Six of Wands

The six of wands is about recognition, awards, victory, and external validation. In most decks, the six of wands features a person, sometimes atop a horse, a victory wreath around their neck, being received by a crowd of adoring fans. While the six of wands is a positive card, I’ll go ahead and say it: most artists have an unhealthy relationship with recognition. 

As a millennial, I grew up in a parenting culture of positive reenforcement. My parents praised all of my artistic efforts whether they were good or not. I lived to please teachers. I was an absolute kiss ass suck up teacher's pet. An old boss of mine once turned to me in a writers room and said, “You were affirmed a lot as a child, weren’t you?” I think the subtext there was, “No one ever told you to shut the fuck up, huh?” And the answer is no, they didn't, my parents loved hearing everything I had to say.

I have written a lot about my addiction to external validation, so I’m not going to retread that territory here. It would do us all some good to uncouple our sense of self worth from the fickle tastes of others. This is something I’ve been working on, and will probably be working on for the next four decades. I do plan to turn eighty and not give a single shit what anyone thinks about me, though, so stay tuned for that.

Lately, I do not feel like a winner. I’m experiencing major burn out. The world is at war, Donald Trump has upped his fascist rhetoric while also finding thirty-nine minutes to grandpa dance to Ave Maria and YMCA, I’m stressed with work, thirteen percent of voters are still undecided (I know, even after shit like this), the holidays are upon us in a way that feels relentless, apparently you’re supposed to feed children three times a day, and I didn’t start writing this newsletter until 10PM last night. I’m on the brim. 

In times like these, it’s important to celebrate small victories. The six of wands can be about winning an Oscar, but sometimes it’s a big win to remember to brush your hair. So, without further ado, here are some awards I’m pleased to announce.

The Dance Participation Award goes to…. me

This week I took two dance classes and I actually kind of slayed. I took most of the summer off from dance, so when I returned in September, I went back to being very bad for a little while, but something clicked this weekend, and I was able to retain choreography and actually even give it a little sass. I hate every single face I make in this video, and I don’t like that I do not look as cool as I feel while I’m dancing, but fuck it, I won this award, so here’s video evidence that I’m improving.

The Award For Tricking A Six Year Old Into Trying On Hockey Equipment goes to… you guessed it, me.

My son, Toby, does not love to participate in activities, and honestly, who can blame him? I, too, would rather stay home watching Bluey and hanging out with my dog. Unfortunately for Toby, I signed him up for a hockey camp in the spring, and a few weeks ago, all of his equipment arrived. He refused to even look at it, much less put any of it on, but then his best friend came over to try on Toby’s equipment. That sealed the deal. Toby put on all his gear, and then did several bounces in the trampoline. We’ll see if I win the award for actually getting him to show up at the hockey camp, but for now, I’ll take this win.

The Award for Not Guilting My Child Into Wearing the Halloween Costume He Begged Me To Buy Him goes to… Me

Months ago, Toby announced he was going to be Chucky for Halloween. Has he seen Chucky? Of course not. But he’s seen pictures of Chucky, and he really wanted us to buy him a plastic knife, so Chucky was the obvious choice. His costume arrived a couple days ago, and when he tried it on, I squealed with delight because he looked so insanely cute and terrifying, and the whole thing made me laugh, and so, of course, Toby announced that he would not be Chucky for Halloween. Toby hates attention. He told me that the worst part of Halloween is adults asking you to tell them about your costume. He does not want squeals of delight, he wants to blend in. So instead, he’s glomming on to Graeme’s Halloween costume, hoping that she will overshadow him (she will, and you’ll see why in the next award).

I’m proud of myself for remembering that Halloween is a holiday for children, and just because I desperately want a picture of my 6 year old dressed as Chucky, and just because I also bought a Chucky costume for our dog, does not mean that it’s okay for me to force anyone (human) to be Chucky for Halloween. I exercised a lot of restraint, and for that, I will accept this award.

The Award for Most Elaborate Method of Procrastination goes to… the Halloween costume I made for my daughter…

Graeme is going to be Audrey II from Little Shop of Horrors. It’s going to be epic. This costume took me no less than 30 hours to build, and this is only the headpiece. Did I have other things to do? You betcha. Will she be able to navigate streets and candy with this thing on her head? I don’t know! We’ll find out! Is this costume part of why I’m completely burned out? Of course it is. Thank you for this award.

The Award for Most Non-Plussed Mammogram Receiver Award goes to… me

I’m thirty-nine and I convinced my doctor to allow me to get my first mammogram a year early (maybe I should win an award for most responsible/anxious). I’d been told it was going to be uncomfortable and that my tits would be as flat as pancakes (!). Well, friends, I’m here to tell you that it didn’t hurt at all. It wasn’t even remotely uncomfortable, a real, "Wait it's over?" situation. The woman who conducted the exam was extremely proud of me, and that, my friends, made it all worth while.

The Award For Thing That Brought Me a Great Deal of Joy this week goes to... Chicken Shop Date with Andrew Garfield.

I'm sorry but these two belong together. You will not regret the eleven minutes you spend watching this:

The Award for Best Find in a Deep Clean goes to...

I was going through all of my kids' artwork in order to bring some semblance of sanity to my overstuffed home, and in the process, I came upon this true thing of beauty. I'm proud to say that my daughter, the rule follower, has an outlet for rebellion in her artwork. And listen, she's right. It's extremely fun to say "Fuck," and sometimes it is the only way to achieve some form of understanding. Face it, folks, cursing IS kool.

The Award for Craziest Malignant Narcissist Queen in the whole damn world goes to... Elisabeth Finch, aka "Finchie"

A few years ago an article came out that was devoured by every television writer in Hollywood. A cancer faker named Elisabeth Finch had lied her way up the ranks of the Grey's Anatomy writers room, and was finally exposed for her deceit. This week, I watched the Peacock docu-series "Anatomy of Lies" all about this story, and folks, it didn't disappoint. There's a lot to unpack here and be warned, some of it is super fucked up, but I think my favorite part is reading in between the lines of the other writers they interview. It's clear that everyone had a really hard time with this woman and she was a tremendous pain in the ass in the writers room, which honestly shouldn't have been hard to see coming when she showed up insisting people call her "Finchie."

Anyway, I'd like to thank the Academy, my therapist, and all the little girls out there who look at me and think, maybe one day I too could be doing way too fucking much. I'll treasure these awards that I awarded myself.