On Being There

In primary school, my mom would put two packs of M&Ms into my lunchbox each day; one for me, and one to share with my friends. If you know my mom at all, that's the least surprising thing in the world. She's thoughtful and giving in a way that's so extreme, it seems like the exaggerated quality of a sitcom character. For years she kept an entire kitchen cabinet stocked with foods for any guests. A corner of the fridge, too.

It all started out well, the whole extra-pack-of-M&Ms situation. Day after day, I'd pass the 2nd pack around the table, each of my close friends grabbing a few. As weeks turned into months, though, that friend group grew a bit larger, and I still had just two packs of M&Ms. There weren't enough in that 2nd pack to go around, so one day, I decided to share my pack, too. 

It's obvious where this is going, right? Because eventually, of course, I was passing out both packs of M&Ms each day. They were my favorite little treat in the lunchbox, but at some point, I decided it wasn't worth hurting anyone's feelings. I just wanted everyone to feel included.

Things clearly could've been handled by, you know, not bringing M&Ms anymore. Or not passing them out at all. Or realizing that, duh, hello, nobody cared nearly as much as I thought they did. But I was 8, or maybe 9, and extra sensitive, and everything felt like a big deal.

I didn't tell my mom about it, because she probably would've started putting 3 packs in there and all hell would've broken loose. My brother was the one I turned to, and after I explained the situation, he looked at me with such a blank expression that I started to repeat myself.

"There's a solution."
"What is it?" I asked.
"Don't have as many friends."

Oh, to be a boy, right? I've mulled over and laughed about his quick reply several times over the years. That conversation took place more than 2 decades ago, but it still feels relevant. In 2nd grade you hand out candies, and at 20-something, it's phone calls, dinner dates, your time.

The thing is, it's incredibly hard to be there for all the ones you love in exactly the way you really want to be there. That's a conversation I seem to be having with so many people lately, all of us feeling stretched just a bit too thin. Sometimes you have to settle for sending a text instead of making a phone call, or mailing a gift instead of making the trip, and all the while you feel sort of terrible about it. In different phases of your life, there just isn't enough of you to go around, and unfortunately, that may be when you're needed the most.

People I love are marking milestones, and so am I, and I've come to realize that it can be hard to keep up. There just aren't enough M&Ms for everybody, you know? And that's okay! Even if it feels like it isn't. You just have to do your best and be honest with yourself, because it's impossible to be there, all out, for all the people you care about most. Especially when you don't quite have things figured out for yourself just yet.

This is a small reminder, for myself mostly, that by all means, you should be there whenever you can. Show up, show your love, and make it count. And when you can't? Skip the phone call and send the text. I'm sure it still means something. 

Looks May Fade, But Selfies are Forever

I've never been very big on compliments. I never quite learned how to take them, in part because I always thought that if you accepted a compliment, people would think you're conceited (and surprise, surprise: they do) and in part because it took a long time for me to believe these things. When people complimented how good I was at school, I shrugged it off because it was never like I tried. That's not a humblebrag, I promise. When they told me I was funny, I balked. And when they said I was pretty, I...well, I'm still working on that one.

It's not lost on me, then, that I work in a world that's very surface, What you wear, how you do your makeup, what your scarf looks like on any given day, how you can arrange your life to look just so on Instagram. And I've learned that sometimes, the bits of your life that you want to capture and share with the world are the moments where you feel your best. And a lot of the time, you can feel your best when you feel like you look your best. Also, why are we still so pegged on this idea that caring about how you look is inherently bad?

Sure, there are deeper things in this world to think about. There's atrocious poverty and war and people are constantly fighting for equal rights. But to capitalize on these things for what? The likes? For people to think that we're aware of what's going on in the world and that somehow makes us better than the people who aren't posting about it? If all you're doing is joining in on the social trend du jour, and you're not actually doing anything to change the world for the better, is that really less surface than an iPhone photo of somebody's eyebrows?

Because if there's one thing I've learned, it's that learning to love yourself is a lifelong process. There are days when I wake up and I think I'm pretty (so you agree, you think you're pretty? Lol.) and then I'll wake up the next day and think I'm nothing special. And those are the days I'll put a little extra effort into my makeup, or choose my outfit a little more carefully, because I know I'm going to need the confidence boost to power through. But I'm not chronicling that for the compliments. I never want to be someone who exists online to be pretty. I want to empower. I want to show people that yeah, you can own how you look and what you do and that you shouldn't apologize for either. I want people to not only know that it's not a bad thing to have high self-esteem, but to believe it, and to have it themselves.

You deserve that. Really. And so I don't think I'll ever get "good" at accepting compliments online. I hate it when men try to slide into DMs or try to hit on me, because that's not what I'm here for. That's not the space I'm trying to occupy, and to be frank, that detracts from the message that you can be here for yourself. Not for anyone else to think you're pretty, but for you to think that you are pretty, and not to need validation from anyone else. 

Learning to say "thank you" wouldn't hurt, of course. But the next time you catch yourself judging someone's 5th selfie in a week, ask yourself when was the last time you complimented yourself. And then do it. Revel in yourself. Because you should. Because there's nothing wrong in that. And if someone has an issue with it, it's just too bad that they're too blind-sighted to revel in how awesome you are with you, too

An Open Letter to Socality Barbie

Dear Socality Barbie,

I spilled my coffee this morning trying to take a photo of it. It's dumb to even ask why I was trying to document the experience, I wanted people to know that I'd gotten up, made my own coffee, and was now preparing to conquer the first Monday of November. Why else would I need the perfect morning lighting and my cellphone at 6am? My mom looked at me and blinked twice like, "why are you even taking a picture of it?" Now not a single soul knows how authentically I managed to live this morning with my coffee. If you felt like your day's missing something then it's probably that photo. Happy to solve the mystery for you, Barbie.

But do you know what happened after the coffee spilled this morning? Life moved forward without the documentation. I made my new coffee. It's still good and piping hot. No one's made better or worse because of some inspirational caption I planned to pair with a photo softened by VSCO Cam. I tasted real life for a second and it felt pretty foreign on my lips. I wrapped myself in a blanket and a little bit of conviction for this day: why is it necessary to obsess over making life look perfect for the others? We all know it isn't. Why does the charade play on until something breaks? Glass or a heart, why can't I actually show you my real mess?

…

You weren't made to have my actual, day-to-day mess. It's you and a couple hundred or thousand followers who are not equipped for what happens when my junk actually hits the fan. You and I both know it, Barbie: the day you get drunk and leave Ken, and act like an angry train wreck with a megaphone on all your social media streams then people on the fringes won't want you anymore. It's harsh but probably true. Ken's friends will unfollow you. So manage your mess, Barbie. We want a mess we can monitor from the people we follow. We want honesty without the bruising. We want the kind of pain that's digestible and won't disturb our days. The day you use social media as a megaphone for your pain, the kind of pain latte art can't touch, people will leave you.

