Society Archives - Laura Zera

We Have “Awareness” Months Because We Need Them

It’s one sleep since the end of Mental Health Awareness Month and the beginning of Pride Month. As we transition between these two important markers, I’m remembering all the times I’ve heard comments from people to the effect of, “I don’t care what they have/what they are. I just don’t need to know about it.”

It’s okay, this “do whatever you want in the privacy of your own home” approach. It’s miles better than the “lynch anyone who is different” approach. But it’s a viewpoint that comes from a place of never having had to fight against exclusion or discrimination. And my quick response has become this: put yourself in our shoes. Imagine what it’s like to have to hide who you are, every day, everywhere, because you’ll be punished by some sector of society if you don’t. That’s why we talk about mental health in May and LGBTQ rights in June every year. We’re not oversharing and being show-boaty. We’re fighting for our lives. That’s not a dramatic overstatement.

A few spin-off thoughts and somewhat-related notes.

My nephew alerted me to the fact that one day, we may be going on a magic mushroom trip to cure depression, a treatment I’m more than willing to be a study participant for, in case anyone is looking for guinea pigs.

I’m coming out soon about having depression and fronting as a high-functioning adult in a very big publication that will possibly be read by every potential future employer of mine, so we’ll see how that goes. I’ll share it on June 22.

Recently, I’ve been thinking a lot about how to help children who are in vulnerable situations – troubled families with dysfunctional parents. If we don’t help the kids, they become adults who, best case, develop resilience (after a ton of work), or, worst case, major health issues (and never live their best lives), or sometimes both. The Hart family murders has been a trigger for me, because it was preventable. I don’t have the answers, but I’d like to hear ideas and anecdotes from anyone who has experience in the space of working with children from troubled families, and how to help them without necessarily removing them from their family.

How ‘bout that gene testing? Is 23andMe setting itself up to be a next-wave health diagnosis and treatment tool? It’s certainly been a discovery process for me, once I uploaded the raw data from their site into a couple of third-party sites. This is where it gets parsed into readable reports with much more info than what you get in the canned 23andMe reports. And this is where I discovered I have a double mutation of the MTHFR gene, something that’s linked to — drumroll, please – anxiety and depression. My learning from that, including treatment protocols, will be part of a future blog post.

My final thought. We’re in fraught times in parts of the world. Lead with love. Even when you want to punch someone. I bought slippers to remind myself.

Your thoughts? I don’t like to have the last word.

Shelter from the Storm

By Laura Zera 6 Comments

A few months ago, I hosted a writer who wished to remain anonymous. And they’re baaaack!

It feels fitting to publish this guest post on the heels of the inauguration ceremony, as the author expresses many of the feelings I’m experiencing, and I’m sure others are, too. We’ve entered a frightening time that conjures up memories of a different era. Fears and concerns that would have seemed absurd a year ago weigh on us. We’re not in Kansas anymore. Perhaps to reclaim our sense of safety, we must build an emotional shelter.

I don’t really have a great track record with storm cellars (that’s what we call them where I’m from, like we’re all Dorothy trying to get out of the storm). My earliest memory of them: Mommy let go of my hand. Mommy look at the stars! Pointing. Staring. Loss of balance. What I can only describe as a large thump. Nothing. Lights, whirring, panic, my mother, my grandfather, concern. Waking up in a hospital bed.

That was my grandfather’s storm cellar. The next one was different, but I was terrified of it at first. It came to my attention during the second or third serious tornado warning of my life, when I was ten or eleven.

It sat at the edge of our property line and belonged to the nice old lady who lived in the house next door. She had what looked like was once a beautiful yard, with an enormous gazebo where she had housed dozens upon dozens of birds.

The shelter was big, almost the size of my grandparent’s living room. It was spartan; not a thing in it, except what we carried down with us. Everyone brought pool chairs and loungers and whatever they used as seating for their porches, and we sat and waited. My dad stayed up, listening to the radio in his work truck to get a sense of how close the danger was. He’d come down intermittently with news and then go back up to keep watch. We all talked and waited, and talked some more, until eventually the warning got called off and we trundled out of the cellar and went on with our lives.

Something about storm cellars changed for me after that. I no longer viewed them with fear.

