#once i realised that i felt so frickin silly

[espytalks]

I just spent like 15-20 minutes looking for a book i ultimately decided i didn't even wanna take with me to the beach this tuesday, only to find it was on my desk the whole time.

[hlupdate]

Here he comes, one of the planet’s most conspicuous young men, stepping out of the London drizzle and into a dusty suburban pub. If there was an old vinyl record player in the place it would scratch quiet. Instead, the two-dozen punters turn hushed and intent, as if a unicorn has just trotted in off the street, and nobody wants to scare it off. “That’s frickin’ Harry frickin’ Styles,” whispers a young man at the bar, “in this pub.” The pop star is asked what he wants to drink and in a voice already inclined to undertones, quietly orders a cup of tea.

A former teen star who is now 25, a happier and rockier solo artist since his boyband One Direction split a few years ago, Styles has hidden himself inside a large, swamp-green parka. He’s tall, around the 6ft mark, and carries himself with a slight stoop. If Styles could only do something about his appearance from the neck up (elfin brow, wide Joker smile, a face that’s recognisable across multiple continents) you sense he could drink in pubs like this anonymously enough. As it is, cover blown, he removes the parka. A woolly jumper beneath has a picture of the planet Saturn on it. Maybe they’ve heard of Styles there, too.

We take a seat in the corner. On nearby tables, conversations start to sputter as people try to keep their own talk ticking along on autopilot while straining to hear what Styles says. I ask him about the sheer strangeness of this and other aspects of fame. Full stadiums, swooning admirers, an excess of opportunity and cash. Why isn’t Styles an absolute ordeal of a human being by now? Keith Richards, at a comparable stage, imagined himself the pirate leader of a travelling nation-state, unbound by international law. Elton John was on vast amounts of cocaine. Meanwhile, here’s Harry, known in the music industry as a bit of a freak, medically, having maintained abnormally high levels of civility in his system. 

Styles tilts his head, flattered. There are others, he promises. “People who are successful, and still nice. It’s when you meet the people who are successful and aren’t nice, you think: What’s yer excuse? Cos I’ve met the other sort.”

Styles read Keith Richards’ autobiography a while back, and he recently finished Elton’s, too. (“Soooo much cocaine,” he marvels.) We talk for a bit about whether extreme dissolute behaviour and artistic greatness go hand in hand. Styles, who has just released his second solo album, Fine Line, the penultimate track of which is called Treat People With Kindness, has to hope not. “I just don’t think you need to be a dick to be a good artist. But, then, there are also a lot of good artists who are dicks. So. Hmm. Maybe I need to start scaring babies in supermarkets?” 

A couple of lads hustle over to offer drinks. A photo is requested; they say they’ll wait. I’m weirdly anxious about Styles’s phone, which is slung on the table in front of him. What must be the black-market value of that thing? If fans were to get hold of it, would they want to open Styles’s music app first, to listen to tracks from the new album, or rush to see his messages and calls, to find out who Styles has been flirting with late at night? The interest in his music has always run at a ratio of about 50/50 with the interest in who he is dating.

It’s a ratio Styles tries to adjust in favour of the music by being vague about his ex-partners, real and rumoured (Taylor Swift, Kendall Jenner, Parisian model Camille Rowe), diverting to discuss his songs about failed relationships. A year ago, when Styles was floating around near this pub in north London, where he lives, and California, where he tends to record, looking for inspiration for the new album, his close friend Tom Hull told him: “Just date amazing women, or men, or whatever, who are going to fuck you up… Let it affect you and write songs about it.” 

Styles, who writes in collaboration with Hull and producer Tyler Johnson, sounds as if he took the advice. The new album, Fine Line, is at its best when capturing late-hours moments, drunk calls, “wandering hands”, kitchen snogs. A golden-haired lover recurs. There are up tracks, down tracks, some with the trippy delirium of harpsichord-era Stones, others with the angsty Britpop swell of strings. While I listened, I couldn’t help scribbling down names, possible subjects. On the lyric “There’s a piece of you in how I dress” I wrote: maybe Kendall? In a song about a lover “way too bright for me”: surely Taylor.

