So I decided that to make good use of all the time I spend consuming different forms of media every week, I could post a handful of media recommendations! I hope you check some of them out.

TV

If you love Broadway shows and Dan Fogelman…

• Galavant (Netflix but leaving on September 7^th so WATCH NOW) is the best show I have seen in a LONG time. I watched both seasons in two days one weekend and after I finished the second season, I rewatched the pilot because it is THAT good. All you need to know is that it’s a musical comedy about sort of a knight, a king, and a queen. You just have to trust me and watch this NOW, before September 7^th!

MOVIES

If you miss dating and falling in and out of love…

• Chemical Hearts on Amazon is a sweet, sweet film. I felt sad, hopeful, and happy. I cried, I laughed. Though some scenes are a bit cringey, and the middle is a tiny bit slow, this movie is worth the watch, for sure. Lili Reinhart is amazing, as usual, and I am now in love with the lead actor, Austin Abrams who was also great as Ethan in Euphoria.

If you like the movie “Music & Lyrics” or just music in general…

• The High Note on Amazon is exactly what you’re looking for. It’s got Tracee Ellis Ross and Dakota Johnson, both outstanding, good music, handsome male leads, and… what else could you ask for? Music & Lyrics is one of my favorite movies and though this one isn’t AS good (few are), it’s a great watch.

If you’re feeling stuck…

• Palm Springs on Hulu is a movie that will make you feel better about your stagnant state. It will also make you laugh and nearly cry. Do I even need to mention how funny and amazing Andy Samberg is? And Cristin Milioti? There, I guess I did.

BOOK

If you could use some drama in your life…

• The Vanishing Half by Brit Bennett is the answer to your mundane routine. This story about two twins who eventually live separate lives far apart from each other is written beautifully, with both minor and major twists and turns that keep you turning the page. I read 100 pages in one sitting without even realizing. This book was also #1 on the NYTimes Bestseller List and HBO acquired the rights to develop it into a limited series!

My Grandpa, Herb, was in the hospital for the last months of his life, supported by my Grandma. For their 60^th anniversary, the nurses spoiled them: decorations, (off-regimen) steak, a handmade card. “Thankful for knowing this inspirational couple. Here’s to reaching an incredible milestone in your love story.” My Grandpa, with his big heart, took me to Europe for my Bat Mitzvah in 2010, cried while we watched “Wonder,” and died because his big heart failed. I feel his love, strength, and silly wiggling ears beating through me. “It must have been an unbelievable 60 years,” his heart surgeon wrote. It definitely was.

I submitted this short love story to the NYTimes Modern Love Tiny Love Stories but haven’t heard back so, putting it out here. I hope your heart hurts in the best way when you read this. I hope your heart hurts and reminds you that it is so full of all the love you have inside of it.

Lately, I’ve been driving with my windows down, blasting music, mostly songs about feeling lonely, sad or about wishing for love. You know, “Modern Loneliness” or “Sad Forever” by Lauv or “Dive” by Ed Sheeran. I secretly hope that someone will shout out to me, saying they like my music and that we should hang out. I do have friends, but I miss meeting new people and getting to know them, while getting to know myself more at the same time. I miss that moment when handshakes turns into hugs, and names turn into nicknames. I always remember the first time someone calls me “Zo.” Mostly, though, I miss touch and attention.

It’s hard right now, for so many reasons. It’s hard to grieve people killed for reasons that make less than no sense, to grieve normalcy and touch and the job I would have been starting soon, had things gone as planned (they rarely do). It’s hard to grieve in general but even harder without a warm hug or a supportive pat on the back from friends or family.

I thrive off of touch, off the electricity I feel when my hand grasps the hand of the cute boy from school on our first date at the movies, or when I cuddle with my best friend on her couch and she falls asleep so I have to sneak out so she doesn’t wake up. I’m going to see my Grandmom in Philly soon, and I can’t even hug her. I can’t hug my favorite lovely lady on Earth, who lost her husband, my Grandpop, not even a year ago. She probably hasn’t hugged anyone in 4 months. Then again, neither have I, besides when I “hug” my sister and she doesn’t hug me back (she doesn’t always like to be touched) or when I remind my dad “I am moving to LA for good” so he agrees to wrap his arms around his little girl quickly, one more time for now.

I started watching “When Harry Met Sally” the other day and in the very start, there’s a make out scene. It’s a closeup of two people making out in a park and it looked so gross to me that I didn’t keep watching the movie that night. Kissing seems gross to me. I have probably kissed a hundred boys at this point, and I don’t think I ever want to kiss one again. Maybe that’s dramatic, but I guess it’s just so clear to me right now, because I’ve had to be so careful about germs, that it is GROSS. Swiveling your tongue around in the inside of a random person’s dirty mouth, ew!

