Brag to me, please

We all deserve to bask openly in our accomplishments.

If there’s anything I love, it’s celebrating. Birthdays are some of my favorite days of the year, and I’ll be the first to suggest we go out for drinks or dessert when a friend gets a new job, meets a financial goal, or makes a shitty partner their ex. (For a while, I even kept sparkling wine in my pantry in case I needed to swoop in last minute like some bottle-popping hero.) For me, that sweet moment of accomplishment at the end of a long and challenging journey is otherworldly, and everyone deserves to bask in it with pride.

But there’s a weird hesitance, both in the people I know and in myself, to speak about one’s own successes with confidence. It’s uncouth—or so we’ve been taught. Praise, when we receive it, must be buffered with explicit humility; victory, when we achieve it, must be cushioned by an anxious glance at the work ahead. At the top of the mountain, few people want to admit how hard the climb was and that they’d just been dying to get there. They’ve been trained to shrug at their hard work instead.

Why are we doing this? Why can’t we point at the mountain and say, I worked like hell to get up here, and now that I’m at the peak, I’m so proud of myself I could puke?

Many times, I think it’s a fear of bragging that stops people from speaking openly about their achievements. This is a noble fear—one that’s probably mostly healthy to have. Those with even a scrap of empathy and compassion don’t want to rub their privilege, luck, or happy circumstances in the face of someone with less, and because “less” is difficult to measure, they mitigate risk by downplaying their wins in front of virtually everyone.

But I believe there’s a difference between good fortune (which has largely been handed to you) and the product of one’s own hard work. Do the two often intertwine? Of course—a person can only graduate summa cum laude from a prestigious university if they had the know-how to get into that university in the first place, plus the funds to pay tuition. Do those privileges preclude a new graduate from being encouraged to speak proudly about their achievement, though? Obviously not.

I am lucky to have multiple mountain ranges within a 30-ish minute drive from my house. That’s not something I made happen for myself, really; I bought a house (another privilege-turned-hard work) and it just happened to be at the center of four Valley mountain ranges. But this January, when I climbed 1,200 feet in just over a mile to get to the top of one of the region’s most challenging trails—crying a little and wind-burning my eyes along the way—you’d best believe no one in my circle heard the end of it for a couple weeks. Because I had made that (deeply uncomfortable, never again) success possible. I had done smaller hikes, trained on the stairmaster, learned how to use hiking poles, and challenged myself emotionally and physically to reach the top. No one could have made that happen except me.

A beautiful view, but not one I'll seek out again.

True bragging, to me, is boasting about the stuff that’s been given to you: a lucrative business you inherited, a house your parents bought you, the funds siphoned into your bank account by a company known for denying one in every three healthcare claims. You didn’t earn those things, and there’s no way the recipient of your boasting could have done so, either. While there’s not necessarily anything wrong with receiving those privileges—well, except that last one—boasting about them makes you Veruca Salt. That’s uncouth.

But I’d like to invite more people to take open, unbridled pride in the good things they themselves are responsible for. If you worked full-time while going to school and caring for two children, as my mom did, you’ve earned the right to celebrate that success with others. If you revived your university’s gardening program, as my step-sister did, or knitted a super rad sweater, as one of my friends somehow keeps doing, you deserve to share with people how pleased you are with yourself. If you clawed your way out of addiction, if you ditched an unhealthy relationship that once made you feel trapped, if you told an abusive boss to f*** off, if you spent years saving up for a house, if you ran your first 5K, if you wrote every week until you finally finished a novel, if you went to a party during a social anxiety flare-up, if you challenged yourself in the kitchen and ended up with some very flaky and delicious croissants—you ought to brag about it. I’m asking you to.

Because not only does it feel good to revel in your triumphs alongside those you love, but sharing your successes proves to those around you that success is possible. This lovely perspective was introduced to me by Marble Black in a comment on my post about community over competition last August. (Yes, that post is about envy—two feelings can be had at once, y’know?)

I’ve learned to just spend less time centering myself and to center the art instead. That way, when other writers are where I want to be, I view it as a team effort. In the end (at least, I’d like to believe) we’re all after and in love with the same thing.

Though Marble’s comment (and my post) was specifically about creative envy—feeling jealous that other artists are winning awards, getting publishing deals, and building a following more easily than you are—the principle applies to just about everything. Sure, seeing another writer’s novella get published reminds me that my own novella might have a chance, but seeing someone overcome their OCD a few years back gave me the bravery to tackle my own, and hearing that slow joggers often have better endurance and fewer injuries has given me “permission” to embrace my snail-like pace instead of ignoring the treadmill entirely. Others’ successes lend me the courage, faith, and solidarity necessary to pursue my own.

It’s my hope that as my circle moves through life, the people within it can trust me to be one of their most enthusiastic hypewomen. I hope my friends come to me every time they’ve earned a hearty cheers!, and even when they’re not sure whether they have. I hope my partner and my family members and my colleagues and my newsletter readers see me excitedly sharing my own successes, no matter how small—I’ll spend all afternoon texting friends about the delicious bread I’ve baked—and feel emboldened to share their own. What’s life, without celebration? And what’s celebration, without people to share it with?

A brag of my own, I suppose: I’m very excited and grateful that Creativity Under Capitalism has surpassed 1,000 subscribers. To celebrate, I’d like to do a little giveaway, but because I don’t dig “giveaways” that are blatant follower grabs, only folks who were subscribed prior to this issue will be eligible.

To enter, simply give this post a “like” or a comment so I know I won’t barge into your DMs uninvited! (If you want to share a recent brag of your own, I’d love to hear it.) A winner will be randomly selected on Thursday, March 14 and will get to choose one of my favorite books on creativity, either in digital format or shipped by Bookshop.org.

Thank you so much for taking part in this ongoing conversation about protecting and finding joy in our creativity under tough circumstances. It’s wonderful to have you.

What’s been inspiring me lately:

✰ Kaveh Akbar’s novel Martyr! which manages to hold humor and extremely tender feelings in the same gentle hand.

✰ Charlotte McConaghy’s novel Wild Dark Shore, which was almost excessively heartbreaking but was nonetheless yet another excellent braid of climate fiction, drama, and thriller. I won the audiobook in a StoryGraph giveaway, and while I don’t normally enjoy fiction audiobooks, I highly recommend giving this one a chance—the voice actors behind each character are incredible.

✰ “Joy as a Radical Act,” a talk held by Arizona State University’s Dr. Neal Lester at the gorgeous Desert Botanical Garden. Dr. Lester is a professor of African American studies and the founder of ASU’s Project Humanities, the latter of which organized this event in order to remind the community that joy is an important—and often collaborative—form of resistance. Even if you’re nowhere near Arizona, check out Project Humanities’ webpage if you’re interested in social justice conversation and strategy; they often hold virtual events, and every event is free.