Styles says he keeps to a general rule: write what comes and don’t think about it too much afterwards. The only time he worries about an individual lyric is if it risks putting an ex in a difficult position. “If a song’s about someone, is that fine? Or is that gonna get annoying for them, if people try to decipher it?” Has he ever got that judgment call wrong and taken a bollocking from an angry ex? Styles raises an eyebrow. “Maybe ask me in a month.” 

I quiz him on something I’ve often wondered about. Why are the very famous so inclined to hook up with the very famous? From the outside it looks twice the hassle, with twice the odds of ending badly. “Don’t we all do that, though?” Styles asks. “Go into things that feel relatively doomed from the start?” I ask him why he doesn’t date normals. He seems tickled: “Um. I mean, I do. I have a private life. You just don’t know about it.” 

Styles doesn’t particularly like being asked about his love life, but is amused all the same, as he is about most things. When I ask about the logistics of someone as well known as him dating someone anonymous (“Do you need to give them, like, some sort of primer?”), Styles snorts with laughter. 

“Uh-h-h. Like any conversation, I guess, it’s easier if you’re honest. But I try to let it come up when it comes up. Cos that’s a weird thing to talk about, y’know? If you’ve just started seeing someone, and you’re, like: [he adopts a throaty, mission-briefing voice] So! This is what’s gonna happen!” Styles holds out his hands: no, ta. “I don’t wanna have that conversation, man. It would be fucking weird.” 

And not very sexy, I say.

“Not sexy,” Styles says, “no.”

A quick aside about his accent, which is hard to capture in print. (“Nat sexy, no.”) After a workout in a hotel gym recently, Styles says he was taken aback (“taken abeck”) to be asked by a stranger whether he was speaking in a fake voice. He was appalled. But after so long crossing borders and time zones, living and working between England and the US, the accent has undergone a jazzy remix, and tends to get farthest from its Cheshire roots when he’s around strangers. Once Styles begins to get comfortable in the pub, the flatter, no-nonsense sounds of his youth return. Nowpe he says, for nope. Fook, for fuck.

“What the fook are they?” This was the response of his childhood pals, he remembers, back in the village of Holmes Chapel, when little Harry had the gumption to show up in the playground wearing Chelsea boots instead of the approved chunky trainers. Styles’s parents had separated when he was very young, but there is no origin-story trauma: he has always stayed close to both. His mother, Anne, would praise his singing voice in the car, and when Styles was 16 it was agreed he could audition for a singing contest on TV.

“The craziest part about the whole X Factor thing,” says Styles, who auditioned for the ITV reality show in 2010, “is that it’s so instant. The day before, you’ve never been on telly. Then suddenly…” Suddenly you’re a piece of national property. “You don’t think at the time, ‘Oh, maybe I should keep some of my personal stuff back for myself.’ Partly because, if you’re a 16-year-old who does that, you look like a jumped-up little shit. Can you imagine? ‘Sorry, actually, I’d rather not comment…’ You don’t know what to be protective of.”

By the winter of 2010, Styles was a fan favourite, a key member of One Direction, a five-piece that enjoyed enormous national exposure and gathered millions of fans before any music had been released. Cameras filmed every part of their rise. There wasn’t any time in the dark to practise, test things out, mentally brace. “We didn’t get to dip in a toe,” Styles says. “But, listen, I was a kid, all I knew was: I didn’t have to go to school any more. I thought it was fucking great.” He remembers having a lot of fun, and being well taken care of. He jokes: “Maybe it’s something I’ll have to deal with a bit later. When I wake up in my 40s and think: Arrrggh.”

In February 2012, One Direction were feted at the Brit Awards, hours before they were due to fly to the US for the first time. On TV that night they looked young, silly, chuffed – on the precipice of something huge, and with no clue at all. Their subsequent wonder-run (five platinum albums, four world tours) had its foundations in their ridiculous popularity in the States. Right away, Styles remembers, “We were fuelling a machine. Keeping the fire going.” He remembers it as a stimulating time; maybe overstimulating. “Coming out of it, when the band stopped, I realised that the thing I’d been missing, because it was all so fast paced, was human connection.”