Some people will start talking in their circles the day you start to let the anger and the rant statuses flow. They'll start psycho-analyzing and putting the pieces together from a safe distance. They'll take social media and turn it into a soap opera, sigh out of relief as they say, "at least I'm doing better." But when did tiny glimpses of our lives, cropped to perfection, become the measuring stick for who's doing better and who's doing worse? When did life, and managing to live it, become a competition and a comparison? When did we confuse the real with fake and the fake with real?

Maybe I'm being a little too cruel to you, Barbie, seeing as you're not really 'real' but I reminded her of all the times people manage to say, "well, that person was fun to follow until that happened." And we all know what that thing was. Point's this: we want you right now, Barbie. We like you right now. You're doing something awesome and managing to make some really great puns of out of posed coffee shots and #liveauthentic hashtags. When you're doing something awesome people will always want to claim you and tag you. When you're making life look easy then people want to follow you.

…

Social media's in the DNA of our relationships now. It scares me to say that but it's true. I wanted to see how a friend's doing the other day and I clicked into her Instagram. I checked her off my mental list without even using the phone in my hand to perform the task it's always meant to do, dial and hear a person's crackly voice on the other line, find out they're okay. I know how damaging that action of mine was. I know because I sat across from a friend, and I heard them say to me, "from the looks of social media, you are doing just fine."

Them saying that, it broke my heart. It broke my heart to think that, because I had white walls in all my pictures, it meant there's no longer a reason to reach out and ask if I was really doing okay. Barbie, I'm so afraid to check people off my list because of surface level visuals. I'm so afraid to find out, too late, that I needed to ask "how are you" before someone died inside and no one could get to them. Please don't hide within the cracks of the exposed-brick breweries and trendy tiled coffee shops you find. If you're lost, pick up the phone and call someone. If you think you're about to lose someone (and yes, there's a gut feeling for that), pick up the phone and call them. Ask them 4 words: are you really okay? We save lives everyday when we just manage to speak up.

…

This whole letter might be a terrible waste. Maybe your life's as perfect as you portray it to be, Barbie. In that case, congratulations! You beat us all with your plastic lattes and trendy hiking boots. Regardless, I hope you find something real today. Something tangible and intangible, all at the same time, that you would skip the act of documenting it just so you could live inside it for a little bit longer. I hope you spot a rare, soon to be extinct, moment. And I hope it's all yours, no need to share it. Maybe it's the smile of an old man who's going to leave this earth real soon. Maybe it's a piece of a mail from a friend you used to be able to trace the scent of when they showed up in a room. Maybe it's a single dance from a cute stranger at a wedding who makes you feel like you're the most beautiful thing in his orbit.

Either way, I hope you feel known. I hope you feel picked out and chosen. I hope something grabs you so hard, shakes you so good, that even the notifications can't touch it. You're not fake, Barbie. You, like the rest of us, are probably just doing the best you can within a world that wants to trace and tag every tiny, beautiful piece of itself.

Pieces

An incomplete list of things that are mostly inconvenient but all true, concerning values, and how they change.

- I self-identify as a documentarian. A sort of variation on a memoirist. I want to write things down as a way of taking their picture and framing them. To capture something. But I'm not a "writer". I'm just a human.

- To that end, what I do decide to chronicle has an agenda, and that agenda is mine, and changes, and is dressed in the sure knowledge that every narrator's unreliable. The eye doesn't see, it transmits. And it transmits to an information processor, the complicatedly simple brain, that's loaded with feelings and past hurts and triumphs and feelings.

- Living out loud isn't a character defect...

- ...but the best plan's to just do good work and shut up. That says more than I can, anyway.

- I have a list of regrets that I try to shed a little more light on every goddamn day. A chronicle of shitty things I've done, and shitty things I've tolerated, and humiliations on both sides because of it. But you'd better believe those things have been my best teachers, or, at least, the most vociferous ones. I'm only an asshole if I don't learn from them. 

- "A fight is going on inside me," said an old man to his son. "It's a terrible fight between 2 wolves. One wolf is evil. He's anger, envy, sorrow, regret, greed, arrogance, self-pity, guilt, resentment, inferiority, lies, false pride, superiority, and ego. The other wolf's good. He's joy, peace, love, hope, serenity, humility, kindness, benevolence, empathy, generosity, truth, compassion, and faith. The same fight's going on inside you." The son thought about it for a minute and then asked, "Which wolf will win?" The old man replied simply, "The one you feed." This fable is my true north.

- People are built 3 ways: as subtractors, adders, or multipliers. Subtractors are energy vampires, adders contribute to your energy, and multipliers make you see stars. A person's categorization is directly related to the amount of drama they bring to your life: if they add to it, they're a subtractor; if they subtract from it they're a multiplier. Friendships are maths, and your tribe's a reflection of your vibe.

- Less is always more in word counts, and in accessorizing.

- An author said that the heart's a muscle and so should be exercised regularly. Show up. Practice loving. Practice some more. A few dents is the trade-off.

- I hate being the boss, and I hate having a boss.

- There's more than one self. I'm hard and soft, confident and unnerved, ready to go big and also ready to go home. No one thing's any more or less true than the other, and I can be all of them at once.

- Charisma is the ability to make both of you feel good.

- I think I'm scared, but my fear got me this far. That's surely a bigger victory than feigning fearlessness. If I wasn't afraid, it wasn't a challenge, and it's the challenges I rise to I'd like to be counted by when you read my eulogy.

- I have 3 core desired feelings: strong, committed and inspired. If what you're offering doesn't tick all of those boxes, it doesn't feel good. If it doesn't feel good I don't wanna do it. Life should be lived in the joyous zone, else what's the point?

- I can never go deep enough. I confront my fears. Go into it willingly. That's juicy, to me, exploring aliveness for aliveness' sake. 

- Life's a conversation. A dialogue. We have to sit down with her regularly and ask, "Hey. this working for you?" We have to seek out the pain and own it before the pain owns us. We have to look for the happy and show her who is in charge. We must be active in our peace.

- I secretly think my feelings are more valid than your feelings, but I'm working on it.

Curated Life

Years ago I went to a prom night. It wasn't fun. It should have been fun, but it's really not. When images of that party appeared on Facebook days later it looked like a blast. In fact it looked spunky and joyful and really, really lovely. And that's when I understood, really and truly, that almost nothing on the social media is as it appears. That, in fact, the appearance of a life is often at the expense of life itself. 

