By Heather Barmore
“I’m a little weird,” I told a friend recently. She told me that I shouldn’t say that about myself. Later, I would refer to myself as a late-bloomer, only to be admonished again. A weird and quirky late bloomer, to be precise.
All I could do was shrug. I’m Black, I am chubby — fat, whatever — and I am weird. Socially awkward. I do cringe-worthy things. I pursued a career in public policy because, throughout middle school, all I watched was C-SPAN. When I met the President of the United States of America, I only wanted to discuss his dog. I’m quickly nearing 41 and at this point, I know myself well enough to know that I am weird. Might as well embrace it.
I recalled this conversation one evening as I scrolled through Hulu to watch actress and writer Natasha Rothwell’s latest series How to Die Alone. Rothwell, of Insecure and White Lotus fame, has created a masterpiece of storytelling that centers on a Black woman named Melissa ‘Mel’ Jackson who works at New York City’s JFK airport. The series starts on her 35th birthday when, after being ditched by her best friend/coworker, Mel has an unfortunate accident involving crab rangoon and IKEA furniture that leads to the titular death. The series follows Melissa as she reckons with her accident and the impact it has on her relationships and current, unsuccessful, approach to life.
I, much like Mel, am a woman of a certain age and adrift. In a transition period, I suppose. While it seems that everyone around me has reached the trifecta of adult societal achievements — job, homeownership, relationship — on an age-appropriate timeline, I am just out here wondering where I’m headed and uncertain of what I want out of my life. Just…floating. Then, there is also the aforementioned social awkwardness. Let’s just say that this show feels serendipitous. As I meander through life, I watched a character who looked exactly like me (we even have the same arms and the same sweater coat!) clumsily maneuver her way through her late 30s. And while that’s not exactly middle age, by 35, it’s all gas, no brakes, hurdling toward 40.
Exactly one minute and 40 seconds into the premiere, it felt like I was looking at a mirror — minus the flying part, as I love to fly. Later in the season, when Melissa’s mom praises her successful brother while treating her like an afterthought, I felt like the writers had been peering over my shoulder as I recently journaled similar sentiments. Call it authentic or human or cringey, Natasha’s Mel is an encapsulation of the messy female millennial experience. She is scared, yet tries to find her way.
There is no shortage of aspirational television (featuring wealthy and mostly white characters), but sometimes I just want to watch regular people doing regular-people stuff. I love the escape that television provides, but sometimes I want relatable. I want to see me. It’s the reason that I and millions of other young millennial women watched Hannah Horvath & Co inelegantly traverse their 20s and praised Issa Rae’s ‘Awkward Black Girl’ turn into Insecure. The thing is, some of that cringey shit goes away with age, but for the most part, it never really dissipates. We just learn to embrace it, along with our grays.
In How to Die Alone, as our protagonist explores her loneliness and the decisions that brought her to the day she winds up solo and dead, there is the underlying idea that she should figure it out quickly. Instead of the whimsical hopefulness that comes with your 20s — you still have time! A whole life ahead of you! — Melissa and her friends whisper their age and make a pained face as if to say, ‘You’re old. Why don’t you have your shit together by now?’ Melissa continues to crack on, albeit at her own pace, and tries to make peace with where she is now — almost forty and still learning that life isn’t always linear. People become unhappy, do dumb shit, make questionable decisions, and sadly, it’s often alone. It’s up to us to keep moving.
“Sometimes the things that hold you back and slow you down are the things you need to take off,” says Carl, a falcon handler at JFK whose role is to keep birds from swarming aircraft. He’s speaking of physics and that the opposing forces of gravity can help propel planes and people to flight. This happens in an episode near the start of the series and lays the foundation for what comes next. Naturally, I had to write it down and spend the rest of my evening pondering this scene and the way Carl’s words forced Mel — and me — to pause and reflect. Ultimately, it’s just a television show, right? A form of entertainment that explores our deepest insecurities and the complexities of life. Still, I count myself among those who are thankful for Natasha Rothwell and that her comedy, about being single, middle-aged, and on the brink, sparked something in me.