I first met Styles in 2014, around the time the lack of human connection was starting to bite. One Direction were promoting their penultimate album and I’d been commissioned to write about themthe Guardian. Management felt the boys were so exhausted that my minutes in their presence had to be strictly counted. Inside a circle of cripplingly hot lights, while someone ran the stopwatch, we interacted as humanly as we could.

I remember how jaded the best singer in the group, Zayn Malik, seemed. (Malik was weeks away from quitting.) I also remember how flattered and bewildered the others were to be asked a few grownup questions – and not what Louis Tomlinson would later describe to me as “who’s-your-favourite-superhero… all that shit”. Styles was watchful and quiet that day. By total chance, a week later, we were in the same London cafe and he tapped my shoulder. He was having lunch with friends. “Will ya join us?” 

t struck me as a quietly classy move. I was fascinated to see him interact with mates he’d chosen for himself. Styles was dry and funny, older than his years. After lunch we said the usual things about keeping in touch, and followed each other on Twitter. I kept an eye on his updates, about leaving One Direction, releasing an impressive, self-titled debut album in 2017, playing for 36,000 people in Madison Square Garden in New York, acting in Christopher Nolan’s Oscar-nominated war movie Dunkirk. Meanwhile, I did my best to manage the mess that had been made of my own account after Styles’s Twitter follow ignited a small explosion of teenage longing in my mentions. For at least a year I received weekly, sometimes daily, pleas from people who wanted messages conveyed to “H”. Still now, every few days, fans in America, Asia and Europe follow me to “see what H sees” in their timeline. 

He has around 50 million social media followers, and with that comes the ability to ripple the internet like somebody airing a bedsheet. I’ve noticed, though, how rarely Styles directs people to support specific causes, last doing so in 2018, when he encouraged people to join a march against gun violence. Why don’t you use your influence more, I ask? “Because of dilution. Because I’d prefer, when I say something, for people to think I mean it.” He runs his fingertips across the table. “To be honest, I’m still searching for that one thing, y’know. Something I can really stand up for, and get behind, and be like: This Is My Life Fight. There’s a power to doing the one thing. You want your whole weight behind it.”

It’s one of the things that sets Styles apart, the way he puts his whole weight behind the different aspects of this strange job. If you watch footage of him as a guest host on Saturday Night Live last month, Styles plunges in, fully inhabiting the silliness of every sketch. He has good songs in his repertoire (2017’s ballad Sign Of The Times stands out), and would probably admit to some middling songs that attest to his relative inexperience as a writer. But whichever of his songs Styles performs, he goes all-in, trusting that his zest and energy will hold an audience’s attention. He approaches this interview in roughly the same spirit, not enjoying every question, fidgeting, pleading for clemency once or twice, but giving everything due consideration.

I bring up something Styles joked about earlier: the possibility of waking up in his 40s with deferred mental health problems.

“Mm,” he says

Have you thought about therapy, I ask, to get ahead of that?

“I go,” he says. “Not every week. But whenever I feel I need it. For a really long time I didn’t try therapy, because I wanted to be the guy who could say: ‘I don’t need it.’ Now I realise I was only getting in my own way.” He shrugs. “It helps.”

Lately he’s been reading a lot (Lisa Taddeo’s Three Women stood out). He’s watched a lot of Netflix (crime thrillers and music docs). He recently cried through Slave Play on Broadway. I sense in Styles, at 25, a pent-up undergraduate hunger, maybe a desire to make up for lost time. “I’ve definitely been wanting to learn stuff, try stuff,” he says. “Things I didn’t grow up around. Things I’d always been a little bit sceptical about. Like therapy, like meditation. All I need to hear is someone saying, ‘Apparently, it’s amazing’, and I’ll try it. When I was in Los Angeles once, I heard about juice cleanses. I thought, yeah, I’ll do a juice cleanse.”