I know this. I've seen this. From both sides. And still occasionally I'll see photos and feel the knee-jerk reaction of I-wish. I wish that was mine. I wish that was my life. More and more I've seen think-pieces about how we need to examine that impulse in ourselves. There's finger-pointing, but we pointing the finger at ourselves. And I get that, I do. I'm the first person who will take on blame, even if it's clear the blame isn't mine to take (this is not a good quality). But this self-reflection assumes, to a certain extent, that everyone's willing to take the time to do that. And it lets the medium, which is to say the internet, off the hook. But the thing is, while you can put a verified checkmark next to a person's twitter handle, there isn't any real policing of validity beyond that. Search algorithms are based on popularity, not truthfulness, and certainly not value.

We see a curated picture and we want the handbag, the heels, the husband, the wedding, the life. And okay, yes, we have to approach the image with critical awareness, but that takes a pretty high level of intelligence. It's like asking consumers not to gain weight in a society where food is specifically designed to get us to eat more than we need, or even want. Not-gaining-weight nowadays is far harder than maintaining weight and yet we blame the consumer. I think there has to be change on both sides, how we produce and how we consume. 

And I fear sometimes, that the bloggers who respond to the criticism that their life's too curated, aren't actually the bloggers presenting the most highly curated lives. Because there's a difference between boundaries, meaning what one's willing to discuss and what one keeps private, and a stylized representation of what's presented. I guess what I want to say is this: it's okay to feel like shit sometimes when you're looking at other peoples' lives online. In fact, a lot of people are banking on it, they all make a lot more money that way.

On Friendship

The best part about growing up in a small town is the inevitability of close, lifelong friendships. The sense of community is overwhelming. Everything feels familiar. Some shops are owned by family friends, you spot your kindergarten teacher at the post office, and you can't quite do errands without running into at least 3 people you know. The togetherness, it's a physical thing, too.

For me, that reality of lifelong connections has led to a clear, specific quality of friendship, namely, that it lasts forever. A sense of closeness, to me, comes from knowing anything and everything. From knowing each other's families and homes, from sharing meals and holidays and traditions. To me, the border between friendship and family is so thin and insignificant so as not to exist at all.

It's been interesting, then, to make friends later in life, to leave that small-town environment and try to establish forever with fresh faces. In college and ever since, I've found that I do everything I can to fill in the backstory between me and another person. My friends could list all my clearest memories from elementary school, high school. They could call out every heartbreak, every small victory. There's not a name they wouldn't recognize, not a story they couldn't retell, and I could point out all of theirs, too, because that's the kind of friendship I love: where all the lines between yours and mine are blurred, where everything becomes shared even if it wasn't at the time.

Of course, that may not work for everyone. That sort of open-book, become-part-of-my-family kind of connection can sometimes feel like too much for a person. Truth is, I find that all-out familiarity comforting, though, as if building a forever is the only way. Or at least the truest.

I'd love to know: Do you feel the same? What defines your ideal friendship?

The Picture on the Wall

You know when you hang a new picture on the wall? At first, you glance at it every single time you pass by. Maybe you even smile and stop to admire it. But then after a while, it just seems to sort of blend into the landscape. It becomes 'just' a picture. 'Just' a photo. You pass by it every single day, you see it, but you don't. Not really. It becomes something that's just there.

Until one day. The day that picture gets taken down. You pass by that place where it used to hang and you immediately notice that something is amiss. You can't quite put your finger on it, but you know something is missing. So you look around and you notice the wall and it's bare. Where once was color, a dreamy landscape, a smiling face, there remains now only an echo. A rectangular imprint on the wall where that frame once hung. That square of paint which the sun's rays had never had the chance to brighten...until now. 

And in that moment you realize just how much that picture transformed the place where it used to hang. Maybe it was for the better, or maybe for the worse. Maybe you miss it, or maybe you don't. But whatever the case, there is a valuable lesson to be learned from that picture: the little things, however little, matter. Maybe we don't see them, or maybe we like to pretend we don't, or maybe we just never stopped to look, but they do.

Look around. Observe. Admire. Because the little things, so often taken for granted, won't always stick around forever. One day they will take with the current and swim away. Please, don't let that be the day you realize how much they mean to you.

Road Maps and Treasure Chests

I'm the kind of person that's easily overwhelmed. By the kindness of a waitress on an ordinary day or the breeze that blows in sunny afternoon. And on a daily basis, I'm overwhelmed by the indifference of the world in light of all the suffering that takes place. I get anxious about small things like passing a test or an interaction that didn't go as I had hoped. And I've always been the kind of person that can be overwhelmed by how much I have left to do and how little I've done.

So it's no surprise that I was standing in the make-up aisle when I was suddenly overcome by the number of products I was surrounded by. Highlights, blush, foundation, and mascara. Eye shadow, lip liner, and eyelash extensions. Age-defying cream and wrinkle prevention lotions. There are lotions and sprays and tanning beds. The magazines that tell us what we're supposed to look like, the headlines that call on us to be thin, tan, and flawless. The implications that our outward appearance is a determinant of our individual worth. And all I could think about was how many products tell us that the way we look, the way we are, is not enough.

I generally don't skim through magazines, but I hear the messages all the same. We tell them to ourselves. We've been trained to become insecure about a blemish on our face, a haircut that's a little too short, stretch marks on our stomachs, or weight gain in all of the wrong places. To be clear, I wear make-up on a daily basis and I workout as often as I can, I reward myself with new clothes and even bought Korean facial products. In no way am I suggesting that there's anything wrong with wanting to feel beautiful and confident, I just don't believe that a flawless outward appearance is the only way to get there.

In high school, my friend said that it didn't matter whether or not we understood calculus or algebra because at least we're pretty. While I understand that they're trying to be comforting, encouraging, and nice, I can remember my exact feeling of outrage. The anger that arose because I was supposed to feel relieved by someone's perception of our outward appearance; of the implication that the way we looked would somehow be enough to help us get a scholarship so that we could go to college. That somehow the way we looked would help to determine whether we would develop enough self-discipline to finish what we started, that somehow our appearance would help us to further our career. And I remember wondering when 'being pretty' began to outweigh our intelligence, capabilities, attitude, and our individual contributions to the world.

I find that sometimes we place so much emphasis on what our body looks like that we forget about the amazing things it does for us. Your legs, regardless of their length and width, have carried your body for all of these years. They have held you up on your weakest days and were there with you to jump for joy in moments of celebration. They've ran through the grass during hide and seek and they've rooted you to this earth. And your arms, they work. They can bend and they can write. They can pick up a child and hold another's hand. They've helped you to feel objects and to build things, they're your ability to reach out to the world. Your mind, it's a wonderful, magical, and complex tool that continues to guide your perception and understanding of the world. I could go on, but you get the point. Each and every one of your body parts has served you in some way. Each and every part continues to do something for your life. Let's not forget that every minute detail of your being is made with extraordinary and intricate capabilities.

