“So tell me,” I say as I hold up a hardcover copy of A-list actress Maritza Delaney’s memoir at the perfect angle for the camera to zoom in, “what prompted you to write Anything, Not Everything?”
She shifts in the white chair that’s angled toward mine and her red wrap dress clings to her perfect body. “When I was younger, my mom was always encouraging me to dream big and set these lofty goals for myself. One of her favorite sayings was ‘You can have anything you want, you just can’t have everything.’ She taught me to prioritize what was most important to me and let go of the superfluous crap that didn’t help me achieve what was most important. More than anything else, that was the life lesson that stuck with me. Anything, Not Everything. I wanted to pass that wisdom on to other women, with some concrete real-life examples.”
“One of the things I liked most about your book,” I tell her, trying not to think of how much it affected me when I read it right after Aleksandr headed back to New York, “is how you talk about personalizing your goals. Can you tell our audience a little more about that philosophy?”
She flips her long, dark hair over her shoulder and looks me straight in the eye like she’s about to unload a huge secret. “Oh, I could talk for days about this. But essentially, my philosophy is that your goals are only worth working for if they are your goals. Your goals don’t have to look like anyone else’s, and they don’t have to make sense to others. They say that comparison is the thief of joy, but I’d argue that it also leads lots of people into lives that aren’t what they really want. They take promotions at work so they can use a fancy new title and enjoy a higher salary even though what they really want is more time to spend with the people they love. Or they buy a bigger house in the suburbs so they can show it off to their family and friends, even though they really miss the vibrancy and diversity of living in the city. When we let society’s expectations or even the expectations of our closest friends and family members too heavily influence our decisions, it becomes more and more difficult to stay true to ourselves. And I don’t see how we can ever achieve true happiness if we don’t stay true to what we value most.”
That thought has me going off script, asking a question I wasn’t planning. “What would you say to someone who isn’t sure what they want? Who maybe thought they knew, but whose values and goals seem to be shifting in an unexpected direction?”
She nods once, like she knows the right answer without even having to think about the question. “I would say to listen to your gut. Most of the time when we make decisions that take us in the wrong direction in life, it’s because our gut instincts told us one thing, but we listened to societal expectations instead. I’ll give you an example about listening to your gut from my own life.”
Maritza goes on to describe a time five years earlier when she was offered a role in a blockbuster film that not only won Best Picture that year, but the actress who took the role also won Best Actress.
“I knew that film, and that role, were going to be huge. Everyone criticized me for turning it down, especially after Eva won Best Actress for it. But she absolutely owned that role in a way I wouldn’t have at the time. I was suffering through some depression related to infertility issues before we conceived my first daughter, and things between Marcel and me were getting a little rocky. I needed that time to focus on my family, to go to counseling, to listen to what my body needed. What good would it have done me to have turned all my attention toward that film, and have my marriage break down as a result? I knew what my goals and my priorities were, and if I hadn’t, maybe I’d have won an Oscar but lost my marriage. Maybe I wouldn’t have my two beautiful daughters with my amazing husband. You have to take the time and put in the work on what’s most important.”
I can’t afford to get distracted, so I try not to think about how much that story resonates with my own life. I’m here filming this show, and it’s amazing. More amazing even than I’d dreamed it would be. But I feel like my heart is still in New York. I want to be with Sasha and Stella so much it’s a physical ache in my chest. Even though he’s been traveling again for the semifinals and now the finals, we’ve managed multiple video calls in the two and a half weeks since he left—some while he’s on the road, and some while he’s home with Stella. But those hurt. Every single time we talk, it’s a reminder of all that I’m missing out on. Even though he keeps saying that this long-distance situation isn’t forever and even though I know this show is going to be amazing when it airs, there is this pervasive, underlying ache that doesn’t go away even when I remind myself that I currently have everything I ever wanted in life.
“That’s an interesting example,” I say with a slight tilt of my head. I’m hoping she can’t see how close to home that scenario hit, as I sit here in LA while the people I love are in New York.
Holy shit. The people I love are in New York. What am I even doing here?
“So many people are calling Anything, Not Everything the ‘New Feminist Manifesto,’” I say. “But when most people think about feminists, they don’t think of a happily married mother of two. Can you say a little more about that dichotomy?”