How messy were the results?

“You mean…?” Styles raises an eyebrow, recalling the poos. “They were all right. I was just hungry. And bored.”

One notable feature of Styles’s solo career has been his headlong embrace of unconventional clothing. A 2017-18 tour could have been sponsored by the Dulux colour wheel: mustard tones in Sydney, shocking pink in Dallas. In a more serious sense, some of Styles’s choices have fed into an important political discussion about gendered fashion. In May, as a co-host at the Met Gala in New York, he stepped out in a sheer blouse and a pearl earring. One evening’s work challenged a lot of stubborn preconceptions about who gets to wear what.

He says: “What women wear. What men wear. For me it’s not a question of that. If I see a nice shirt and get told, ‘But it’s for ladies.’ I think: ‘Okaaaay? Doesn’t make me want to wear it less though.’ I think the moment you feel more comfortable with yourself, it all becomes a lot easier.”

What do you mean, I ask?

Styles is leaning forward, hands folded around his cup of tea. “A part of it was having, like, a big moment of self-reflection. And self-acceptance.” He has a habit, when he’s made a definitive statement, of raising his chin and nodding a little, as if to decide whether he still agrees with himself. “I think it’s a very free, and freeing, time. I think people are asking, ‘Why not?’ a lot more. Which excites me. It’s not just clothes where lines have been blurred, it’s going across so many things. I think you can relate it to music, and how genres are blurring…”

Sexuality, too, I say.

“Yep,” says Styles. “Yep.”

There’s a popular perception, I say, that you don’t define as straight. The lyrics to your songs, the clothes you choose to wear, even the sleeve of your new record – all of these things get picked apart for clues that you’re bisexual. Has anyone ever asked you though?

“Um. I guess I haaaaave been asked? But, I dunno. Why?”

You mean, why ask the question?

“Yeah, I think I do mean that. It’s not like I’m sitting on an answer, and protecting it, and holding it back. It’s not a case of: I’m not telling you cos I don’t want to tell you. It’s not: ooh this is mine and it’s not yours.”

What is it then?

“It’s: who cares? Does that make sense? It’s just: who cares?”

I suppose my only question, then, is about the stuff that looks like clue dropping. Because if you don’t want people to care, why hint? Take the album sleeve for Fine Line. With its horizontal pink and blue stripes, a splash of magenta, the design seems to gesture at the trans and bisexual pride flags. Which is great – unless the person behind it happens to be a straight dude, sprinkling LGBTQ crumbs that lead nowhere. Does that make sense?

Styles nods. “Am I sprinkling in nuggets of sexual ambiguity to try and be more interesting? No.” As for the rest, he says, “in terms of how I wanna dress, and what the album sleeve’s gonna be, I tend to make decisions in terms of collaborators I want to work with. I want things to look a certain way. Not because it makes me look gay, or it makes me look straight, or it makes me look bisexual, but because I think it looks cool. And more than that, I dunno, I just think sexuality’s something that’s fun. Honestly? I can’t say I’ve given it any more thought than that.”

In our musty corner of the pub we’ve somehow passed a couple of hours in intense discussion. We’ll lighten up, before Styles heads home, with some chat about clever films (Marriage Story), stupider viral videos (the little boy who’s just learned the word “apparently”), that favourite-superhero stuff that, after all, has its place. He talks about the curious double time scheme of a pop star’s life – those crammed 18-hour days and then the sudden empty off-time when Styles might find himself walking miles across London to buy a book, afterwards congratulating himself: “Well, that’s an hour filled.”

Before we stand up I ask if he’s minded any of my questions.

He pushes out his lips, possibly recalling them one by one, then shakes his head. “What I would say, about the whole being-asked-about-my-sexuality thing – this is a job where you might get asked. And to complain about it, to say you hate it, and still do the job, that’s just silly. You respect that someone’s gonna ask. And you hope that they respect they might not get an answer.”