But at the same time, I can’t wait to kiss again. I can’t wait to see that look in his eyes and know that he’s about to place his soft lips on mine, or on my cheek and the creases of my neck. And it doesn’t seem so gross after all.

I don’t even know when that will happen, or with who. I know who I want it to happen with. I want to kiss Him again. I capitalized the H in Him when I wrote this without even thinking about it, as if he is God or something. He is most definitely not God, so maybe I should demote him to the lowercase “him,” to just an Angel instead, or maybe a demi-God, in my mind at least.

I imagine him next to me sometimes, like when I’m alone reading on a chair at the beach or driving to pick up food. I hope that doesn’t sound too sad or weird and I especially hope it doesn’t sound creepy. I just miss him, and I feel like I don’t even deserve to miss him. I don’t know him that well after all and I’m sure he doesn’t miss me. Why do I get to miss him? But then again, I also miss the smell of my best friend’s hair, the taste of buttery movie theater popcorn, and the sound of pen on paper and professors lecturing about whatever it is I used to learn in school.

So why can’t I miss him? Who am I to tell myself who I can and cannot miss? I mean, at least I’m not missing that other him (definitely lowercase), the one who stomped on my heart like he was killing a spider in the shower, with intention and no regrets.

I miss my favorite writer, Marina Keegan. I never even knew her, besides through her writing. She was 22 when she died, right after she graduated from Yale. In one of her spoken word poetry sets, she said “I want to have time to be in love with everything.” I do, too. I want to hug my best friend when I go to her house to congratulate her on getting her first job. I want to high-five my friend’s mom after we run a solid two miles together in the New England heat. I want to look next to me and actually see him, and give his hand a quick squeeze to let him know I’m glad that I’m not only imaging him next to me anymore.

I want to be in love with my country, my home, this beautiful Earth. I definitely am not right now. I am proud of so much of the effort from everyone, to better themselves and fight for justice with racism, police brutality, and everything else that’s so fucked up in America. I am not proud of my President. I am proud of the Supreme Court, for its ruling to protect LGBTQ+ people in the workplace. I am not proud of the police. I am proud of myself, for selling postcards to raise money to support black emotional and mental health. I am not proud of my friends who are not taking this pandemic seriously. I am proud of my friends and those who are taking it seriously and the doctors who are fighting to save people and create a vaccine. I am proud of the people who stand back up over and over again after being shoved down repeatedly, because as long as they keep standing, they keep winning.

I am glad to be alive, but I am also sad and uncomfortable. It feels like I was living on a rug on top of a bunch of spikes and someone ripped the rug right out from beneath me. Now I live standing on the spikes, so I have to be careful of my every step but no matter how I stand, it always kind of hurts.

I know that the rug will be replaced one day, and I am hopeful that it will be a better rug, too, one made with more care, respect and understanding than the last.

I hope that this world becomes better because of everything it’s going through. I know I’ve become better because of my struggles. Even though I am hurting now, I am hopeful that the world we live in will come out of this a stronger, brighter, and better one.

Driveway moment: coined by NPR, a moment when you’re driving, listening to a radio show or a podcast that you’re enjoying so much that when you get to your destination, you don’t want to stop and get out. So you remain there, not in the street anymore, and not inside your destination, but in the driveway, continuing on with the moment that was supposed to end when you arrived where you were going.

I believe driveway moments can extend beyond listening to audio to include various liminal moments we wish would last longer. With my graduation date coming up, I’ve been reflecting on the driveway moments sprinkled throughout my time in college. 

I was never one of those people you’d catch saying “college was the best years of my life!” I’d still never say that, because I hope for even better years ahead and because some of the hardest challenges I’ve faced also happened during college. Two of my close mentors from high school died unexpectedly freshman year. I failed an exam for the first time. I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder. My heart broke more than once.

But it did also provide some of the best times of my life. My favorite moments often happened in driveways, in the in-betweens of the going-outs and the staying-ins. Though some do, these kinds of moments don’t all literally happen in a driveway, but somewhere not inside in the quiet and not outside in the noise either. Rather, they unfold right in the middle in the transition from one kind of space to another.

The first was when I found out I was accepted to USC. When decisions were being sent out, I trained my family to know that a big yellow envelope meant “time to celebrate” while a small white envelope meant “bring me ice cream every day for a week.” I drove home from school and pulled up to a handmade “FIGHT ON” banner on our front balcony. I broke down in tears in the driveway, enjoying my private victory before I’d share it with everyone else. 

