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My contention is that when attempts at empathetic “listening” are driven primarily by a desire to verbalize relatable experiences, those attempts often suffer from the same pitfalls as the arguments in Anatomy of a Fall—just maybe to a lesser degree. In both situations, understanding is overshadowed by verbalized personal experience. In the mind of the speaker, it is not clear if the listener has truly internalized what was said.

So when folks like Mike Birbiglia softly belittle genuine concerns about marriage and procreating, they are perpetuating a longstanding and wholly damaging status quo of pro-marriage, pro-procreating propaganda. In his comedy specials, Birbiglia presents himself as an underdog who reluctantly succumbs to happiness, but he’s really just punching down. He creates a fun, quirky, freethinking single-life caricature of himself only so that he can later use self-deprecation as a means of discounting singleness and/or childlessness.

In an era of luxury-chasing consumers and extreme wealth disparity, this is a protest song. Macklemore glamorizes the non-glamorous, and he actively criticizes the type of superfluous consumerism and luxury that operate in contrast to a socially and environmentally conscious lifestyle. Intentionally or not, Macklemore is protesting the perceptions of wealth and luxury that perpetuate poverty and inequality. In a world of Finance Bros, Macklemore is a proud pop-music thrifting king, which is pretty damn countercultural. If you consider economic powers to be as potentially harmful as religious powers, then Macklemore’s “Thrift Shop” is just as socially relevant as Dylan’s “With God on Our Side.”

I was reminded recently that there is no such thing as mindless scrolling or viewing. Our brains absorb everything we put in front of our eyes, even if it happens in ways we don’t comprehend. So it makes sense that we should analyze the types of media we experience. If the movies and shows I watch impact my perception of the world, I should examine which movies and shows I experience. Below is an analysis of every movie, television show, video game, and feature-length YouTube video I experienced for the first time in 2024. The data is first, then an analysis, and then a comprehensive list of everything I experienced.

It’s easy to be kind to outcasts when the “outcasts” you talk to are fairly ordinary. If your “outcast” sounds like Mean Girls‘ Janis, Superbad‘s Fogell, or James Dean from Rebel Without a Cause, are you really even talking to an outcast? All of those characters, while regrettably marginalized or shunned to a degree, still function effectively within the traditional structures of society. Writer Sayaka Murata and director Luca Guadagnino challenge us to look even further into the dark corners of society. Don’t just look for the person who is sitting alone in the room—look for the person who’s not even in the building. And then see if your supposedly welcoming and open-minded mentality still holds up.

Ignore the last half of the film for a moment and consider how much this perception of Magnifico resembles the guardians, teachers, counselors, and friends who suggested that you change, alter, adapt, or delay your dreams. They wanted what is best for you, but they defined “best” in the context of predictability and practicality. Your dreams were beautiful, but they were also difficult and complicated. So they nudged you consistently toward a more simplistically blissful existence. “It’s a real weight off, isn’t it?” they may have said when you passively took their advice. But remember: Magnifico is the villain.

No cheesecake is worth $5,000. But the taste of the cheesecake is not the point. Even if the cheesecake tastes wildly better than its affordable counterparts, the taste of the cheesecake is still not the point. The exclusivity is the point. Chef Raffaele Ronca is not creating a culinary experience: he’s creating a conditional experience—and the condition is that you have $5,000 to casually spend on dessert one evening. And if you do have $5,000 to spend on a fairly small, one-time experience, then “spending” isn’t really the right word. It’s not a purchase in the same way that a family purchases a car or a student purchases pencils or a mother purchases baby clothes. If the cheesecake had a price tag of $10,000 or $20,000 or $100,000, some wealthy foodies would still buy it. Because it’s not about the taste or the ingredients. Because the act of acquiring the cheesecake is the victory. Because, as Vija Kinski says, “The number justifies itself.”

The most impactful moment, however, was the next day when a student placed a letter on my desk. The two-page letter offered a personal story and some gratitude, including this paragraph: “Yesterday I experienced something that I never imagined for myself. I celebrated my birthday in the high school auditorium, filled with a strong feeling of appreciation for everyone in my life. I can’t tell you exactly what you did to help me, and I can’t pinpoint the exact moment where everything shifted, but it did. Somehow I’m here, and somehow I know that you played a role in an elemental change in how I think.” I have a folder in a bag where I keep important letters I receive from students, and I still carry that bag with me every day. Today, that letter, along with others, rests there as a reminder that sincerity, patience, and sympathy always matter. Even if the impact isn’t immediate.