I tell him I do.

“Cool.”

Styles has to find those lads who wanted a photo. He scoops his phone off the table and flicks his thumb around the screen. Lately, he says, when he messes around on his phone in an idle moment, it’s mostly to look at videos – clips that his friends have sent him, in which their kids sing along to music he’s made. “Never gets old,” Styles says, beaming.

A few years ago, when he emerged from the boyband, blinking, shattered, he set himself three tasks: prioritise friends, learn how to be an adult, achieve a proper balance between the big and the small. Full stadiums, provocative outfits – Styles genuinely loves these things. “But I guess I’ve realised, as well,” he says, “that the coolest things are not always the cool things. Do you know what I mean?” He grabs his parka and his phone and, a little stooped, heads for home.

[leostudyblr]

studying sucks as someone with adhd/add

and that’s not talked about nearly enough! in general and in the studyblr community.

i’m making this “guide�� (of sorts) to, at the very least, let adhd/add ppl who struggle in school know that they’re not alone!

(also, just for reference, for the rest of this post i will be referring to adhd and add people as just adhd, because that is the official diagnosis for both. just know that i’m not excluding y’all inattentive types!!)

btw: neurotypical/non adhd studyblr are allowed and 100% encouraged to reblog this post!

distractions. my mortal enemy

writing this post is literally my distraction from writing my english essay. which is weird because i’m actually interested in the topic of my essay!

so why am i hyperfocusing on something completely unnecessary?

in short, because dopamine! that bastard.

long version is that people with adhd have unusually low levels of dopamine (the happy chemical, if you weren’t aware!) in their brain. this makes it extremely hard to stop doing something that is giving you dopamine and switch to something that won’t give you that sweet sweet dopamine.

in my case, it means that it’s hard to stop writing this post (which is about something i’m very passionate about, albeit hypocritical of me) and write my essay (which i’m also passionate about, but that includes writing an essay).

also, under this category i’d like to mention something that i found on the wikipedia page for hyperfocus that is just a great explanation of adhd!

“Some types of ADHD are a difficulty in directing one's attention (an executive function of the frontal lobe), not a lack of attention.”

thanks, wikipedia! what a nice helpful source. (note: wikipedia is a great resource that we all use, but that doesn’t mean you are bound to donate. don’t, if you don’t want to. they don’t have a fundraiser going on at the time of writing this, but.... still. don’t feel bad. other people will donate, and wikipedia will stay running.)

^ can you tell i’m adhd. geez. ok moving on

(another sidenote: apparently i lied. as soon as i went on another wikipedia page, they asked me to donate. damnit)

how do i... stop getting as distracted?

first off, understand that hyperfocus/lack of focus is part of your condition. you are not broken or “bad” for not being able to focus on what you need/want to.

try a pomodoro timer. this has literally saved me so much.

try a pomodoro... with friends! let them keep you accountable and working on what you need to.

have you been watching youtube for 3 hours and haven’t gotten out of bed that entire time? get up. get moving, walk to your kitchen and get a snack! some water, for god’s sake. take your snack time to think about what you need to work on and decide on one thing to do before you get another snack.

“but i can’t do just one task at a time! i’m better at multitasking!”

might i suggest fidget toys? i used to say that i was great at multitasking—no. no one is good at multitasking, it’s just not human nature to multitask. just trust me on this one, aight?

btw, sleep. not sleeping will only make it harder to focus on the things you have to do!!

if you take meds: take your frickin meds, dude. like seriously. take them.

if you don’t take meds and want to: talk to your doctor asap. tell them your concerns, and how adhd affects your life on a daily basis. and stimulant meds are not the only option!! be open to suggestions from your doctor, but if you feel like they don’t get what you’re going through: you gotta tell them again. give them more info, because what you tell them is literally the only way they’ll know something is wrong.

getting. overwhelmed. a trap that’s too easy to fall into

lord knows i’ve been overwhelmed. i’m overwhelmed right now. maybe you’ve been sick, or there was a really hard assignment in this class or that, and you had an exam in three classes over a two day time period—i get it. and you felt like this was your year! you were doing so well! but now you have late work in multiple classes and you’re not sure what to actually... do for those assignments.

a lot of this overwhelmed business has to do with not knowing how to start. you have this pile of work to do, how are you supposed to do any of it when there’s just so much and you know you can’t possibly get it all done.