“Absolutely. I don’t see feminism and motherhood as a dichotomy at all. What is feminism if it’s not a woman unapologetically going after what she wants? A lot of people claim I’m not a feminist because I’m married and have two kids, because I’ve made sacrifices in my career in order to make sure my family situation works. I’m here to say what every woman needs to hear: you can have anything you want, you just can’t have everything. Could I have been more successful as an actress, taken on more movies or earned even more awards if I hadn’t had two kids? Probably. But what would I have given up? A husband that supports me in everything I do, and kids that bring me immense love and joy? So I’d have been more successful in my career, but how meaningful would that be if I didn’t have people that love me unconditionally to support me and celebrate with me? For me, having a family isn’t sacrificing the work, it’s what makes the work worthwhile. There is no such thing as ‘having it all.’ Not for women, and not for men either. We always hear that you should surround yourself with people who love you and will lift you up. Who better to do that than family? In fact, I would say that having a family has made me into the ultimate feminist: someone who has chosen to live life on her own terms, regardless of what people expect of her. I’m a woman who has chosen my own happiness over anyone else’s expectations and that, I believe, is what makes me a feminist.”
Her words hit me like one of those huge weights that falls from the sky and land on a cartoon character and I stumble, missing my cue for the next question. When she looks at me expectantly, I’m sure my shock-widened eyes stare back at her.
“I’m sorry,” I say, trying to recover gracefully, “I’m just taking a moment, as I’m sure all our viewers are, to absorb what you just said. The ultimate feminist,” I repeat her sentiment, “is someone who unapologetically goes after the life she wants, someone who has chosen her own happiness over anyone else’s expectations.”
Maritza nods sagely, and even though we’re roughly the same age, she somehow feels like a wise old teacher to me in this moment.
“And what would you say to someone who realizes their happiness might require them to totally shift course? To actually give up on the goals they’d been working hard on for years, the goals they thought were what they really wanted?” I ask, praying that Charley isn’t standing somewhere behind the cameras and judging me. She knows what questions I was planning to ask. Does she know that the ones I’m ad-libbing are selfishly personal?
“I’d say that if you come to a crossroads like that and you don’t listen to your heart, if you don’t shift course, then you’re back to what we were talking about at the beginning of this conversation—working toward someone else’s goals. People change, they evolve, and their goals do too. If you’re someone”—she looks off past my left shoulder, directly at the camera—“who is stuck working toward goals some previous version of you wanted, when what you now want is actually something else, then you’re not being true to yourself.”
This woman keeps dropping bombs right and left, and I need time to think about what she’s said.
“So important,” I say, nodding decisively. “So tell me, what’s next for Maritza Delaney?”
She throws her head back slightly and laughs, then looks at me with a big smile. “Whatever. Makes. Me. Happy.”
I step into a dark corner of the crowded room and pull my phone out of my clutch. It’s been buzzing like crazy, but I’m surrounded by the who’s who of the television industry and I haven’t had a second to check it until just now. When I see seventeen missed texts from Morgan, my stomach flips over. We have a massive wedding tomorrow in Salt Lake City—a relatively famous “influencer” who is getting married in a small, private ceremony at the Salt Lake Temple with a lavish, huge reception in Temple Square. Almost everyone on my staff has been working crazy hours in my absence to make sure everything goes off without a hitch. And that red circle with a seventeen inside it glares at me like a big warning sign.
But when I open the texts, it’s just a series of details and confirmations about Aleksandr’s event next weekend. The first message is an apology that she’s sending them by text, but she’s having some sort of problem with our email and for me not to worry, she’s already working with tech support on it. Which is probably why she’s sending these messages after 8:00 p.m. her time. I send off a quick, grateful reply and then put the phone back in my clutch just as Charley walks up.
“It’s about to start,” she says. “Let’s grab our seats.”
A waiter passes with champagne, and Charley tries to hand me one, but I decline. Adding champagne to my nervous stomach would be like lighting a dumpster on fire.