I've always believed in not being attached to something as impermanent as our physical appearance. Of being attached to short hair, long hair, thick hair, or thin. Of not being attached to the number on a scale or the amount of space between your thighs. The way you look can change. It'll change and it's always changing. It has never been our job, responsibility, to be beautiful. We're not alive for that purpose. We all have so much more to offer the world than our physical appearance.

Who you are as a person, that's what matters. Are you beautiful on the inside?

I believe in intelligence, the ever expansion of your mind through books, travel, and new experiences. I believe in having conversations with people who have a different point of view than yours and in staying current on world events. Of challenging yourself to set higher expectations and to dream bigger dreams. And i believe in health, eating healthy, nourishing your body, and being good to your soul. I believe in exercising to add longevity to your life, to add strength to your mental and physical abilities, and to foster self-discipline. I believe in getting adequate amounts of sleep so that you're energized throughout the day. I believe in confidence and beauty in the form of a smile to a stranger, of a hand that reaches out to help without question or reservation.  Kindness towards others, determination to succeed, and the courage to forgive. That's beauty. Our internal integrity, our ability to respond with grace, the gifting of our time, and the mark we leave on the world. That's the beauty that should define us.

I believe in beauty that's real. In the naturalness that can be observed when you become who you are. I believe in our bodies serving as road maps to remind us each where we've been. That scar on my left knee from the bike crash I had as a 7-year-old kid, the burn scar on my right arm that I got from playing fireworks when I was 10. In growing old, your body having all the proof to show it. The wrinkles, flaws, blemishes, and stretch marks. Laugh lines for a life well lived. Grey hair for all of the challenges you've overcame. Extra weight around your midsection from the babies you've birthed, from the celebrations you've had the opportunity to experience, from those delicious desserts you were able to indulge in. Worry lines on your forehead for the uncertainty you felt during troubling days. Your body's a treasure chest holding within it all of the goodness you've received, the love you've given, and the pain you've endured.

You are more than beautiful. And you are more than something to be looked at. You're strong, brave, intelligent, kind and funny. You're a giver, receiver, dreamer, and a doer. You're as bright as the sun and you're so much more than the simplicity of your outward appearance. You are so much more.

Doubt It

It's amazing how quickly doubt can settle in. It's like a question mark at the end of a statement, an uncertainty about what you thought you once knew. A tilt of the head or the raise of an eyebrow. It's a whisper that makes you wonder if you really knew after all. And it can be a series of dominoes that start to fall down if you let it.

While I've never really had a low self-esteem, I continue to observe situations in which my self-confidence begins to waver. In my ability to complete tasks, accomplish goals, and make decisions. I can feel when it starts to come and I can see what happens when I start to listen, when I start to believe it. The stumbling over words, the second guessing, and insecurities. the questions I begin to ask myself; can I pass this test? Can I accomplish this goal? Am I capable of more? Is this good enough? What if I fail?

The self-doubt leads me to fall. It opens up the door for excuses to slip in, it welcomes discomfort and feelings of uneasiness. it's that little whisper that tries to tell you that you'll never make it, so that you give up before you ever do. And part of self-doubt comes from a comparison of yourself to others, of feeling like you don't measure up to others' strengths. Self-doubt convinces you that you won't get to where the others have already gotten. And maybe it's that little voice that tells you that what you do, who you are, or what you're working towards is not enough. And when you start comparing yourself to other people you might start to notice that you begin putting them down, that you begin basing your accomplishments off of other people's lack of success. Comparing yourself to others seems to  imply that someone's going to be better and someone's going to be worse. But really, we're just different. That's all. 

So what do you do when you feel like you're not enough? That you can't succeed? That someone's better, stronger, smarter, nicer, more talented, and capable than you?

You persevere.

And in persevering, you acquire the right perspective. You change your thinking from the "I will never get there" to an "I'm on my way." And through this perspective shift, you remember what you do have, what you're capable of, and where you're going. Part of this perspective is about remembering that you have enough, you do enough and you're enough. Perspective is about a willingness to see the situation from a different point of view; it's about changing your attitude and strengthening your resolve. I've also learned that perspective is about gratitude, about feeling grateful for your individual abilities and experiences and for honoring how other people got to where they're at. And perspective is a reminder that there are other ways to look at the situation, other feelings to feel, other beliefs to believe, and other movements to make. (Thanks to Ifo for teaching me the art of perspective ^^)

And when you hear that self-doubt, perseverance is about trying to understand where it's coming from and what is it saying. And to persevere, you plan. You develop a plan to overcome it. And while you may have great intentions to persevere, it may be hard to do so when you haven't considered how you will. Write down the steps. List out your personal challenges. Address the ways you'll get over road blocks, detours, and bumps in the road. And if your self-doubt is telling you that you'll never reach your physical goals, you write out your health plan. You list out all of the assignments to complete before you graduate from college. You record all of the bills left to pay before you're debt free. You plan and then pursue with consistent dedication. And to persevere, you must decide to work harder than your self-doubt is telling you not to.  

In times of self-doubt and in times of perseverance, you surround yourself with people who believe in you and who believe in themselves. Surround yourself with people who challenge you to grow, who push you to succeed, and who hope that you'll get there. You've probably heard that you become similar to the people you spend the most time with. Spend time with people that you want to be like. 

Self doubt? Doubt it.

Blog Manifesto

I'm learning every day to allow the space between where I am and where I want to be to inspire me and not terrify me. - Tracee Ellis Ross

I was 17 when I started blogging, nearly 18. I was fresh out of school and unclear on how-to-live-my-life-and-live-it-well.

There's something really joyous about blogging then (oh do I sound old?). Blogs were sort of deliciously imperfect. And I needed that in my life. That joy, that delicious imperfection. Very quickly, blogging became a lens through which I could see the world: the details, the absurdity, both the loneliness and loveliness of everyday life. And it became a way to reach in the direction of the future at a time when my personal future felt very tenuous. I couldn't imagine life beyond 20, couldn't imagine getting better, or growing up, or anything after.

There's an Elizabeth Gilbert's quote I think of often:

Someday you're gonna look back on this moment of your life as such a sweet time of grieving. You'll see that you were in mourning and your heart was broken, but your life was changing.

Some part of me knew that at 20, ill as I was, my life's changing. And If could recognize it as it's happening, bear witness to it, then I could transform the most heartbreaking moments of my life into the most meaningful. So the purpose of blogging, for me, was to document the in-between-ness of my life. To document this difficult, but important, events.

