Maybe coffee is the real key to peace.
The Rare Book Room, where events are hosted, is a reprieve compared to the commotion of the store, the scent of aged paper and bindings rich in the air. We’re about an hour out from the official start of the event, but I had to arrive early to sign some stockfor the store and for Woodsworth’s marketing team, who are hosting giveaways on their socials. The room is a flurry of bookstore staff facing out copies on the shelves flanking the podium, caterers setting up the makeshift bar on a table by the windows, and a handful of junior Woodsworth employees laying out swag. Near the podium I spot Shanthi typing furiously on her phone while her face remains the picture of placidity—aka her default mode.
“Ana!” squeals Meredith as she wraps me in a hug, her red hair tickling my nose. “Happy pub day!”
Trailing behind her is Alison, the publicity assistant, who holds a phone up to capture my arrival.
“The place looks so glam—nice job, team,” I say, taking in the high-top tables laden with tea lights and tasteful floral centerpieces. String lights hang from bookshelf after bookshelf of leather-bound books in burgundies and browns and golds. A dozen rows of chairs stretch out before the podium, and beyond them is a wide standing-room space for overflow.
“A lot of this was the bookstore, but the rest was all Alison,” Meredith says, giving credit where credit is due. One of the many things I love about her.
“Alison, I’ll be adding this to the chart I keep to track the number of ways in which I am forever indebted to you,” I say.
Red spreads across the PA’s face and down her neck. “Oh my gosh, it’s honestly an honor.” There’s a small tremor in her voice that belies her capability. She’s done so much for my book over the past year—getting copies out to influencers, arranging blog posts and online media tours, creating shareable advertising content, and so much more—that its sales will be owed in large part to her efforts.
Meredith ushers me to the podium, where Shanthi is tapping the microphone. She’s arranged a light diffuser a few feet away, which will cast a glow that’s flattering for the camera, if a bit glaring for the in-person audience. But while the room has space forup to a couple hundred people, the Instagram Live she’ll be hosting of the event could be attended by thousands, if our broadcast of my keynote address at the Multicultural Women’s International Conference last month was any indication.
I do some sound tests, whispering sibilants into the mic as a bookstore employee named Greg fiddles with the volume on the speakers, and Shanthi adjusts the light until she’s satisfied with a shot she gets on her phone. Her expression doesn’t change as she gives me a thumbs-up, which, for Shanthi, is about as emotive as it gets. She brings an unmatched level of cool to our team that balances out my inner (and outer) Tasmanian devil.
Alison is handing me books to sign when Nadia arrives in a flurry of color, her bright yellow blouse tucked into fitted emerald-green pants, red lips a bright pop against her fair skin and short black bob. She enters in medias res, as if she started her sentence on the way up the stairs.
“—been such a day, but you are the highlight!” She kisses me on each cheek, Armenian-style, like Maral and I taught her. “I’m so excited to celebrate your shining star.”
My editor, Laura—a queen among women—comes over as well, and we all squee together as her bespectacled wife stands nobly at her side.
The room starts to swell with attendees and media. Alison fetches me a glass of water while Meredith walks me through the run of show, as if I haven’t had it memorized since she emailed it to me last week.
It’s showtime.
Greg from the Strand introduces the event: “We’re honored to present Ana Movilian as she launches her debut book.So Proud of Youis based on her wildly popular podcast, which in turn is based on her wildly popular viral videos.”
Then Meredith introduces me: “It has been such a joy to help spread the word about this fabulous book—Ana is not only animmensely talented writer and content creator, but she’s also an absolute gem of a human being whose mere presence lights up a room. Her confidence is inspiring—there is nothing in this world she can’t do, and she believes the same is true for everyone. That’s what her message is all about—celebrating others’ amazing capabilities. This is the messaging we all need right now, and always.”
My skin warms at her kind words. The room erupts in cheers, sending energy coursing through my veins and a broad smile spreading across my face as I step up to take the podium.