I don’t remember if the old lady was still living in the house or not when I started treating her storm cellar as my playhouse. No, more like a clubhouse, my secret hideout spot. My mom told me not to go down there. That it wasn’t safe and it wasn’t ours. But I didn’t listen. On hot summer days, it was tundra-like refuge where I let all my worries melt away. I tried putting up posters, but there was no tape built in this world that would hold paper to cinder block. One of them was some variation of the “Hang in There” kitten poster we all had but would never cop to owning. I thought it fitting for the storm cellar. It’s probably still down there, rotting away.

I’m not sure when dad let slip that the cellars were probably built less as storm shelters and more as fallout shelters. I filed that away as fact, until it crept over me as a revelation: These things were made to preserve the life that many people, even in a small town like mine, thought they could lose at any moment.

I hadn’t given any thought to, much less stepped foot in, either of those cellars in over two-and-a-half, maybe three decades; I live in a two-story house, in a suburb with many more suburban houses, and there’s nary a storm cellar in sight. I hadn’t given much thought to the need for shelter in case the one over our heads ceased to be. I hadn’t thought about those nights in the shelter, huddled with friends and neighbors and whoever else dad could pull in to safety, when no matter what happened, we’d at least have each other.

The safety of the shelter came calling to me last night, though. Or maybe I went searching for it. It felt like an anchor in a sea of despair, a place to go when the worst came plummeting around us. The idea of having a hole to bury myself in and escape with my friends and loved ones appealed to me in ways it hadn’t since my childhood.

The imaginary monsters I was escaping back then pale in comparison to the monsters I am seeing now. I feel like escaping. I feel like sheltering in place. The storm cellar was a place I could do both. I don’t have that now.

Where do I go? Where can I hide? Can I provide an escape for my daughter? Do I want to? Shouldn’t I be teaching her something different? How to stay and fight?

What can I do in a world that is all chaos and vitriol when I am just now learning to use my own voice and fight?

Does someone have a storm cellar I can borrow? And will we call it something different, if and when that time comes?

Photos courtesy of Unsplash (Tornado by Tulen Travel; Lightning by Jeremy Thomas; Destruction by Jordy Meow)

Please feel welcome to use the comments space below to share a coping strategy, or just to vent, rage, laugh or cry.

The Dangerous Way “Collateral Beauty” Homogenizes Grief

By Laura Zera 20 Comments

The movie Collateral Beauty is out soon. It’s a story about a father (Will Smith) who loses a child, and how his friends (Kate Winslet, Edward Norton et al) try to help him move beyond his grief and get back to living. I have a friend who lost a child, and she has a few things to say about that premise.

She asked to post anonymously, and I agreed, because her message is important. Our society is awkward around grief, sometimes showing disdain, and we make it difficult for those who are grieving to give themselves permission to do so on their own schedule (a good book on this is The Long Goodbye by Meghan O’Rourke).

Here are my dear friend’s intelligent, emotional—yes, it’s okay to show emotion!—and wise words on grief and Collateral Beauty’s flawed assertion.

Okay, can we talk about Collateral Beauty? Like, beyond the whole “Oh, look. There’s another sappy movie out in time for Christmas?” Beyond the “Will Smith can do better” convo.

Maybe it’s the “bereaved parent finds meaning again” trope that I want to complain about. Or “the death of a child changed the father’s/mother’s entire personality” trope. Or it’s Hollywood’s version of what it means to be a bereaved parent–what that looks like, what that should be–that I want to get to the heart of.

Despite what this movie trailer is trying to portray, time and love don’t heal all, and it’s both dangerous and upsetting to buy into this. It’s dangerous because this homogenized version of grief tells us there’s a right way and a wrong way to grieve, that there’s a hierarchy to grief, and that some people’s grief should be prioritized over others. That’s bullshit.

I’ve been at the grief game for a while now. I’m out of fingers and toes to deal with all the loss I’ve experienced over the years. So, hopefully you’ll believe me when I say I know a thing or two, and that there’s one truth about grief: There’s no right or wrong way to grieve. (Okay, obviously there are a few detrimental ways. Please don’t abuse yourself, physically or with drugs or alcohol, or others in the process. I could also write a lengthy dissertation on blame and grief.)

No one should tell you how to grieve. Especially Hollywood.