For the record, I realize I'm still in the in-between. But I feel a hell of a lot closer to one end than the other. I didn't know that I'd like writing so much, find so much meaning in it. Didn't know I'd fall so hard for words and their endless variations. I like blogging. But I don't know if I like what has become of it. Can I say that? I'm gonna say that. Let me explain. It seems to me that as blogging has evolved it's become far more commercial, but what this means is that more and more blogs look the same, feel the same; similar content, similar interface, and a sort of homogeneous cultural refrain: happiness as the ultimate end.

We're bombarded with images all day, every day, on television, the internet, in magazines, that make the desirable life seem just beyond reach. Images that make us want things we have no use for. It's a pretty simple formula actually: put something that has no immediate value to the consumer, next to something beautiful (the aesthetics of beauty having a higher value than almost anything else) and suddenly it becomes important, desirable.

The thing about blogs now is that they seem to be selling a way of life, one in which nothing bad happens. In which everyone's always cheery and smiling and dressed in impeccable and expensive clothes. This is nothing new of course, we as a culture and country seem to have cornered the market on happily-ever-after. But the thing about blogs is we think of them as non-fiction. And that's where it gets tricky. We mistake a very small, very edited slice of life as the whole of the thing. And few things are as they seem. Images flatten, words distort, and photo filters enhance.

I like fashion blog as much as the next person, I really do. The pictures are like candy, immediately satisfying. But here's what I wanna know: who can really afford to wear Jovian dress, carry a Chanel bag, and dress their arms in Tiffany & Co jewelry day after day? Certainly, I can't. And do I need to feel bad that I can't? It's that second question I worry about, because that's the question that sticks around longer than the immediate hit of pleasure. And that's the question that, if I'm not paying attention, sort of chips away at my self-worth.

Perhaps other people don't have the same experience. But what if they do?

I understand that depicting total realism is impossible and not the point of blogging. I've heard time and time again bloggers explain that their corner of the internet is their space and therefore they have the right to choose what they share. But we don't live in a vacuum. And shared content goes into the world and has an effect. Free speech is sort of a misnomer, isn't it? Because it's free to a point. There's always a cost..we just don't always know what that cost is.

Of course I believe in personal responsibility and accountability, that we can't entirely control how what we say is received. "Perception is reality" is one of those principles that drives me nuts because it's such a lazy way of thinking..so unimaginative. And let's be honest, you can't reason with crazy. And if a crazy person perceives you as crazy, does that make you crazy? But the thing is, much evidence exists to prove that the onslaught of doctored images in favor of "flawless" bodies is extremely damaging. So what about "flawless" lives?

I took this blogging break to work on other things, but also to give myself some time to figure out if I wanted to continue. And the thing is, I do. Because I actually quite love it. But for the last few years I've attempted to reconcile what I love about blogging with what has come to be expected from the medium. And I'm not sure I can. Or that I need to. But what I did feel like I needed to do was create a governing set of principles to remind me of what I'm doing and why I'm doing it.

 A Blog Manifesto

1. This is a writing blog. Not a lifestyle blog.

2. I do this because I love it and it has meaning for me but if I stop loving it, I will stop doing it.

3. I'll occasionally be abstract and private, but I'll do my very best to never paint my life as something it's not.

4. This space is a part of my life, but only a part. If it ever gets in the way of living, then enough.

5. My purpose here is to document what has happened (and occasionally dream of what might be). I believe the moment I do something specifically for the purpose of blogging about it, it cheapens the experience and undermines the content.

6. I have no interest in distilling my life into a three-sentence-bio.

 7. I believe in women. I believe in women who speak up for themselves and ask for what they want and demand more out of life. I believe in a woman's brand of intelligence and wit and grace. I think we need more of it in the world. I want to see more women in leadership positions, more women who aren't afraid to ruffle a few feathers. And I believe because we live in a world that is tremendously connected, the bonus is on each and every one of us to encourage the full realm of a woman's potential.

8. I'd love to say that I'll blog every day. But it's just not possible. There's only one of me and I can't generate that much worthy content. So I'll blog when I can.

9. I'm not interested in more content for the sake of more content (or more clicks).

10. If you're uninterested, move on, I'm not counting numbers.

11. And if you come here and then head elsewhere with the sole intent of gossiping amongst internet strangers...well, I just don't get that. And for the people who run and moderate those blogs, I'd like to ask what value you think you're adding to the larger world?

12. Maybe that's the question I want everyone to ask: what value are we adding?

13. I've met more than a few internet mavens whose lives seem far cooler and more vibrant online than they do in person. They have secured a niche and figured out what works for them and that's great. But my goal is, and will always be, that if someone were to meet me offline they'd think me just as they imagined. I'll very often fail at this, but it's nonetheless my intent.

14. I write the best version of myself, always. But I do believe that's a very different thing than writing a different and better version of myself.

That's what I got. And hopefully it's still a little deliciously imperfect.

Too long? Sorry.

The Joy of Choosing

Lately I've been thinking a lot about balance. I've been thinking about moderation and stability, about pushing hard but knowing when it's time to pull back. All too often I find myself in a "go, go, go" frame of mind that I'll maintain just as long as I can, usually until I burn out or get sick or someone tells me that I need to dial it back. That I need to breathe. All too often I'm 10 steps ahead of the present, my mind lingering somewhere in the future until I realize that the here and now is passing me by.

In reading The Happiness Project by Gretchen Rubin, this idea struck me: One of the hardest things about being an adult is realizing that while you can do anything you want, you can't do everything you want.

This, I think, is one of the things I've struggled with most. I've always wanted to be out there, somewhere, to write, to be a children's book author, to design shoes, to name crayons, to teach, to act. And yet, I was forced to choose..to pick one dream from the giant pool I'd been collecting for years. Decisions, truthfully, have never been my strong suit. I crave the security of a black-and-white choice, but at the end of the day, I tend to feel a bit more comfortable in the gray area.

Still, I chose writing. When faced with the potential of anything, when I had to choose something, I opted for writing. Language, words, stories..at the end of the day, I knew that's what would make me happiest. And part of growing up..a marker of maturity, I think..is accepting that there will be days when you say: What if?  But then there are days when you wake up and pinch yourself because you get to do one of those things. You get to see one of those dreams come true, and isn't that enough?

It is. It's more than enough. And it's in that epiphany in that gratitude where joy's found.

ps: Thanks for your feedback on my previous post! ^^

On Love and Looking In

Recently I was talking to a friend about relationships, about the ones that work, the ones that don't, the ones that would have worked or could have worked, and the ones that probably, definitely never should have worked. Eventually, inevitably, the conversation turned to ourselves.