And the time I went to visit my best friend, Jackie, at her home in Beijing. When we pulled up to her house, I immediately felt comfortable. I knew her parents were inside and since they’ve become like family to me, I felt right at home, even in a country where I didn’t speak a word of the language. And sometime during those two weeks, hopping from Beijing to Shanghai, there was this moment when everything felt right, like I was exactly where I was supposed to be. That feeling doesn’t happen often, but when it does, I take it as the universe reassuring me that everything in my life is on track. 

I got that same feeling the night I met my last boyfriend – that everything was lining up just for us, especially since we both almost didn’t go to that Screenwriting Professor’s reunion. Later, he walked me home from the afterparty on our friend’s porch. After a few pauses on the walk to bathe in the glow of the stars and search for constellations, plus a few more attempts to delay the goodbye, we arrived at the top of my driveway. Under the spotlight of the stars, we peeled our bodies back from our long goodbye hug and he kissed me, the first of many. But after summer jumped into fall then faded into winter, it ended, as it does. The last time we talked about “us,” was while sitting on the curb outside my apartment. “I don’t know how I can be your friend while I still like you,” I told him. “It’s fine, we can do it,” he said, confidently. His tone usually always conveyed confidence, which I found comforting. “I’ll text you, and we’ll play Bananagrams so I can finally beat you.” All that followed was one last drunk kiss, some slightly awkward run-ins on campus, and the occasional text. He never beat me in Bananagrams because we never played again, but I don’t blame us – just two emotional, anxious, ambitious college kids trying to figure out how to love and be loved.

Then there was the last gameday tailgate of our senior year, sitting with Lili and Julia on our friend’s faded leather couch in his front yard. Comfortable, away from the chaos inside the house and far from the excitement at the game, we didn’t want to leave. We didn’t want this to be the last tailgate. Or the last game. Really, we didn’t want this to be the last of us, together, in college. So we sat, not talking, just being there. We stayed, we drank, we laughed, and eventually, we all went to the game together – a group of seniors who didn’t want their last game day to continue, because that would mean it would have to end.

One night spring semester, I had all four apartments in our house over for leftover Magnolia Bakery pudding from my birthday. We’d never hung out all together like that. It was fun, so a few days later, we all met on the front porch, between the street and the house, where we ate Girl Scout Cookies and talked. It was one of those classic college nights I’d always imagined: a handful of guys and girls, just sitting there, doing nothing, but doing it together. 

If driveway moments were not meant to last more than a relative moment, could it be that all of college was a driveway moment? We left the comfort of our homes with our families and everything we knew, to be there for four years. Then we leave on the other side, with infinite possibilities of the real adult world, of careers and mortgages, engagements and births. In college, we could pretend for a while that all of that wasn’t the impending next chapter of our stories. We could ignore the feeling that the pages were closer to being turned after each late night of studying, partying, or just being together turned into deep conversations with meaningful friends and finally, sleep. 

My favorite moments often happen in driveways, in the in-betweens of the going-outs and the staying-ins. That doesn’t mean I don’t value the other moments, however dull or overwhelming some may be. Those are important because they always seem to get me closer to my favorite moments – learning I was accepted to USC from a banner my sister made, feeling at home in China, kissing under the stars, and lounging on couches with friends, in yards and on porches. 

And no matter what is going on in the development of my life, I can always go out to the driveway for a moment, to find balance and space in the in-between. We can always come back to those places that serve as the in-betweens of the secure and the chaotic, the scheduled and the spontaneous. We don’t have to let go of our friends and the moments we never wanted to end. I bet we will still have plenty more of those moments together, and plenty more apart. 

Welcome to #MentalHealthAwarenessMonth, though that’s all the time here.

Whenever I look down at my left wrist and see my semicolon tattoo, I feel resilient, strong, and loved. When I see it, it reminds me I can get through anything, because I’ve already overcome many hard times and have come out better than I was before.

I got my semicolon tattoo a year after my depressive episode and manic upswing as part of my bipolar disorder. The semicolon tattoo is part of a national movement to raise awareness, prevent, and fight back against suicide, called Project Semicolon.

To me, the tattoo is a reminder of what I went through during a time when I was extremely depressed from January to August 2017 and then manic from August 2017 to January 2018. It reminds me that I am stable now, and that I got through the hardest year of my life, becoming stronger, smarter, more empathetic, more driven, and more passionate because of all I experienced.

