and respect. The first is exclusive, while the second is inclusive. Over the decades, I have always chosen the latter.

Some years ago, a friend of mine repeated a quote she had read:

“When I was young, I admired clever people. Now that I am old, I admire kind people.”
Abraham Joshua Heschel

Despite having always been drawn to artists and brilliant minds myself, not all of whom showed exemplary values or conduct, I have found that Rabbi Heschel‘s quote has become true for me over the years. I am still impressed by great minds and moved by dazzling artists, just as others are drawn to power, money and success. But success, intellect and talent alike, tell us nothing about a person’s kindness, humanity or generosity. In my forties, I find that I am first and foremost drawn to, and admirative of, people who practice kindness, show respect, demonstrate decency. Having such people around you is indeed a wealth that money cannot buy – even if their values are outdated in today’s public imagination.

(Title: taken from S01:E8 of “The Diplomat”, created by Debora Cahn)

“You fought me when I was strong, you despised me when I was weak”

This is a translated line from the 1975 French song “A witch like the others” (“Une sorcière comme les autres”). When I first heard this song, it was this beautiful and deeply sensitive interpretation by wonderful singer, actor and playwright Nathalie Doummar, whom I was lucky enough to know and direct in my debut play “Romano Drom“, and by the equally moving Laëtitia Isambert.

“Une sorcière comme les autres” (written by Anne Sylvestre, sung by Nathalie Doummar and Laëtitia Isambert)

Many things have changed for women since these lyrics were written (you will find them at the end of this text), but a lot of what Anne Sylvestre wrote still applies. Women are still judged, judging themselves and each other, based on archetypes, on what has been projected onto them over centuries.

After watching the brilliant Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie‘s Ted Talk, I recently read her essay “We should all be feminists“, which presented a view of feminism that I am in complete accordance with. In it, she writes:

“I have chosen to no longer be apologetic for my femaleness and my femininity. And I want to be respected in all of my femaleness because I deserve to be.”
Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie “We should all be feminists” (4th Estate, 2014)

But when I look around me, I am rather disappointed with what is passed off as feminism or asserting your femininity today. Contrary to Ngozi Adichie, who exudes strength, intelligence, wit and femininity, many of the successful women I see are rather like Sheryl Sandberg than Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie.

Chimamanda Ngozi Adiche’s TED Talk on why we should all be feminists

When Sheryl Sandberg‘s “Lean in“ came out, it spoke to me, probably because I come from a generation and a continent where we, as women, were still mostly taught that expressing yourself with vigour was incompatible with being feminine. So, being encouraged to “lean in”, speak up and be heard was something I much needed to hear. (You can see her Ted Talk here.) But Sandberg’s message was presenting one type of successful female leadership that I could not recognise myself in. It was somewhat in line with what I had seen in my peers at university in England, back in the days of the Spice Girls. Back then, English female students were often called “ladettes“, and many took pride in this. They saw this as a positive step up from our mothers’ generation, which had had to fight for the right to be heard. The so-called “ladettes” felt that mimicking what I saw as the worst traditionally masculine traits, while wearing short skirts and high heels, was a sign of assertive femininity.

I see Sheryl Sandberg’s model of womanhood as a continuation of this trend. And nowadays I see many more Sheryls than Chimamandas at higher levels of the corporate ladder. When we hear the wishfully empowering, albeit solely self-serving, “You can have it all,” I always wonder at whose expense. Where the Women’s Lib movement dreamed of female solidarity, of women helping each other, this is still quite rare. Especially on the way up the ladder. Like many groups that have been victimised and undervalued, rather than helping each other up, many women push each other down as they try to gain their spot among the gods on Mount Olympus.

Bill Burr makes this point about women competing against each other and seeking men’s approval in this clip,
taken from his show “Bill Burr Live at Red Rocks”

Whether in the personal or the professional sphere, women have a tendency to behave as if there were a limited number of seats for us at the VIP table. This would explain why they continue to scratch each other’s eyes out, rather than unite. And in situations where both a man and a woman are responsible for some form of misbehaviour, if another woman is asked to point the finger, she will likely do so at the woman, rather than the man. I don’t know if this comes from a deep-seated lingering fear of men or from simple force of habit, attacking the perceived weakest opponent. Either way, when a husband cheats, his wife usually goes after the other woman. Likewise, when a man and a woman make mistakes at work, female bosses tend to be harder on their own sex.

My personal experience has been that my male bosses rarely felt threatened by me. Perhaps this was due to the implicit assumption that they were superior – but perhaps not. On the other hand, almost all my female bosses (fortunately with a few notable exceptions!) wanted me to be submissive, and felt threatened as soon as they saw any potential for growth in me, even though I had no wish to take their place. And through various discussions with friends, but also through films we see, I know that I am not an isolated case. After the fairy tales of my childhood (filled with evil stepmothers feeling threatened by their stepdaughters) the first time I saw this dynamic between women portrayed in a movie was in the 1980s “Working Girl“. As I’ve done my fair share of gigs as an assistant over the years, I often remembered this film and realised how little removed it was from the truth.