I love talking about relationships. All kinds, really. But I especially love to hear what people have to say about themselves in relationships. It's interesting, isn't it, to think about who you are to someone? To think about the best, worst, and strangest parts of you, all tangled up in love and sometimes loss and sometimes everything all at once? To think about what it's like to love you?

In my younger age I went through a handful of dark and heavy things that forced me to look inward. To look at myself and my place in the world, at why I was who I was and what that meant and where that would take me. I learned to reflect and look inward very early on, too early, maybe..and that, coupled with my writing habits of stepping outside a moment, make me self-aware.

And it must be interesting, so to speak, for better or for worse, to be in a relationship with someone so drenched in that sort of awareness. I think about how odd and tiring it must feel to be in a relationship with someone so aware of moments, someone who steps in and out of them and back in again, all the while internally narrating the ifs and the buts and the maybes. And then I think: seriously, Aemy, stop thinking so much.

Once, in college, a girlfriend joked that our friendship would steer her straight into therapy. She said that my self-awareness is rubbing off. I cracked up, knowing all too well what she meant. We eventually became roommates, and no, she didn't end up in therapy. But there were a lot of late-night talks. And snacks and movies.

Still, that stuck with me, the idea that my self-awareness was something other people were aware of, and that my tendency to reflect might somehow wedge its way into my relationships one way or the other. For better or for worse. I found myself thinking about those faded friendships and relationships with a new sense of clarity, a genuine empathy, realizing what a real turn-off that might be for someone who'd rather not look back or inward. Because not everyone wants to doubt and change and shift and evolve all the time. And that's okay.

I talked to Ifo about what that friend said back in college and he agreed, saying my sense of self is a tangible part of me. I felt a bit embarrassed, then, at 1st, a bit ashamed of that curious, sensitive piece of me. But then I thought about what it all meant, because if it's true, if that piece of me somehow really does rub off, then how lucky I am to be there when that self-awareness strikes, when those walls come down. How lucky I am to grow into relationships with people who look in at themselves, and at me, and who hold both of us accountable for being our best and truest and most sincere selves. For better or for worse.

Enough

Lately, for whatever reason, I've been having a lot of conversations about relationships and friendships; why some of them work, why some don't, why others sort of straddle a strange line between the two. Almost always the conversations begin and end with empathy. And really, that's usually what it boils down to, isn't it? Understanding, appreciation, insight. All those words that run along the spectrum of what it means to be a compassionate, self-aware sort of person. Of course, someone can be as kind and as thoughtful as they know how to be, but that isn't always enough.

Wait, I take that back. "Not enough." That's a phrase that's always bothered me a bit. "Not enough" for what? For who? So often I've heard someone say, "I did everything I could, but it just wasn't enough." Or, worse: "I wasn't enough." To me, that isn't the point. It's not that you aren't enough for somebody else. It's that you aren't enough for you in that relationship, because whatever is or isn't between you and another person doesn't make you feel good. That's the point. It's how you feel about yourself, not how you imagine you stack up against some made-up measurement or expectations.

Because here's the thing, if you're putting your all into something, fully invested in a friendship or a relationship, it better be a something (or someone) that makes you feel good, right?

Truth that Gives You Pause

In Olive Kitteridge by Elizabeth Strout, the character tells a young girl, "Don't be afraid of your hunger."

I was stunned. How insightful, how wonderfully true a statement. First, there's hunger as a state of being, and the idea that we shouldn't be afraid of our emptiness. It can also be understood, though, in terms of hungering for something, that we shouldn't fear our desires, our longings, our innermost appetites.

Either way, I'm struck by how wise and how poignant such a simple statement really is. Because all too often we find ourselves suppressing those cravings, those hopes and dreams that feel too big, or perhaps too small, compared to what we feel we should want. And there's just something so brave, so profoundly honest and brave, about embracing our hunger, in recognizing, accepting, and really feeling comfortable with our hunger.

After all, acknowledging our hunger is our only hope for someday satisfying it, right?

Happy fasting. :)

If The Internet went Quiet

Social media's primary motivation is recognition. We're searching for understanding in the form of a larger network, because what's the point in churning out updates daily if not to attract and captivate an audience, huh? Sharing our work and thoughts, connecting with people, opening up our metaphorical internet doors into our homes..these are valid reasons to check twitter. But more often, we share to share. Liking becomes less about what we like and more about the cultural recognition it gives us. Meaning is often based on cultural context, so it becomes difficult to play the game of what would our ancestors have done. Yet, what would they've seen in social media, in the internet in general? The age that we live in allows for greater communication than ever before. We're able to affect change, to widen our reach, and in powerful ways, influence our cities and the world. Networking makes connection comfortable and easy. Yet, in constantly connecting, we're losing our ability to communicate without the web to clamor behind us.

The function of social media gives us a way to say, "look what I'm doing," regardless of whether we're doing it or not. My friend and I were laughing about instagrams..from location scouting, prop styling, editing, etc. I'm not saying that these are bad things, just that our realities are skewed. It's not just about sharing our breakfast anymore..now our breakfast has to be beautiful. Which is fine. Art becoming greater in the scheme of our daily lives isn't something I oppose, but why do we do it? Is this all one huge game of follow the leader? I don't have answers, just questions. What would it look like to go off social media? What would it look like to communicate solely via letters? What's the function of blogs these days? Do we need this network? What's the point of it all? It fascinates me in a sobering way that we even have to ask ourselves these questions.

Society has evolved to a point where the thought of not having an online presence and not sharing our work puts us in league with the dinosaurs. I understand the appeal, perhaps too well. But it saddens me because I've been plugged into this changing, growing, controlling network. I wake up to the phone, check twitter. I take photo. I can talk to people without talking to them. Everything is an instagram opportunity. I should tweet that and this. 

Do you know what's sad? I've lost the ability to sit in silence. It's difficult for me to be still. I'm rediscovering how to read without interruption. I'm trying to simplify my thinking into one line, not many different avenues all begging for my attention at once. I removed notifications from my phone awhile ago, but I sit and suddenly I'm checking my phone simply to check it. Is it that I, or we, don't remember how to even exist without constantly reviewing the never-ending stream of forever updating information? As I write this, I have about 10 tabs open.

We're spending more time cultivating our online personas than our character and personality in real life. Years ago, this wasn't a part of my normal routine. Take 2004. Instagram was nonexistent and iPhones were a thing of the future. Facebook had come out only recently and blogging was starting to gain traction. Smart phones existed, but compared to our phones today, we'd have called them illiterate. Yes, we had the internet, the next thing was coming, but everything was relatively quiet. I romanticize the past, but there's a marked difference in how we operate as a people with the increase of technology and the ease of networking. Please don't think I'm proclaiming a cry of abandonment of social media. I've said before, I enjoy instagram. But I don't want to mindlessly ingest and consume without question. What does the role of social media play in our lives and how will it continue to evolve as we as a people and society grow and change?