There’s a moment in Collateral Beauty where Edward Norton says, “I just want my friend back.” Well, your friend wants his daughter back, you dick, so how about you STFU, sit back and just be in his airspace until he comes to you? Why’s that too hard for movies and TV, or, hell, even our families and loved ones to get?

I remember being obvious about my grief to an EMS guy in a Starbucks once, and feeling horribly guilty afterwards for being obvious. But now I know it wasn’t my fault; it was society’s for telling us there’s a time and a place for grief, and it isn’t out in the open.

Fuck that. The place for grief is wherever we need it to be.

I remember another moment, two days after my son died. I saw a boy just a little older than my son, a cute moppet with blonde curly hair, coming out of a Starbucks (I have way too many moments at my local Starbucks). All I wanted was to feel the weight of a child in my arms. I can’t tell you what compelled me, but I asked his mother if I could hold him. She agreed. It was exactly what I needed.

Why can’t we be like that as a society all the time? Why can’t we ask for what we need in our grief? Why can’t people around us help us fill those needs instead of interjecting their own? Why can’t we grieve out in the open; even if the grief isn’t recent, even if it isn’t exactly ours? I watched the Gaycation documentary regarding the Orlando shootings recently; there was a person not directly attached to the tragedy who cried about it, and then apologized.

That’s such a wasted gesture. And I’ve done it. Multiple times. Because we’re taught by unrealistic depictions of grief in the media that it needs to be hidden. We’re also taught that if we’re not over it by some prescribed amount of time, there’s something wrong with us. That, too, is bullshit. It’s six years and change since my son’s life slipped through my hands and I’m not over it. Not by a long shot. I’m okay with that.

Do Not Apologize For Your Grief! Ever!

Don’t apologize, even if you think someone has it “worse” than you. A helpful part of my first bereavement support group meeting wasn’t that I shared my story; it’s that I heard everyone else’s. We all revealed different shades of pain and hurt and remorse. Some were sharper and closer to the surface than others. It didn’t make my pain any more or less painful. It just made it more relatable.

Keeping grief close to the vest, or homogenizing it in movies like Collateral Beauty, invalidates it. It makes us think we have to go to horrible depths to make it valid. I remember a story about a person who lost his son. His wife turned to drugs and alcohol. Why? I don’t know for sure. But I can theorize plenty. Maybe she’d never seen grief up close. Maybe she’d never been exposed to grief in a way she could digest or understand. Maybe the only versions of grief she knew were dramatized or homogenized, and her grief didn’t feel that way and she needed something else to help with the pain.

There’s a moment in the trailer in which the Time character tells Will Smith he’s missing life, and I wanted to yell a hearty “FU!” at my screen. He lost his daughter. He’s allowed to miss out on capital “L” life, capital “M” moments. Every day isn’t fucking Hallmark cards and roses when you start L-I-V-I-N again. The fact that the Dickens-esque Christmas-Carol-type characters in this movie are trying to convince us otherwise is horrible. I don’t care if Death is Helen Mirren. And let me tell you something, if Love was to suddenly embody a person, said person would not be Kiera Knightly, no offense to her (adored you in Pride and Prejudice and Bend it Like Beckham, Kiera! Call me).

The only part of the trailer I liked was that Will Smith’s character wrote letters, telling Death, Time and Love what he felt and what he was going through, because at least he found an outlet for it. (If you haven’t found an outlet for your grief, and you need someone to share it with, someone who will do whatever you need to find a balance with the grief, there are outlets.)

If everyone around you is telling you to do things JUST SO, I’m here to tell you to do what you need to do. As long as you aren’t hurting yourself or anyone else, what you need to do with your grief is the right fucking call.

If you are grieving a loss, no matter the size, grieve. Make a scene in a Starbucks. Hold a stranger’s child (you know, if they let you), hold onto a stuffed animal, scream into the void, cry really ugly tears. And whatever you do, don’t apologize for it. Your grief isn’t wrong.

Do you have opinions on how our culture deals with grief, or have you experienced a time when you found it difficult to express your grief? Please feel free to share below.

– Images courtesy of Unsplash

Let’s Explore Your Hate. Yeah, You.

By Laura Zera 12 Comments

What’s going on in America today?