The past twelve months have easily been the most challenging of my career, and the evidence is everywhere. It can be measured in caffeinated drinks, painful silences, half-finished hobbies and hours of lost sleep. Even tears. One former student kindly noted that I seemed “wearier” than usual this year, which broke my heart a bit. Not because it isn’t true—it is—but because I want to be the best teacher I can be, and weariness does not feel like excellence. I have struggled recently, and I see no value in sugar coating that fact. While in quarantine last year, I learned about the concept of “toxic positivity,” which refers to a type of superficial and often assertive positivity that dismisses the struggles of others. Toxic positivity is a mutated form of optimism, often appearing as advice to “be happy” and “look on the bright side.” Empathetic positivity can heal, but dismissive positivity can create scars.

Like Abed Nadir from NBC’s Community and the title character from Ben Stiller’s The Cable Guy, I tend to use fictional stories—movies, books, and television shows—collectively as an interpersonal Rosetta Stone. A tool to unlock meaningful interactions with others. So when I say that I relate emotionally to a certain scene from Saving Private Ryan, I mean it. . . . Saving Private Ryan may not be the best Valentine’s Day movie, so here’s the point: Privacy has its benefits, but so does vulnerability. And in the grand scheme of things, the latter is a much more powerful tool.

And, on some level, I don’t want to be like Buddy. Mental health issues should not be romanticized, and my depression is not something I desire. But I appreciate that my awareness of the nuances of mental health allows me to connect more effectively with those who struggle through holiday celebrations. We must support and believe those whose mental or interpersonal circumstances act as holiday inhibitors. Too often during the holidays, cries for help are met with pontifications about gratitude, joy, and family. Like Tevye from Fiddler on the Roof, some cling to traditions at the expense of relationships, and I do not want to live that way.

This makes CatraDora an entertaining, largely unique, and somewhat mysterious cocktail of archetypes—one part hero, one part shadow, and one part star-crossed lovers/friends—and that cocktail colors how we view all of Etheria’s sociopolitical forces. The first season, for example, implies (through Catra’s dialogue and Scorpia’s characterization) that the Horde offers a home to some characters, arguably including Catra, who have been outcasted or marginalized by the Resistance’s princesses. So if we begin to share Adora’s appreciation of Catra, we may even find ourselves mentally shifting the Horde—Catra’s troublesome yet identity-reinforcing home—away from “pure evil” and toward a morally gray middle-ground (which is a type of moral questioning rarely sparked by the original show).

Internet content like Cinema Sins’ “Everything Wrong With…” videos propagate an increasingly popular belief that nothing is worthy of admiration. “No movie is without sin,” they say. And, technically, they may be correct. But art is, and always has been, less of a structure to observe and more of a terraqueous landscape to experience, and effective art criticism acknowledges nuance and complexity. So when a creator gains 7.449 million followers (as of January 11, 2018) by indiscriminately and unintelligently mocking the creations of others, we should take note.

Camouflaging my reluctance as professionalism worked for some time, but those hesitations, I eventually realized, are not unique to educators. Many individuals who suffer from depression believe that they should not burden their friends and family members with their internal struggles. Many individuals who suffer from depression fear the consequences of emotional vulnerability. Many individuals who suffer from depression believe that they must be strong for the sake of others. And some believe that if they show strength long enough, they can shove depression out of the way.

The Twitter and Reddit feeds about this incident are an appalling cocktail of sexism and cyberbullying—one part hate, one part bullheadedness, and two parts misogyny—and the belittling ideas they propagate are not uncommon in gamer communities. Gamer culture is riddled with anti-female rhetoric, and those who speak out against the toxic language of hateful gamers often become targets of online harassment. All subcategories of nerd fandom struggle with inclusivity and bias, but gaming culture seems particularly weighed down by retrogressive participants—so much so that the community seems to be in a perpetual state of civil war.

Kimmy does not allow the Tanner family’s cruelty to damage her self-worth. Despite the negativity, Kimmy remains confident and opinionated. She rarely misses an opportunity to flaunt her quirky individuality. Yes, Kimmy’s brand of self-expression includes stinky feet and shouted responses, but these eccentricities complement her larger-than-life persona. . . . Through the eyes of the Tanner family, Kimmy’s existence is an enigma, a puzzling juxtaposition of candid vulnerability and unapologetic panache. Kimmy should not be able to exist within the Tanner ecosystem, yet Kimmy flourishes in their presence, as if she is fueled by the doubt and insecurities of others.