Short Assignments

Here at Lex MF Lee, we’re re-crafting an authentic voice. We’ve thrown a lot of spaghetti at the wall, and almost none of it stuck.

Honestly, I could sit at a table with 24-year-old me and have nothing to talk about. Except that her hair looks cool, and she should probably get diagnosed.

How unfortunate is that? To sit at a table with a really cool 24-year-old double-degree holder and have nothing to say? That can’t be true. No, let’s be as honest as possible. We’d share a bottle—or two—of wine and talk about design, clothing, and what we each think about men.

I’d tell her to run from whoever she was with and let her know we have a super cool boyfriend now. She’d probably be upset that I’m not designing for big companies anymore. I’d just tell her, You’ll see what happens.

I’d beg her to go to yoga ASAP. She’d tell me to get a prescription for Adderall and insist there’s still time to become a Girlboss.

I’d tell her she was drinking to avoid the trauma, the neurodivergence, the anger, the lack of energy. She’d tell me she didn’t have those problems.

But here’s what I see now: a woman at her computer, still 90% focused on what needs to be fixed and only 10% on what’s good.

So we begin again, as I pour another glass for the imagined 24-year-old me.

“You know, that haircut and color are cooler than I remember. And your nails look so fun,” I’d say.

She’d feel the genuineness behind my compliment and ask, “What happened, Lex?”

“Everything and nothing. We’re stuck here, talking to different versions of ourselves at different turning points in our lives,” I’d reply, looking away from her face.

“What turning point are you at?” she’d ask.

At this point, I’d want to prepare her for a decade-long journey into her own self: her childhood, her relationships with school, money, God, Mommy, Daddy, government, and medicine. It would all be fine, but she’d get thrown off course.

“We’re entering true devotion and discipline,” I’d finally say. “Or at least as true as we can know it right now.”

24-year-old me was incredibly smart and extremely cynical. She was taught to be. I suppose that’s one thing I can say with confidence: If I am taught, I will learn well. But deconditioning? That requires becoming my own teacher.

That’s something I struggle with as Nobody. And as Somebody. As Lex.

I don’t know if I’ll be seeing much more of 24-year-old Lex after we finish this bottle. It’s hard to commune with people carrying false flags. But I’m proudest of her outfits, her apartments, her meals.

Because, really, isn’t that all we’re in charge of here? The meals and the outfits?

She was so cool. And I am so cool. So “cool” must also be a bedrock for my soul that I can rely on. That’s incredible.

Today’s exercise was simple: to pull threads from my past and see who I want to be tomorrow.

It looks like the instinct to point out flaws is still here. But it also looks like being cool really matters to me.

Maybe one day, I’ll expand on what “being cool” really means.

For now, though, I’ve made this short assignment long enough. And you have other apps on your phone to check.