I don’t want to beat around the bush in this blog post, but nor am I going to get up in your face and challenge your beliefs with my own. I only want to acknowledge that if we look at the “envy-judgment-hate” continuum right now, we’ve swung hard to the “hate” side.

I know I could be talking to the wind here, but I want to see if I can stick with plain speak and reach a few people. Maybe someone who has swung farther than they normally go. Or maybe someone who’s willing to play along to see what comes up.

I have some questions for you. That’s all. A group of questions. No judgment. We’re going to do some brain surfing, dudes, so hang loose.

First one: Have you identified any people or groups you hate? Be honest. You don’t have to report your answers to anyone. This is only for you.

Second, have you recognized that it’s hate? Like (in Valley-Girl mode for a sec here), “oh my God, I am totally feeling hate right now! That’s what it is!”

Third, when you identify who/what you hate, how does it make you feel? And be aware, you may get kind of an adrenaline rush when you’re all like, “Fuck them and the horse they rode in on!” But after that. After the adrenaline is gone. When you’re alone. Do you feel kind of icky inside? As in, way different than when you get a kiss from your baby or a greeting from your happy dog? And I don’t mean over stupid things, like “I hate Rum Raisin ice cream.” No. I mean the important stuff. The stuff like this: “I hate Muslims” and “I hate white people.” That stuff.

Fourth, if you hate a certain group because of how (in your opinion) they act—for example, “Mexicans* are lazy”—do you know for sure it’s true? I mean, do you absolutely know for sure? And even if you know 100 Mexicans, and they are all lazy as shit, is there a chance that can mean every Mexican is lazy? Or even the majority of them? (*Substitute “Mexicans” with any group on your list.)

Last one: If you think about what’s in your heart, would you say it’s mostly full of love or hate? Don’t just think about how you feel toward your girlfriend or your grandpa or your dog or the San Francisco 49ers; think about all the things. Everything you encounter in a day, including bad drivers. Do you feel mostly love, or do you feel mostly hate?

Oops. Psych. I’ve got a bit more. However you feel at the moment—full of love or full of hate—is it how you want to feel? Is it who you want to be? Is it the best thing for you? Because you deserve the best thing for you. You really do. I’m not pulling your leg.

Peace out, dudes. I’m going to go eat an Egg McMuffin or something.

I said you didn’t have to report your answers, but if you have something else to say, don’t hold back.

Images courtesy of Unsplash

What Brené Brown Brings to the Stage

By Laura Zera 12 Comments

My, how time flies. It has already been more than three years since I wrote about how much I was diggin’ Brené Brown and her vulnerability study. Not that what she said in that TEDx Houston talk ever left me in these intervening years. No, no, no. Her message about reaching wholeheartedness through vulnerability—reinforced at times by the wisdom in her books–has been like a beacon, a light that shines brightly at times, and at other times all but disappears in the fog. But when the fog clears, it’s still there, and I’m still going toward it.

So, one thousand two hundred days later, when tickets for her Town Hall Seattle appearance went on sale, I was on that web site right when the clock struck 10 a.m. (Good thing, because it sold out in less than 20 minutes.) She came through as part of the tour for her new book Rising Strong, and, given her inimitable way of explaining important-to-your-life concepts like you are buds sharing stories over a cup of coffee, I think everyone was totally bummed when the time came to wish her farewell.

There have been a number of heartfelt and humorous book reviews written for Rising Strong, like this one by Jill Dahl and this one by Dr. Courtney Stivers. I’m going to talk about the live version of her message that if we are brave enough, often enough, we will fall. What Brené has explored in this round of research is what it takes for a brave soul to get back up and keep going.

Her answers to this line of inquiry aren’t comfortable. (They haven’t been in the past, either.) She asks us to look squarely at our emotions and undertake our own line of inquiry. Awareness is great, but how much deeper can we go? How willing are we to noodle around inside that emotion like a calm and objective aunt, instead of a panicked squirrel? Brené has found that our willingness to go through this process is directly correlated to our resilience. Likewise, our courage to own our stories – the stories we make up for and about ourselves that are usually tied to a bigger, uglier emotion – is correlated to our ability to rewrite the story ending. After the pain comes the power.