“try and do one thing,” people will say

“just start! it’ll be easier once you start,” people will continue saying

“but it’s too much,” you’ll argue

“you don’t have to do all of it,” they’ll argue back, and you’ll realise that they’re right but it’s so easy for them. for you it’s like pulling teeth to start writing that essay outline or to start working on those chemistry problems. it feels like there’s no point if you don’t finish it—if you can’t turn it in, what’s even the point?

hey. i feel you. ppl w/o executive dysfunction just don’t understand how your brain works differently. and that’s not your fault.

the main thing i can say is: talk to people who do understand. 

your friends that have seen you struggling in school forever? they get it. maybe they don’t understand exactly how you do things differently, but they see the grief you go through each year just to survive.

if you don’t talk to people about what’s going on in your life, you’re gonna explode. like actually.

so how do i stop from getting overwhelmed?

talk about your stress early on, before it’s “too late”

that said, it’s never too late. it is NEVER too late to get help.

you got friends who have the same classes as you? have you made friends in your classes? ask them for clarification on assignments, if it’s too scary to go to the teacher.

i know that for me, at least, it doesn’t even cross my mind to ask my teacher about these supposedly silly thing! but i’ve started trying to take into account that if it’s preventing me from knowing where to start something, it’s not silly. it’s something that i need to ask about.

if you can afford to do so, consider asking your doctor if they can refer you to a therapist. this comes from someone with zero experience in therapy (altho i really want to! it just hasn’t worked out that way yet.), so take it with a HEAVY grain of salt. i just know that from other’s experiences, it has helped them immensely.

self esteem. what’s that?

with all this getting distracted and overwhelmed, it’s easy to confuse your adhd with yourself. yes, you have adhd, but it’s not all of you. and did you know that adhd people have enhanced creativity? you probably did, actually. isn’t it amazing that people with adhd have figured out how to persevere and live in a world not built for us!

now, i’d like to address some common self-esteem issues in adhd individuals and why it’s all your brain tricking you!

feeling down about our abilities.

this can mean not feeling good enough when you fail to do something that you previously thought you could do easily.

this is your brain trying to tell you that you can do better than this, but the signal is getting messed up somewhere along the way! when something doesn’t turn out as well as you want it to, you have to take that and push down the urge to beat yourself up about it and use that disappointment and turn it into self improvement!

comparing ourselves to neurotypical people.

“why can everyone else do it, and not me?”

because your brain isn’t built to work like that, silly! you need to think hard about why you can’t do it the same way as them—and find a way to accomplish the same goal but with a method that works for you.

it feels like we get more criticism than praise.

listen. maybe you are getting more criticism than praise—and that sucks! like absolutely, positively fuckin sucks. but more than likely:

that’s the rsd baby. your mind naturally takes criticism as a personal attack, AND it amplifies it in your mind! double whammy, if you will. this is why having someone to talk to who supports you is so important, so you can have an outside source telling you that you don’t deserve to feel like shit. because you don’t.

thanks for getting through this post ☺

all bases of the art in this post come from this website of open source sketchy illustrations!!

i sincerely hope that this has been at all helpful. if you have anything to add onto this post i encourage you to do so! if you have any questions about anything in this post, feel free to hmu at my ask box !!!