“Thank you, Greg and Meredith, for that generous introduction,” I say. “And thank you to everyone for coming tonight. My journey to this moment is pretty well known. What started as an innocent pep talk recorded for my beloved cousin, Maral”—I gesture to Mar, who stands with Laura and Meredith near the bar—“as she struggled with educational expectations became my life’s work. Too many of us face the challenges of our lives without the kind of encouragement we deserve. And many of us who are first- and second-generation Americans never hear the words that have become my motto, the title of my podcast, and now my book—”
Just then, I see a hint of movement at the back of the still room as someone enters quietly. For a moment I think I must be seeing things, because he wouldn’t possibly show up to my launch, would he? After throwing wrenches in the publicity wheel and my (oh, who are we kidding) demanding he be taken off the campaign—right?
But there he stands, stern daddy in full effect.
Ryan Grant.
Chapter 2
“When I saw that first video, I had no idea it was going to affect me that way. No idea I’d been waiting to hear those words all my life, until I heard you say them and suddenly the floodgates opened.”
The earnestness of the woman standing on the other side of the signing table is touching. It never gets old, no matter how many people express this sentiment. No matter how many cities I speak in, how many events I attend, how many guests I interview for the podcast, how many case studies I delved into for the book. It will never get old to see people moved by the message in that first video I made almost six years ago.
It was intended to be a quick pick-me-up for Maral, and neither of us could have known how that video would change the course of our lives.
Mar had been in the second year of her urban planning master’s on the heels of a punishing environmental engineering undergrad, working on her thesis and at the end of her rope. She texted me lamentations of the highest order.what’s the actual worst that would happen if i dropped out?andwhen my parents disown me, can i come live with you?andi can work at the hospital’s coffee kiosk. you’d get free coffee every morning. (if you say no, i’ll knowyou’ve been abducted and the response is moot…oh and also will call Liam Neeson or at least the police.)
I could relate somewhat—it’s not like my own eight years of postsecondary education had been a walk in the park. It may have looked that way from the outside—my parents sure loved telling people I could have slept through college and still graduated at the top of my class. But high achievers are only high achievers because they work their asses off, and I had felt my fair share of frustration through school.
Empathizing with my cousin after a particularly depressing slew of messages, I ducked into the break room at my residency hospital and held my phone up to my face, pressing Record and starting with, “You can do this. You are a badass, a queen, a goddess of the highest order. You’ve worked hard your entire life and deserve literally every good thing the world has to offer. If I could lay it at your feet, I would, but you gotta go get that shit. You’ve earned it. No matter what happens, I’m so, so proud of you.” Nothing I said in the rest of the three-minute video I sent her was new—I’ve lauded Maral’s capability, work ethic, intelligence, and myriad other strengths since time immemorial and encouraged her through countless academic challenges—but she credits the video for getting not only her through the rocky middle of her thesis, but her roommate, Emaan, through a tough cellular neurophysiology exam. When Mar saw fit to post the video on YouTube (“Maybe it’ll help a few other people too”), it seemed to resonate so deeply with strangers that it was shared far and wide, garnering over thirty million views in its first year.
Mar asked me for a new video every time she was facing a particularly brutal exam or paper, and because people appeared to enjoy the messaging—which was always some evolution of the original—we uploaded each of them to YouTube. Mar created a channel for the content, which transcended the college crowd quickly, garnering fans of all ages and from all walks of life. Tillthen I’d only been a casual YouTube user—mostly to look up rudimentary DIY home repairs whenever my parents’ Dorchester bungalow needed upkeep, or the odd recipe that I had valiant hopes for but unfailingly butchered. But seemingly overnight, the channel amassed a shocking number of subscribers, which led to Instagram and TikTok accounts that did the same, which led to Maral and I starting the podcast, which was followed by speaking events, a book deal, and, fingers crossed, even bigger things to come. Whirlwind after whirlwind, all in service of people who desperately need the encouraging words no one else has ever said to them.