When she appears on stage in her jeans and black jacket with the white shirttails sticking out (like a coffee date outfit), and kicks things off with a few swear words (like a coffee date that bleeds into a wine date), and then yanks open her heart and shares her honest and authentic and vulnerable self, it’s pretty dang hard to walk away untouched. And in this lies one of Brené’s many gifts as a speaker: She grabs you in a big Texas hug, and she holds on to you through the uncomfortable part until you can relax into it. Until you are okay with it. Until you understand on a cellular level that the hard stuff she’s asking you to surrender to doing is really what you have been seeking all along. And you trust her, because she is so earnest.

She is also funny like Tina Fey, which, for her audience, has the effect of softening the angst around what you will encounter should you choose to go noodling. She laughs at herself so we can laugh at ourselves. She turns decades of interviews and research into relatable stories so we can get it, “it” being that if we don’t face all of the things which hurt us the most, we are always going to hurt. Taking the easy road out is only easy for so long, and then it turns into a highway to hell. But Brené has faith in us. She knows we can do it. And we can feel that, so we’re willing to give it a try, this reckoning and rumbling with our emotions and the stories in our heads. For her. For ourselves. For humanity.

One of Brené Brown’s early goals was to use her writing to ignite a national conversation on shame. With what she brings to the stage, she is stoking the fire of something more: a global action toward healing. And that may be her biggest gift of all.

Brené, thank you for holding on to us and not letting go.

Galit Breen Turns Fat-Shaming Ordeal Into Catalyst for Good

By Laura Zera 17 Comments

When Galit Breen wrote an article on happy marriages for The Huffington Post last year, the last thing she expected to see was snarky responses about her wedding photo. More specifically, the size of her body in her wedding photo. Galit had been fat-shamed.

The follow-up piece about the incident that Galit wrote for xoJane moved me to tears. She expressed how she had allowed herself to be vulnerable in the HuffPo piece–something that all of us writers, all of us women, all of us–struggle with in our bid to be courageous mothers and partners and agents of change, and for that, she was rewarded with cruelty. Her story struck a nerve, and she quickly found herself speaking about the issue on the Today show and Inside Edition.

Around the same time, one of Galit’s daughters asked if she could start posting on social media. Galit thought about the implications, and that’s when she knew she’d been presented with an opportunity to make something good out of her cyberbullying ordeal. That “something good” is Kindness Wins, a book for adults on teaching kids to be kind online.

Author Galit Breen

My relationship with Galit goes back to 2012, when we both had essays published in the breast-cancer-fundraiser Write for the Fight. Now, just days ahead of her new book’s publication, Galit has graciously stopped by to answer a couple of questions I posed about the topic of cyberbullying.

Me: I love that you’re being proactive in helping parents coach their kids on how to be good Internet citizens. What can we do to teach the adults who don’t get it? The trolls and meanies and sometimes downright cruel people?

Galit: This question is so, so important! As we’re trying to create a culture of kindness, this includes our kids and ourselves. Each section of the book contains a guide for how to talk to our kids about maneuvering online kindly and a section for how to discuss the same topic with our peers. This can feel tricky and daunting! But we ask an awful lot of our kids in standing up to things they see or hear that don’t feel right to them, I’m (gently) suggesting we ask the same of ourselves.

For example, when I was studying to be a teacher I had a mentor who told our class to always approach kids who are having a hard time with the assumption that they just don’t know how to do something, rather than thinking that they’re purposefully being difficult. I think this works here, too. We can approach adults who are being unkind online as if they didn’t know that what they’re doing is wrong. This gives us the freedom to speak up and still be kind with our word choices and, if we choose to do so in a comment thread, then others who are reading are also given the permission to stand up, too. It changes the conversation.

Me: What do you think it will take for “the cyberbullying talk” to become as engrained in our society’s parental handbook as “the menstrual cycle talk” and “the birds and the bees talk?” Or is it already well on its way?

Galit: I love this question so much because it’s so spot on. The more open, and diligent, we are in bringing up the topic of how necessary this conversation is for our kids–and as you pointed out, for ourselves–the more “normal” and everyday it will become. Right now, this responsibility falls on those of us who already use social media regularly because we already see the impact that both online kindness and cruelty can have. Our job is to make sure those we love get the benefit of what we’ve learned. The more we share with each other, the better. When a seasoned mom tells a new mom how she got her baby to sleep, eat, or learn how to write her name, she’s helping. This is the exact same thing. The more we talk about it the more normal, and expected, it will become.