One hour later my stomach has settled itself, the knots of unease slowly untangled as each minute passed. The episode was fucking brilliant. My guest was an amazing woman who, as a child, had escaped the genocide in Rwanda in the backpack of a South African journalist who hiked through the central plateau with that little child hidden in his camera bag for three days. He not only saved her from death, but he gave her a life. He died shortly after she graduated from college, and she dedicated her life to helping others as he’d helped her. The international relief organization she’d founded is now the fourth largest in the world, and I’m pretty sure I’ll never meet a more inspiring person.
Personally, I’ve never looked better or sounded smarter than in this interview and somehow, watching it, everything looked so natural. No hint of the exhaustion I was experiencing at the time we filmed. Any mistakes or awkwardness were edited out. It was one hour of TV perfection. Exactly the kind of show I’d watch. The kind I’d want my daughters to see. I wonder what Aleksandr and Stella thought of it?
My phone has been vibrating silently in my bag throughout the entire show. I can only imagine I have a slew of texts on the group chat with Lauren, Jackson, and Sierra, and probably a few from Aleksandr too. I’d rather be watching this episode with any of them than stuck here in this fancy party. So ironic, since this is very much my scene. Or was. Now I want to be surrounded by people who truly love me, not just people who adore me.
Charley puts her hand on my forearm as Dave, one of the network executives, stands with a champagne glass in hand. All chatter that’s been buzzing around the room in the sixty seconds since the show ended comes to a grinding halt.
“Petra,” he calls out, and waves me over to him.
I leave my clutch behind and cross to the front of the room. A passing waitress discreetly hands me a champagne flute and I smile at her gratefully.
“Darling,” Dave says to me as I approach, “you’ve done it.” The room erupts in cheers and applause. “This show is smart and interesting and compelling, and it was a delight to watch.” More applause. “You were a delight to watch.”
I glance at him, then at Charley in her seat next to my empty one. “I think most of the credit goes to Charley, actually. This show is her baby. The vision, the concept, the guests, that was all her.” I raise my glass to her, and she smiles, tilting her chin down in a thoughtful nod. I stretch my arm out to her and cup my hand toward myself a few times until she gets up and crosses over to us. Next to me, I get the feeling that Dave is bristling at the interruption to his speech, but I don’t even look at him because I don’t really care. I take Charley’s hand in mine when she reaches me and whisper, “Feminism is a team effort.” Then I turn to Dave and give him my most winning smile.
“To Petra and to Charley,” he says as he holds up his champagne flute, and the room is on their feet, clapping and cheering.
I want to bask in the moment. I want to think about my career. I want to absorb the energy and excitement that’s surrounding me. But I can’t.
Even with everyone rushing up to us and congratulating me, all I feel is an aching emptiness. I want Sasha here to share in this success. I’ve sacrificed everything for this show, to meet this goal that I thought was going to make me feel so powerful and fulfilled. But Maritza Delaney’s words from a few days ago are ringing through my head: “I’m a woman who has chosen my own happiness over anyone else’s expectations and that, I believe, is what makes me a feminist.”
But I’ve done the opposite, haven’t I? I didn’t want to leave Aleksandr and Stella behind in New York. I left because I’d agreed to film this show, and because I was scared to admit the depth of my feelings. I was scared to give up the show—it was my opportunity to promote the valuable work women are doing in this world. Leaving to come do this show felt like I was living out my feminist ideals, fighting for women everywhere rather than giving everything up for a man. But what did I really give up? My own happiness?
I think back to how Maritza rhetorically asked, “What is feminism if it’s not unapologetically going after what you want?”
When I was in New York, it was easy to wonder if what I was feeling was just “in the moment” feelings that would pass when I left. But this time away from them has made me more confident than ever that those feelings are real. That it could actually work between Aleksandr and me, and that I could—even already do—love Stella like a daughter.
What am I even doing here in LA?
What feels like hours later, the party is winding down and I make it back to my chair, anxious to grab my stuff and head home. I want to read my messages from my friends. I’m hoping that Aleksandr and Stella sent me a video message after watching the show. I know I won’t be able to call them because it’s almost three in the morning on the East Coast, but I’m aching to see their faces, hear their voices.
I open my clutch and slip my phone out, anxious to read my messages as I walk out to the car I know is waiting to take me home. But the most recent one, the one that came through only minutes ago, has my breath escaping my lips in a low hiss.
Alicia: Girl, I have BIG questions.