Mainly, the semicolon on my wrist reminds me to keep going, to keep fighting and to keep living. As a semicolon pauses but still continues a sentence, sometimes I must pause but still continue living my life and fighting through tough times. Even when things get hard, or maybe I slip into depression or spiral into mania for a short period of time, I know it won’t last and I am reminded to keep pushing through because I will reach stability again.

I think of a quote that came at the end of one of my favorite movies of 2019, “Jojo Rabbit.” The quote, from a poem by Rainer Maria Rilke, says, “Let everything happen to you / Beauty and terror / Just keep going / No feeling is final.”

The first part, “let everything happen to you, beauty and terror” reminds me to experience everything, even if it scares me. This year, I started writing for USC Annenberg Media Center, something that intimidated me too much to try in the past, but I’m so glad I finally did it. I’ve grown from my recent break up, too, realizing more clearly what I do and do not want in my next relationship, and creating art inspired by my pain. I’ve become stronger from the job rejections I’ve accumulated so far, knowing that each one is bringing me closer to an offer for the right role. And of course, I’ve certainly grown from my experiences with having bipolar, anxiety, and subtle OCD. I’ve grown because I’ve learned how to manage them, how to trust my therapist, how to take my medicine every day, even if I’ve slipped up and stopped once or twice. I’ve created mantras, tactics, and lists to keep myself positive and I’ve surrounded myself with only people who try to understand and support me. There is no longer any room in my life for any other kind of person. 

Whether I have a hard exam, a fight with a friend, a bad breakup, a funeral, or a scary manic high, I know I will get through it if I don’t give up and “just keep going.”

I learned in a mindfulness class at USC that truly “no feeling is final.” We only feel an emotion naturally for about thirty seconds on average. After that, it’s us being angry, sad, happy, excited, or anything else on purpose. 

On a darker note, I have personal connections to suicide. A close mentor died by suicide in 2016 and I know many others, from my time at Yale Intensive Outpatient Program (essentially group therapy), who have attempted to do the same. So this semicolon is for them, too, serving as a reminder that they tried their best to keep going, but their pain was so powerful that it took control of them. I will never let my pain take control of me, for myself, but also for them.

I love being asked about my tattoo, but until I’m sure someone is genuine, I may just tell them it reminds me to always keep going, like how a semicolon keeps a sentence going. The stigma around mental health is still too strong, and it’s hard to be vulnerable with someone who may be dismissive in response. This hasn’t happened often, but it has, so I am careful with sharing. For the full story, you’d have to show me you will listen, love, and accept it all: the struggles I have in common with friends, family, strangers, acquaintances, and celebrities and the struggles unique to my life.

For the past few years, I have chosen to confront my problems and work on myself every single day, and I’ve learned that that is not a choice some people are willing to make or even be around. It requires a lot of energy, so I understand those who don’t want to be involved in the story of my life and especially don’t want to think deeply about and work hard on mending theirs. I still hope, however, that you will choose to know me and to work on knowing and improving yourself every single day, too.

I’d encourage you to think about a semicolon the next time you, or someone you know, may be struggling. Take a pause, a few deep breaths, or a break for a day, month, or even a year like I did, then just keep going. You are here because you are unique, important, and worthy of love.

So continue on; this sentence in the story of your life is not over yet.

;

*Feel free to reach out if you want to hear the full story, or if you just want to talk*

Depression is not a choice, it’s a disease. It’s a disease that affects more than 300 million people around the world.

I know this because I’ve dealt with depression. However, it has come to my attention aggressively this week that some people know almost nothing about depression or other mental health disorders. So, I’m here to try to change this.

In two different classes this week, my professors have made extremely inappropriate and ignorant comments about depression and suicide. One made a joking comment about suicide, then went on to say things like, “I don’t understand how anyone could hate their life so much that he would want to kill himself, that doesn’t make sense…” Then in another class, my other professor went on about how suicide is “so selfish” and then when a student pointed out that “Depression is a disease,” my professor responded, “Really? Is it? I don’t know.”

Yes, professor, it really is.

It’s not that these professors are bad guys, I don’t think they are. They just don’t know.

But that still doesn’t make it ok. It’s not ok to speak about a topic as sensitive and as triggering as mental illness, if you haven’t done your research, especially if you’re speaking about it in front of an entire class, as an authority figure.

Now I realize that since I have personal, first-hand experience with mental illness, I’m probably a little more sensitive about this than the average person. I also realize that I might be more knowledgeable than the average person, especially because of my time at the Yale Intensive Outpatient Program in 2017.