[jules85]

First of all, sorry to bring this scene up. I know it's a painful one, but I also think it's a hopeful one. I remember writing a post about how this scene might lay out the road map to Olicity's reunion. I can't find the post, but I dimly recall rambling on about it lol. Given that we are 9 episodes into season 5, I thought I'd revisit the idea. In this scene Felicity tells Oliver that his default is always to go it alone. To revert back to the man on the island. To save the city-alone. She tells him that sooner or later he will find himself in a situation where he feels he has to hide things from her. That is this life. All of this has been relevant this season. At the start of the season, Oliver was back to being the lone wolf. He was waiting for Diggle and Thea to come back and was reluctant to bring in the new recruits. But he did. He even unmasked himself in order to gain their trust. This shows remarkable progress for Oliver and directly calls back to Felicity’s words in 4x16. Then in 5x05, after the truth comes out about Felicity and Billy, Oliver doesn't shut himself away and hide in a cave because the love of his life has "moved on". No. He decides to open himself up to the possibility that maybe there's something else out there for him. We see him pursue a "relationship" with Susan. Yes. Susan. That Susan. As much as I have thoroughly not enjoyed this "relationship", it shows Oliver not choosing to be alone. Felicity made him realise that he deserves to be happy. So maybe he and Susan will live happily ever after, or maybe she will be revealed to be a skeevy, manipulative b-i-t-c-h (I really don't like that word). My money's on the latter. But he tried, poor soul. In 5x09, Oliver killed Billy. Isn't it funny that once Oliver removed the mask, they felt the need to have a flashback to Billy? A) because he'd made little impression that I'm sure a large part of the audience didn't even realise who it was. B) the writers/eps actually thought that the audience might not know who it was. Evidence of your great writing, guys. Right there lol. Anyhoo, sooner or later Oliver was going to find himself in a situation where he felt he'd have to hide things from Felicity. A situation like accidentally killing her boyfriend? Oliver could have told her that Prometheus killed Billy, and then compartmentalised the guilt. He's had plenty of practice in that department. But he didn't. He was honest. He told her everything. No lies. Hallelujah! He then goes onto say how everyone should get as far away from him as possible. Not this again. For f**k sake, Oliver. This is the next stage in his evolution. Recovering from a setback and choosing to move forward and embrace the light. Instead of going backwards. I think we'll see that in 5x10 with him embracing the miracle that is Laurel's return, before the reveal that it's Black Siren. This will push him to move forward in keeping his promise to Laurel, and the search for the new Black Canary will begin. I also think we will see him take on more responsibility as Mayor. I'm all about seeing Oliver flourish at something other than putting arrows in people and being the salmon ladder champion of the world. These are all pit stops on the one way road to Olicityville. I think the scene in 4x16 also applies to Felicity. This season has really seen emphasis on Felicity walking in Oliver’s shoes. On seeing things from his perspective. Oliver and Felicity are more alike than people give them credit for. They both put up walls and shut others out. Much of the time we focus on what kind of impact Felicity has had on Oliver's life, but he changed her life too. Remember 3x20? Of course you do. How silly of me. Remember when she told him how he had changed her life for the better? He'd opened up her heart in a way she never thought possible? No? It was right before all the sexy times. Anyway, when Felicity is hurting, she reverts back to that self preservation technique that helped her survive her father's abandonment, Cooper's "death" and whatever else the world has thrown at her. She has her own island to run back to. Or she has her own cave to run back to. Just like when we first meet her, she's hiding away behind her computers. Not really embracing her full potential or what life has to offer her. Why? Because she's scared. What if she gets hurt again? Billy was a buffer. She didn't have to deal with her shit because he wasn't part of it. He was a distraction. She couldn't even admit that he was her boyfriend without internally freaking out. But she was okay with that because he couldn't hurt her, not like Oliver could. I've said it before that Oliver is the source of her greatest pain and her greatest joy. It's scary giving someone that kind of power over you when they've already hurt you before. So the buffer is dead and gone. Harsh but true. Now Felicity will have no option but to face the truth. To deal with her stuff including Havenrock, Billy's death, her past, and her future. We will see her go it alone to a certain extent. She will even keep something from Oliver. This is all part of the process in opening up Felicity’s eyes and her heart to finally, truly embracing the inevitable. And it is inevitable. Oliver is her Always. And she is his. Now put a frickin ring on it, people!