The thought of Google Glass terrifies me, and the promise of always being connected sounds like a nightmare. Contrary to the trends of 2014, I feel most fulfilled when I'm less connected. The more I am in the "real" world, the more inspired, well-rounded, and content I am. The less connected I am on social media, the more connected I am in real life. I think it's dangerous when we enter into social networking as a natural occurrence of daily life, and don't recognize the difference between what's shared and what exists. The argument could be made that social media is part of ordinary routines, but that's the gist of this post. We're at a place when sharing is synonymous with existing, and to go without sharing is a kiss of death, or really a refusal to cry.

What would happen if the internet went quiet and we all just lived our lives? This is something I wonder about when my phone and laptop are gone.

A Piece of Corn

I remember being endlessly entertained by the adventures of my Lego toys. Some days they died violently, other days they traveled to space. I didn't understand why it's fun for me, it just was. But as I grew older, it became harder to access that imaginary space. I remember looking at them and feeling sort of frustrated and confused that things weren't the same. I could no longer connect to my toys in a way that allowed me to participate in the experience. Depression feels almost exactly like that. 

I had a depression once. I had always wanted to not give a damn about anything. I viewed feelings as a weakness, annoying obstacles on my quest for total power over myself. And I finally didn't have to feel them anymore. But my experiences slowly flattened and blended together until it became obvious that there's a huge difference between not giving a damn and not being able to give a damn. You might know that different things are happening to you, but they don't feel very different. Which leads to boredom. 

I tried to get out more, but most fun activities just left me confused or frustrated with my inability to enjoy them. Days oozed by, and I came to accept that maybe enjoyment was not a thing I got to feel anymore. I didn't want anyone to know, though. I was still sort of uncomfortable about how bored and detached I felt around other people, and I was still holding out hope that the whole thing would spontaneously work itself out. As long as I could manage to not alienate anyone, everything might be okay.

However, I couldn't rely on genuine emotion to generate facial expressions, and alienating people was inevitable. Everyone noticed. It's weird for people who still have feelings to be around depressed people. They try to help you so things can go back to normal, and it's frustrating for them when that doesn't happen. From their perspective, it seems like there has got to be some untapped source of happiness within you that you've simply lost track of, and if you could just see how beautiful things are...

I tried to explain that it's not really negativity or sadness anymore, it's more just this detached, meaningless fog where you can't feel anything about anything, even the things you love, even fun things, and you're bored and lonely, but since you've lost your ability to connect with any of the things that would normally make you feel less bored and lonely, you're stuck in the boring, lonely, meaningless void without anything to distract you from how boring, lonely, and meaningless it is. 

But people want to help. So they try harder to make you feel hopeful and positive about the situation. You explain it again; like maybe you wanna be depressed. And it keeps going like that until you're having this weird argument where you're trying to convince the person that you're far too hopeless for hope just so they'll give up on their optimism crusade and let you go back to feeling bored and lonely by yourself. And that's the most frustrating thing about depression. It isn't always something you can fight back against with hope. It isn't even something, it's nothing. And you can't combat nothing. You can't fill it up. You can't cover it. It's just there, pulling the meaning out of everything. 

It'd be like having a bunch of dead fish, but no one around you will acknowledge that the fish are dead. Instead, they offer to help you look for the fish or try to help you figure out why they died. The problem might not even have a solution. But you aren't necessarily looking for solutions. You're maybe just looking for someone to say "sorry about how dead your fish are" or "wow, those are super dead. I still like you, though." 

I started spending more time alone. But I somehow managed to convince myself that everything was still under my control. Yet there I was, casually wishing that I could stop existing in the same way you'd want to leave an empty room. It felt like I had been dragging myself through the most miserable, endless wasteland, and, far in the distance, I had seen the promising glimmer of a slightly less miserable wasteland. And for just a moment, I thought maybe I'd be able to stop and rest. But as soon as I arrived at the border of the less miserable wasteland, I found out that I'd have to turn around and walk back the other way. 

There's no comfortable way to inform other people that you're depressed. I didn't want it to be a big deal. I was also ill-prepared for the position of comforting people. The things that seemed reassuring at the time weren't necessarily comforting for others. I had so very few feelings, and everyone else had so many, and it felt like they were having all of them in front of me at once. And every direction was bull**** for a really long time. The absurdity of working so hard to continue doing something you don't like can be overwhelming. And the longer it takes to feel different, the more it starts to seem like everything might actually be hopeless. 

I had not been able to care for a very long time, and when I finally started being able to care about things again, I hated them. But hatred is technically a feeling, and my brain latched onto it like a child learning a new word. Thankfully, I rediscovered crying just before I got sick of hating things. I call this emotion crying and not sadness because that's all it really was. Just crying for the sake of crying. At some point during this phase, I was crying at the corner of my room for no reason. I was staring straight ahead at nothing in particular and feeling sort of weird about myself. Then, through the film of tears and nothingness, I spotted a tiny, shriveled piece of corn under the desk. And I laughed. That piece of corn was funny and I can't explain to anyone why it's funny. I don't even know why. I mean, the way the corn was sitting on the floor, under my dressing desk..it was so alone..and I didn't know how it got there.

Anyway, I wanted to end this on a hopeful, positive note, so, I'll just say this: Nobody can guarantee that it's gonna be okay, but..and I don't know if this will be comforting to anyone else..the possibility exists that there's a piece of corn on a floor somewhere that will make you just as confused about why you're laughing as you've ever been about why you're depressed. And even if everything still seems like hopeless, maybe it's just pointless or weird. I don't know. But when you're concerned that the miserable, boring wasteland in front of you might stretch all the way into forever, not knowing would feel strangely hopeful. So yeah, I've learned a lot and everything becomes alright, eventually. 

Things We Know

"College is not the real world."

We know. We know that college's a unique, safe, bubble-like environment. We know this is a particularly wonderful chapter of our lives where we around people with similar interests, hopes, and ideas. People who stay up with you chatting about absolute nonsense. We know this is not how it'll be after we graduate.

"Graduating and finding a job isn't easy, especially in this economy."

We know. We know this probably more than one would expect. We watch the news, we walk past headlines printed across the paper that read: "Unemployment rates soar." We know we won't immediately land our dream job. We know that you want us to know that. And those few instances when our friends did land their dream jobs, well we know that you mark that up as a mere "fluke." We're aware that times are hard and coming out of college with a degree now deemed "practically useless" is going to be rough. If anyone knows this, believe me, it's us.

