A New Book Will Teach You How to Survive Your 20s
Mari Andrew's Instagram looks much different than most. Instead of a curated selection of picture-perfect brunches and well-angled selfies, Andrew's feed is full of her hand-drawn illustrations, personal musings on life and love that have now ushered in almost 800,000 followers. The illustrations are small enough to fit into a square Instagram box but are often packed with truths about dating, self-care, careers, and all the secret thoughts you never say out loud.
And now, Andrew, 31, has decided to take her never-before-seen illustrations-and a set of short essays-and publish a debut book titled, Am I There Yet?: The Loop-de-loop, Zigzagging Journey to Adulthood. She describes it as a collection of what she's learned through "heartbreak, love, loss, rejection, career confusion, adventures, and the gnawing question in the back of my mind: Where exactly am I going, or am I already there?" Though she started her Instagram two and half years ago, she actually began writing the book five years before that.
“I always wanted to write a book, and then when I was going through a really dark period of life, I decided it’s now or never," she recently told ELLE.com. Ahead, she discusses how illness changed her art, why she's happier now than she ever was in her 20s, and why she thinks having chill is total bullshit.
You began writing this book seven years ago. How did it all start?
I always enjoyed writing personal essays, and I wrote them on my blog. I wrote the first one when I was 24. It’s called “Seasons"; it’s the first essay in the book, and it was about when I was 24 and working at a law firm. It was one of those times in your early 20s where you’re just like, “Oh my gosh, am I going to be stuck at this thing forever?” And it wasn’t just a bad office job. I didn’t want to be living in Chicago. I didn’t want to be dating the person I was dating. I didn’t want to have the life I was kind of setting myself up for. And I felt completely stuck because I thought you had to know what you wanted to do for the rest of your life when you’re 24. The stories that follow are sort of my path into what I really did want to be doing and how I got there. It was definitely not a straight arrow shot but a very twisty-turny path to get there.
You wrote on Instagram that your illustration style changes in the book from “before you were sick to after.” What do you mean by that?
A lot of the essays were written in my mid 20s, but a lot of the illustrations were done when I was 29, 30. And so the essays were sort of a time capsule for my 20s, when I was battling some really intense health issues. You can actually see, there’s a specific illustration, where my hands are clearly shaky. It’s an actual moment in time where I felt my body beginning to betray me, and I didn’t know what was going on. I couldn't hold a pen very well. So this whole illustration looks kind of different; it’s sort of messy. And then the ones that follow, I don’t know if it will be clear to anyone else, obviously it’s so subtle, but I think that not being able to draw for about three months just made me see things a little differently. I use a lot more color in the new [illustrations], and I draw people a little differently.
You went through something so difficult, while creating a book about going through difficult things.
Right! It was like, “Here’s one more.”
Did you turn to your own book to heal? How did you get through that time?
I had already been through quite a lot in life. The book begins with an apartment fire that I survived and was very traumatic. And then going through the loss of my father, a really intense break up, feelings of depression, loneliness, rejection, all of that. I think I had already developed a lot of resilience from the things that had already happened to me and some tools for getting through them. The tools I developed to get through emotional difficulty were writing and drawing and exercising and playing instruments and socializing, and when I was sick, I couldn’t do any of that because I was paralyzed. So I had to find a new set of ways to get through what I was going through, and a lot of that was completely mental. I really had no blueprint for that, and I think in a lot of ways, I’m still getting through it. But it did give me so much more empathy for people struggling with any kind of disability or illness, and I think that it really transformed my art. My greatest hope is that my art has become more healing because of what I went through, and I’m capable of that level of empathy that was totally lost on me before.
Going back to your essays, were your 20s an immense growth period for you?
Oh, totally. I feel like a completely different person. And the way that it manifests itself is that I feel much younger now in the best way. In my early 20s, I felt so much pressure to find what I wanted to do that I think I was kind of boring. I picked the thing that was the most responsible because you want to feel like an adult. And when I hit rock bottom, it was so freeing because it was like, “Oh, none of that matters.” It really doesn’t matter if I have a career because it could be taken from me tomorrow or I could make a really responsible decision and die in a week. All of these truths about life really came to light and, because of that, I really prioritized enjoying myself and enjoying the process. I got my dream career that I never would’ve had if this stuff hadn’t happened to me. I go out dancing way more than I ever did in my early 20s. I have way more fun and I laugh way more and I’m so joyful because I really know how hard life can be, and I don’t want any of that.
You put on your website that you’re an intersectional feminist. What does it mean to you to make art now in a more volatile political climate? Has it affected what you choose to say?
It’s something I think about a lot because I do make art for myself. I don’t necessarily go in with an agenda or even an overall message. So when I do political art, it’s only because it’s something I feel like I really need to get off my chest. Something that’s a little hard for me to navigate right now is, I make work about myself, and I had people tell me that my work doesn’t reflect many people’s experiences. I had a girl email me the other day who said, “Your work is so heteronormative. Have you ever thought about writing from the queer perspective? Putting more of those messages in your work.” And the thing is, I’m just one voice, and I hope that my voice is not overpowering to other people’s stories. I happen to be a cis, female, straight person, and I can only speak from that experience, and I just hope that the essence of what I say connects to people who may not relate to the specifics. But that is something I think about, how to make art, really personal art, more inclusive, when it really is just about me. That’s a tricky balance.
You also wrote that you don’t believe in “having chill,” which so resonated with me. Why don’t you believe in having chill?
I think I’m a naturally enthusiastic person, and I’ve seen women through the years, especially on a date, gushing about [their] love for a band or an experience or a hobby, and then the impulse is to be like, “I’m sorry. You didn’t have to listen to all that.” And I want everyone to be as excited as they want to be about the things that they’re excited by because that is what makes life worth living. It’s also the way to resist the hard things in the world, to find joy where you can. But then there’s also, in dating especially, this idea to not really say what you want or don’t let your feelings get the best of you. Don’t be too pushy, don’t come on too strong, and whenever I heed that advice I always feel like I’m being really inauthentic and it’s never given me the intimacy or deep connections I really wanted. I find that when I really put my heart into it, in anything I do, then that’s when the real good stuff happens.
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