The second half of this is joining our kids on social media. I discuss in Kindness Wins what a big advocate I am of being online with our kids and watching out not just for them, but for our friend’s kids as well. This terrain is too big to go at alone. But when we agree to look out for all of our kids, we all benefit and we further normalize the important conversations around cyberbullying and online kindness.

I’ll draw for a giveaway copy of Kindness Wins on Apr.3

Keep this important discussion going: Add a comment below and you’ll be entered to win a digital copy of Galit’s new book (and I hope you’ll leave a review on Amazon once you’ve read it!). As a bonus for my readers who enter but don’t win, Galit’s publisher is offering a free Lemons to Lemonade Party and Book Discussion Guide if they purchase Kindness Wins! The book is available here, and I’ll contact you after the giveaway ends with the details on how to redeem your bonus.

Update: The winner of the book is Marie Ann Bailey. Congrats, Marie Ann!

About the book: Approximately four out of ten kids (42 percent) have experienced cyberbullying. Kindness Wins covers ten habits to directly teach kids as they’re learning how to be kind online. Each section is written in Breen’s trademark parent-to-parent-over-coffee style and concludes with resources for further reading, discussion starters, and bulleted takeaways. She concludes the book with two contracts―one to share with peers and one to share with kids. Just like we needed to teach our children how to walk, swim, and throw a ball, we need to teach them how to maneuver kindly online. This book will help you do just that.

About Galit: Galit Breen was a classroom and reading teacher for ten years. She has a master’s degree in education and a bachelor’s degree in human development. In 2009, she launched a career as a freelance writer and since then, her work has been featured in various online magazines including Brain, Child, The Huffington Post, TIME, and xoJane. Breen lives in Minnesota with her husband, three children, and a ridiculously spoiled miniature golden doodle. You can learn more about Galit by visiting her blog These Little Waves, Facebook, Pinterest and Twitter.

Ghomeshi’s Hiring of Criminal Lawyer is More Intimidation

By Laura Zera 22 Comments

The Jian Ghomeshi story has made me angry. I’m in good company. And now, with his recent hiring of Marie Henein, a criminal defense lawyer, there is even more reason to be pissed off.

I don’t need to recap CBC radio star Ghomeshi’s recent troubles, all stemming from allegations that his notion of foreplay is to choke a woman until she can’t breathe. It’s all here. And here. And here. Read, and be disgusted.

No criminal charges have been brought against Ghomeshi yet. But if you were him, and you wanted to scare the crap out of the women who are considering whether to go forward with cases against you, would you not hire a lawyer who has been likened to the scariest mind-wrecker ever brought to life in film? Henein’s former client Michael Bryant wrote this of his former defender: “She ‘seemed to channel Hannibal Lecter,’ Bryant wrote in his 2012 book, 28 Seconds. ‘So able was she to find a person’s deepest frailties and exploit them.’”

That’s just fantastic. Let’s make sure that every woman who has grounds to accuse Ghomeshi is damn clear that she would be psychologically ripped to shreds on the stand, and she would probably have nightmares and suffer from PTSD once Henein was done. Because getting demeaned, assaulted and intimidated by Ghomeshi the first time wasn’t bad enough.

Henein has a stellar track record. She gets glowing commendations from loads of people. She’s a kick-butt lawyer, and everyone deserves the best defense possible, yes. But there’s a reason Jian Ghomeshi hired her, “Hannibal Lecter,” NOW, before any charges have been filed: to scare Ghomeshi’s victims out of pursuing charges at all.

Men and women across Canada and the U.S. have responded preemptively, letting Ghomeshi’s (still mostly anonymous) accusers know that they have support. People like Margaret Atwood and Blue Rodeo’s Glenn Milchem have signed a rapidly expanding petition to express that support. It is clear that in the face of Ghomeshi’s continued use of intimidation, the women who are speaking out against him need to know that we will not let them be victimized again.

Have you been following the Jian Ghomeshi case? I’d love to hear your observations. And if you’d like to sign the petition, here is the link.