“Working Girl” trailer (1988)

Contrary to 50 years ago, when a woman speaks her mind outside of extremely conservative circles, it is often women, not men, who comment negatively on her. And this happens as soon as girls hit puberty and start looking like women. Almost overnight, they are perceived as competitors and threats by other women.

And yet, most of my friends are women – but none of them behave like this towards other women. They are as diverse as can be, in terms of personality, appearance or culture. But they all have this in common: they are supportive of each other. They are not against men, nor are they against other women. Most of them are devoted mothers, they care about their work, those who have partners love them. And none of them treat each other as rivals. None rejoices in the others’ misfortunes. I’ve identified the common trait that allows them to be different from the women I described above, and that is actual emotional strength, coupled with strength of character. They are deeply strong women.

*Segment of Tijana Djapovic’s painting “Unfinished stories”* (c) Tijana Djapovic

As strong, empathetic, sensitive women, they do not need to prove their strength by using force, intimidation or manipulation. They do not need to crush others to empower themselves. I have noticed that the only times I’ve been jealous or envious of others has been when I felt weak, unhappy or dissatisfied with myself. So, it turns out that the type of women we often see portrayed in movies as successful, are actually weak. The stereotype of a thriving woman is only after a prestigious job and a diamond ring. She is all about winning, and betrays anyone on her path to reach her goal.

Again, I return to Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie. In her, I see a new model of women who are strong and charismatic, while being empathetic and supportive. Women who love women without hating men, and who love men without fearing women. When I see my own daughter playing with her girlfriends, I observe how they comfort each other when they are sad, praise each other selflessly, help each other when they are down. Seeing this, I hope that the rising generation of girls will neither be fearful like mine, nor aggressive like the one that followed. Hopefully, these girls will find a golden middle, where there is room for all women – and for men, too.

(Title: Lyrics from “Une sorcière comme les autres” by Anne Sylvestre, 1975.
See translated lyrics below.)

“A Witch Like The Others“

Please

Be like the down

Be like the goose feather

Of yesteryears’ pillows;

I would like

To not be a porter,

Please make yourselves lighter

For I can no longer move;

I have carried you alive

I have carried you as children,

God! How heavy you were

With the weight of your love;

I carried you again

At the hour of your death,

I brought you flowers

Broke down my heart for you;

While you were playing soldiers

I was guarding the house,

With my prayers

I wore down your prison bars;

While you were dying under the bombs

I was searching for you, screaming,

Now I am like a tomb

Filled with all the sadness;

It is only I

It is she or I,

She who speaks or she who keeps quiet

She who cries or she who is merry

It is Joan of Arc or Margot

The Daughter of waves or of streams;

And it is my heart

Or it is theirs,

It is the sister or the stranger,

She who never came

She who came too late,

The daughter of dreams or of chance;

And she is my mother

Or yours,

A witch like the others;

You must

Be like the stream

Like the clear water of the pond

That reflects and waits;

Please

Look at me, I am real,

I implore you, do not invent me

You have so often done it already;

You have loved me as a servant

Have wanted me ignorant,

When I was strong you fought me

When I was weak you despised me;

You have loved me as a whore

Covered in satin,

You have made me into a statue

And always I kept quiet;

When I was old and too ugly

You threw me away with the scraps

You denied me your help

When I no longer served you;

When I was beautiful and submissive

You worshipped me on bended knees,

Here I am as a church

With all the shame underneath;

It is only I

It is she or I,

She who loves or loves not

She who reigns or struggles

It is Josephine or La Dupont

The girl of pearl or of cotton;

And it is my heart

Or theirs,

She who waits at the port

She who stands at the war memorial

She who dances and dies from it

The street girl or the flower girl;

And it is my mother

Or yours,

A witch like the others;

Please

Be as I have dreamed you for so long

Free and strong like the wind;

Free as I am, you see

‘Learn’ me, don’t be afraid

For I know you by heart;

I was the one who waits

But I can walk ahead,

I was the log and the fire

I can be the blaze as well;

I was the goddess mother

But I was only dust

I was the ground under your feet

And I didn’t know it;

But one day the earth opens up

And the volcano has had enough,

The ground breaks and uncovers

Unknown riches inside;

In turn, the sea winds

With unused violence,

Here I am like a wave

You will not be drowned;

It is only I

It is she or I,

And she is the ancestor or the child

She who gives in or defends herself

She is Gabrielle or Eva

Daughter of love or of battle;

And it is my heart

Or theirs,

She who is in her spring

She whom no one expects

It is the ugly one or the beautiful one

The girl of fog or of clear skies;

And it is my mother

Or yours,

A witch

Like the others;

Please, please

Make yourselves lighter

For I can no longer move

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Anne Sylvestre, Find the original lyrics in French here