This is why we can't have nice things.

Why are people always tying to spoil our fun?

“But what’s the purpose of it?” My husband asked, as I settled into bed and giddily slid my current book into its homemade ditzy floral book sleeve (it’s a bit like a tea cosy, but for books).

“There isn’t one really,” I shrugged.

“It just makes me happy.”

“Well if it makes you happy then that’s enough,” he assures me with a kiss on the cheek.

It is enough. And yet, the child in me felt like somebody was making fun of my favourite toy. I feel like there’s so much discourse around things having a ‘purpose’ or deeper meaning behind them. It feels like these days, every little thing is dissected and analysed, and it’s kind of ruining our fun.

I went to see “It Ends With Us” recently. After reading the book, I pretty much knew what to expect. But the drama around it (some warranted of course) brought this whole new level of intense emotion and expectation. As an avid reader, I love seeing how books translate into film and how people can have such different creative visions. It fascinates me how one story can transform in a variety of ways depending on who’s creating the world in which it lives.

What I’ve never really understood, is why some readers go and see a film and make mental notes of how it differs from the book — for better or for worse. Why does it matter? They’re the same story, but different modalities in which we consume them. Reading is one experience, and watching a film is a completely different one. What translates on the page might not translate on the screen, and so different creative directions are often taken.

What’s wrong with just going to see a film and enjoying it for what it is? Why do we feel the need to hold an expectation and compare the two? Is it not enough to just relax for 90 minutes and be present than having to analyse and critique every shot? (FYI, I really enjoyed the film).

I read an article this morning by Hannah Connolly (read here) talking about how there’s this narrative around ‘everything is the same.’ She says;

“Firstly: I love how much people love the same things. It adds a layer of excitement, of easy conversation, dropping ‘very demure, very mindful’ into a conversation and watching eyes light up. Secondly: I actually don’t think everything’s the same. Each year, I find new music that sounds totally different (to me, anyway). Each year, I find new ways to express myself through fashion; and see people online, and in real life, expressing their individuality in completely different ways.

She goes on to talk about this conversations around a homogenised culture where everyone’s listening to the same music, wearing the same clothes, and reading the same books. This view, she says, is incredibly simplistic. Sure, those things are trending, but maybe it’s just nice that we’re all sharing interests and having connecting conversations about similar tastes. Does it need to be any deeper than that?

Human beings are so much more multi-faceted and nuanced, to say that two women wearing similar outfits means they’re exactly the same and are a slave to popular culture with no original thought is incredibly ignorant. To presume that they’re only wearing said outfit to fit in or follow trends is reductive. What if they just really like that red scarf? And the popularity of it brought it to their attention, and now they wear it lovingly and it brightens their day a little?

There’s the same thing happening over on social media. I saw a recent tweet that said something like “Instagram has turned everyone into a photographer, writer or guru.” Similarly, I’ve seen a lot of disempowering conversations on Substack with people claiming that not everybody is a Writer. But because of the popularity of Substack, our feeds are being flooded with samey articles written by people who apparently have no business sharing their work because they’re ‘not good writers.’

This snobbery infuriates me. The same snobbery that exists when you tell people you’re a reader who only reads romance novels. There’s a presumption that you can’t be a really serious reader if you don’t read really serious books like Hemingway. Life is hard enough! Sometimes a girl just wants to kick back and read about a city-slicker who falls in love with the local ranch hand.

My friend joined Substack recently and said, “I don’t think I belong on Substack. I don’t think I’m poetic enough or something.”

It made me so sad to hear. Because I know her on a deep level, and she has some incredible insights, stories and experiences to share (she’s great, go read her stuff here). She might not identify as a ‘Writer’, but she loves to express herself within a community and who should deny her that right? What makes one person more qualified than another to share their stories?

Nothing brings me more joy than simple, wondrous things. The smell of an old library book. The crunch of a freshly fallen leaf. The sip of a freshly brewed coffee (yes I’ll be ordering a pumpkin spiced latte just like everybody else, and what?)

Nothing brings me more fulfilment than seeing other people enjoy simple, childlike things. If people want to share cute photos of their dog on Instagram, let them! If somebody wants to live out their Carrie Bradshaw dream and start a blog about shoes on Substack, give them a high-five.

Life is complicated enough, not everything needs to be that serious. Trends don’t need to be analysed and critiqued to discover what it really means about us as a society. Not everything needs to be stand out original and perfect in its performance.

We can have nice things, buy book cosy’s that keep our books warm and write silly little poems that remind us of the beauty of life.

LET PEOPLE LIVE. And let’s celebrate their courage to have fun in a world that wants us to grow up and stay serious.