Travel: What About a Gap Year?

By Laura Zera 16 Comments

It’s funny how even simple concepts evolve to have different practical applications, depending on which part of the world you’re in. Take the idea of a gap year, for instance. The term originated in the U.K. in the 1960s, and it has basically always meant to go on a relatively unstructured overseas trip after high school. You might work (in a bar or a restaurant or a youth hostel), but just enough to earn the dough required to get to the next town or country.

In the traditional sense of the term “gap year,” it’s not what you do that’s important, it’s the overall life experience that matters. Meeting people from different cultures. Trying new things. Soaking it all up. Because let’s face it, when you’re 18, you’re either staring at a two- to four-year study program, or you’re starting a job, part-time or full-time. Either way, you’re about to become somebody else’s bitch.

A gap year is about not being anybody’s bitch.

(Like I said, you may work, but do you care about that job? No. Do you care if you get fired from that job? No. Do you sleep with your boss? Maybe. That’s just the way it goes.)

Sounds great, doesn’t it? So then why, oh why, do some countries insist on smushing that notion of a gap year right between their thumb and forefinger?

In Japan, the practice of matching students with jobs before graduation cuts the gap year off at its knees. (This would explain why it is that when you actually encounter Japanese travelers, they are usually chain smoking and prematurely grey.) The United States–the only advanced economy in the world that doesn’t guarantee its workers paid vacation, it’s worth noting– has turned a gap year into something of a higher pursuit. This quote comes from Wikipedia:

“During this gap year, American students engage in advanced academic courses, extra-academic courses and non-academic courses, such as yearlong pre-college math courses, language studies, learning a trade, art studies, volunteer work, travel, internships, sports and more, all for the purpose of improving themselves in knowledge, maturity, decision-making, leadership, independence, self-sufficiency and more, thus improving their resumes before going to college.”

Hold on, does that say “yearlong pre-college math courses?” And “improving themselves?” What blasphemy! It’s the same mentality that has one-year-olds on waiting lists for the “right” kindergarten. How about just going overseas to open your eyes, your mind and your soul, whilst leaving the hidden agenda at home, okay, campers?

Here’s the thing. The post-high school gap year is an opportunity like no other to be a free individual. You don’t have to worry about repaying student loans. You don’t have to worry about serious relationships. You don’t have to worry about having identified the perfect career. You’re still a kid. Go out and play, for God’s sake. (And use a condom.) All that other stuff will be waiting for you when you get home. What’s more, you will have had an education of the most deliciously insidious kind, one that really teaches you to assess and question, and that will stick with you for a lifetime. Can you say that about a pre-college math course?

Parents, I know you’re probably thinking that you can’t imagine sending your freshly graduated son or daughter out into the world in an “unstructured” way. It’s too dangerous, and they’re not ready for it, and they might get robbed (yup, they might). But if you’ve got a cherub-cheeked 18-year-old who still forgets to lock the back door when they go out and who has never grocery shopped or managed a budget, then IT’S EVEN MORE IMPORTANT THEY GO. Let them go, and cry on the ride home from the airport.

Inarguably, the year that most shaped the rest of my life was my gap year, when I traveled to Israel with a school friend. We lived and “worked” on a kibbutz. I was 18. I packed all wrong. I had nothing wise to contribute to conversations with my peers. I didn’t speak or read Hebrew. I suntanned with baby oil. Nobody (wrongly) worried about AIDS. I hitchhiked. The intifada started that year.

I also heard firsthand stories of apartheid from my peers. I learned to take care of babies. I picked up some Hebrew, and a handful of Swedish swear words. I discovered I like schnitzel. I floated in an inner tube down the Jordan River. I grew to know the streets of Old Jerusalem like the back of my hand. I met a woman who taught me about unconditional love.

In 2006, Lonely Planet ran what I think was a brilliant ad campaign. The slogan said “Do Something Great For Your Country. Leave.” On a gap year, you don’t have to know where you’re going to end up, or how you’re going to get there. You don’t need to be a master grocery shopper (hint: keep to the outer edges of the store). And you definitely shouldn’t have to be anybody’s bitch.

Your turn. Did you take a gap year? Do you wish you did? Do you have kids who are? Love it when you guys chime in.