"You don't understand what it's like..."

We might not understand, you're right. But at one time or another, you didn't quite know what it's like either. And us, being reminded how much we don't understand, well that doesn't make us suddenly "understand" anymore than before, instead it adds stress. It's as though you're saying: "you don't know, and you never will." Because no matter how much we don't understand, we still have to face it. So please, please, help us know that though we don't understand now, we'll be okay. Because as much as you want to keep us from the possible storms ahead, it's where our boats must venture, no matter how rough it's gonna be.

Things we want you to know:

We know you care and that's why you're telling us these things. We know. But when you constantly tell us these things, it doesn't change anything. Instead, it leaves us feeling as though nothing can be done at this point. Absolutely nothing. We're doomed. But really, it's not, we're not. Far from it. It's gonna be harder than anything we might ever experience. We're gonna have a lot of our dreams crushed and have to alter a lot of paths along the way. But we're gonna be fine. Because we're not the 1st people in the history of the world to face hardships. We're not the first people to embark on unknown territory while so many scoffed and warned. We're not the 1st people to open a door to find a giant brick wall.

But we're so blessed to have the proper tools to break down those walls. Survive these uncertain times. We have advantages those before us didn't. And you're the ones who placed them in our hands, taught us how to use them. And for that, we're beyond grateful.

But you have to let us know that you trust us, you think we can do it. That you support our battle. But most of all, that you're rooting for us because you believe we can. That's all we want you to know. Whoever you are.

I Value Class

I've been thinking about class; class in the sense of courtesy, virtue. Class as a noun, a quality to be possessed. Class is what I treasure most in a person. I don't necessarily mean "class" in some sort of elite sense, either. This isn't to say that I value manners and etiquette and sophistication above all. What I mean to say is that I value decency. Graciousness. Grace.

I value the sorts of people who are kind when no one's watching, who are honest about their own faults, who speak up for themselves when it's appropriate while maintaining respect for the person they're speaking to. I value people who are loyal and true, who selflessly build up other's successes and then easily, humbly, accept praise in return. People who are compassionate and considerate, people who remember to call on birthdays and random days, too, just because you're on their mind.

I value people with genuine civility, the ones who help the old lady at the grocery store and strike up a conversation with the cashier. The ones who see people as people. Who befriend their neighbor, their postman, their plumber, their best friend's sister's boyfriend's aunt. I value people who appreciate handwritten letters and phone calls, people who realize that some occasions call for something more than a text, something more than an email. Who send a song or a book or a cut-out article to somebody they care about because they just know that they'll appreciate it. I value people who can admit their mistakes and learn from them. People with the heart to forgive, with the guts to hold on, with the empathy to understand another person, or the willingness, even, to try.

Like I said: I value class. And I'm not perfect. No, far from it. I'm not always the person I wanna be; a person with tact and dignity and class. Sometimes I fail. But I can try, I can do my best. And I can hold the world to a higher standard, because I do think we have it in us. Don't you?

On Broken Hearts

I find few things quite so nice as a person with a broken heart. Don't get me wrong. It sounds strange, I know. But when someone's brokenhearted, they're laid open, at their most raw, their most vulnerable. Walls crumble, having no reason to protect what's already been shattered, and the person's real essence rises to the surface.

I, too, have been brokenhearted. And, well, truth is, I sometimes miss who I was then. No, I don't miss the desperation. I don't miss being the girl who moved through days as a shell of a person, a shadow of her former self. I don't miss the dull ache, the feeling of walking in a haze, the sensation of being in pieces, in fragile, sharp-edged pieces I didn't recognize.

What I miss is the fearlessness that emerged from the ruins. That feeling of having nothing, nothing at all, to lose. When your heart's broken, you find and embrace an intimacy with yourself, a closeness to your own spirit, a kind self-love that you can later forget to nourish. And in those most gut-wrenching hours of my own heartache, I remember turning inward, and to music, and to literature, toward any place where I knew I'd feel understood. Where I could find, if not the answers, then at least the most important and most compelling questions.

Now, though, on the other side of this, with a heart restored and reshaped and rediscovered, I'm struck by my own desire to revisit that girl. To remember how she felt and uncover once again what seemed so true and tender about her in those broken moments. And also, to let her know that the pieces will eventually come together quite brilliantly. That she has nothing to worry about.

مآ أجمّل أنْ تصمتْ

فيْ ؤجهْ منْ ينتظرْ منِك الخِصَام 

وما أجمل أنْ تضحك

فيْ وجهْ منْ يُنتظرْ منك البكـاءْ

How beautiful it is to stay silent

When someone expects you to be enraged from them.

And how beautiful it is to laugh

When someone thinks you are going to shed tears.

On Sadness and Its Place

There's a friend who asked me about sadness, noticing that I seem to skip the negative here on my blog nowadays. She wondered whether I purposely kept things positive, and I said, yes I do. Truth is, I like to hold on to this as a lighter space, and I save the good, darker stuff for fiction. In any case, I thought I'd take a moment to share my thoughts on sadness and its place. I hold on to sadness like holding on to a new dress, waiting for the just-right day to wear it. I've always been a saver of new clothes, the sort of person who buys something and swears not to wear it until the perfect occasion comes up..only to finally debut it at some place. In any case, I tuck new clothes toward the back of my closet and make a mental note to grab them when the time's right, when I'm eventually ready. And so it goes, I've realized, with sadness.

Melancholy has always felt comfortable to me. Nostalgia and melancholy, those I can do, those are the backbone of the things I love. But sadness? It's not something I easily wear. I tug and itch at it, then reach for something softer, something a bit more worn-in. I pick melancholy usually, which tends to bleed into some shade of understanding if you sit with it long enough. 

Scattered weekends and occasional rainy day. Those are the times that I normally decide to unfold the sadness I've been stashing away. And when I unroll it, I spread it out, letting it splay across my chest so that I can really feel its weight, its pressure. Then I wallow. I  wade and sink and sometimes drown in whatever it is that made me itch, because I've come to realize that I can't let those stacks of sadness pile up forever. At some point or another, it's necessary to pick up each piece, see it for what it is, and throw it away so that I can move on.

This isn't to say that I always toss the bad stuff aside. There's room for pockets of sadness within each moment, I think. And if those spaces start to spill over, that's when it's time to bring them to light. That's when it's time to wallow, to call someone, to curl up in bed and read a book or listen to rainy-day songs or just sit there feeling sorry for yourself. Every so often, that's okay. There's a time and a place for sadness, and I've found that eventually, when I come across the right occasion, I'll try it on.