One day during this program, I was in a group session with people of all different ages. It was a session focused on mindfulness or something like that, but somehow, the topic of suicide came up. In the group, two women shared that they had attempted suicide but failed. They told us about what was going through their minds as they were attempting. One said that all she could think about in the moment was her pain, her depression, and how badly she wanted it to end. She didn’t have the mental capacity at the time to see beyond her pain and think about how her family would feel or anything like that. The other said that she was thinking about her family, but the mental pain and the bad thoughts were so overwhelming that she couldn’t bring herself to care about anything other than shutting them off the only way she thought she could.

Selfish isn’t the right word to describe suicide. One of the common thoughts of those suffering from depression is that they are not needed in the world, that everyone would be better off without them. People who turn to suicide truly think that it’s the best option for them and everyone around them. They feel they have no choice. I can’t think of the right word to describe it, but selfish isn’t it.

When I was in intensive therapy in 2017, I struggled with blaming myself for my mental illness. One day during a one-on-one therapy session, my therapist said something that changed my outlook. After I finished talking to her about everything being my fault, she asked me one simple question. “Zoe, did you ask for this?” No, of course I didn’t.

Mental illness is not a choice. It’s a disease. If it were a choice, why would anyone choose it? Believe me, they wouldn’t.

So please, be careful what you say about mental health, especially if you’re in a position of authority or influence. Please educate yourself before you speak. You never know what could trigger or push someone too far.

Here are some resources where you can learn more about mental health:

National Institute of Mental Health:

https://www.nimh.nih.gov/index.shtml

Mental Health America:

http://www.mentalhealthamerica.net/

Psych Central:

https://psychcentral.com/

For teens and kids:

https://onlinecounselingprograms.com/resources/ultimate-guide-to-mental-health-and-education-resources/

Anxiety and Depression Association:

https://adaa.org/

National Suicide Prevention Lifeline:

1-800-273-8255

Please reach out to me through the contact page if you would like to talk or learn more about mental illness.

Thanks for reading!

If you’re struggling with a physical illness, say you’re running the mile and your stomach cramps, you can easily step over to the left and take a break until you’re ready to run with everyone else again. But it’s not so easy to step over to the left and catch your breath when it comes to mental health, is it?

We often get so caught up in staying at the same pace as everyone else that we forget how absolutely ok it is to run at our own pace. I found it to be the hardest thing, to admit that to live and to live my best life, I had to take a step back from school, get myself together, and then wait to return until I was feeling myself again.

After I left USC early last semester, I was diagnosed with bipolar II. I was in an intense period of isolating, emotionally draining depression for the past 9 months and probably longer too before I decided to admit it. Now, I’m going to therapy, on medicine, and in recovery. I’m in a place of hypomania now, so I wake up at 6:30 every morning, suffer from rapidly racing thoughts, no filter when I speak, and impulsive/risky decision making. I bet through my social media, you would never be able to tell this about me.

When I was low, it was hard for me to differentiate social media from real life – it always is. But when you think about it,  there’s a clear difference between who you are and who you want people to think you are. If you focus on yourself, take that step to the left, and remember that it’s more than ok to run at your own pace, you’ll get through it. Just like I am.

“I became a teacher, at least in part, because I wanted to make an impact on other people. That sounds altruistic, but, if you really think about it, it’s an ego thing. Everyone wants to know they’ve left some kind of legacy, and what better way to leave a legacy than influencing the future leaders of the world.”

Cody Thomas, beloved English teacher, Inklings Advisor and man, wrote this last year in a thank you letter to Bailey Ethier and me (former Inklings Editors-in-Chief).

My response:

What a legacy you have left, Mr. Thomas. If only you could see the flood of Facebook posts applauding your character, teaching and even your humor. And the hundreds of students and people who are running around out there in the world carrying with them a part of your sarcasm, your motivation, your sick writing skills, your tenacity, your hipster vibes, your silliness, your encouragement, your care, your thoughtfulness and YOU inside of them, in everything that they do. Because, Mr. Thomas, you changed the lives of so many people, you shaped so many future leaders of the world. And through that, your legacy will always exist powerfully.

So much of what I would say about Mr. Thomas has already been said on Facebook posts from his students. It would be cool if everyone who knew him and loved him (as in, they are the same thing – everyone who knew him also loved him) could COMMENT on this post with some of their favorite memories, something they would like to say to him, anything so that those who maybe didn’t have access to all of his students’ Facebook posts can be reminded of the legacy and the wonderful memories that he left behind.

Now, instead of more words, here are a few photos/videos with some of my favorite memories of the forever amazing Cody Thomas.

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