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.

By Grace I'll Carry On

I read a book entitled Your Perfect Right. It's all about assertiveness and it's one of the very best things I've ever read. I suggest that all people everywhere read it..we'd all be much kinder and better if we did, hopefully. 

Here's the long and short of it: there's passive, there's assertive, and there's aggressive..and oh yeah, passive aggressive, which is umbrella-ed under the aggressive category. Assertiveness has to do with speaking honestly, in the moment, in a way that allows all parties to be heard. 

One of the things that really stuck with me is that in situations where you already know that no good will come from speaking up, to do so, is aggressive. This one bothered me. Because it felt somehow unfair. Because I wanted to be heard, darn it. But the thing is, in both professional and personal settings, sometimes whatever you might say, even if it's the most thought-out, reasonable thing in the world, may change nothing. And if that's the case, it's not worth saying in the first place. Some things are like drought season, all you can do is live through them and wait for the season to change. And if the season doesn't change, then it may be best to walk away or leave, with as much kindness as you can muster. Because as Drew Barrymore once said: endless love and constant boundaries. Which occasionally means the boundary becomes: walk away. With grace, walk away. 

I read something recently about letting grace be bigger than our mouths. That's what I'm grappling with right now. Grace. To assert my worth, to set some boundaries, and to do it with as much grace as I possibly can, which very often means not saying everything I want to. Or, in other words, shutting up. 

Because here's the thing about life: there are end-dates. People move out and friends grow apart and the season does pass. And sometimes a person gets on a plane and goes somewhere else entirely and life begins again and we do our best, even if it's a stumbling, stuttering attempt, we do our best.

Why the Sky is Blue

"Do you know why the sky is blue?"
"Because the sky reflects the color of the sea,"
He laughed and said, "When the sunlight enters atmosphere, it works like prism, the lights are scattered in colors. But the blue light is scattered more than the others, and that's why see a blue sky."

He's been busy lately, with work and struggle to get promoted. And I also have been busy hunting for jobs, it's like a never ending activity since I started last month. I've been shooting so many arrows but none of them have landed on the moon yet, not even stars. It's quite a tough time for both of us, but we manage to create our own happiness by phone calls at night, talking about stuff, forgetting the problems and just embracing the moment. That's why we need each other. I love it when he tells me stuff. Science, animals, politics, religion, everything. Then I find myself browsing through the news and articles on NatGeo page. Call me a nerd, because it's what I really am. I love books so much but there's a time when I feel like reading non-fictions like the articles on NatGeo. You should read them too. It's incredible and amazing to learn something new, and important too. It's another way to remind myself that my problems are so insignificant compared to God's gifts. Knowledge is power, knowledge is sexy they said. Well, even though I can just ask Google, most times I prefer to ask my fiance because he's my living Wiki and it becomes my habit to bring the "geek" out of him. I wish someday he would tell our son or daughter why the sky is blue. :)

With Love, Hayley

So the girl from Paramore, Hayley Williams, my girl, wrote this on her blog recently and I can't help but reblog it ;)

the last 4 years are gonna play like a movie in my head for the rest of my life. it was the best time from start to finish. everything that has to do with the self-titled album is my favorite memory. even the stuff that wasn’t so easy to go through. cause now i look back and i see why it all happened in the order that it did. we will never make another album like that one. that’s something i’ll always be proud about, and a little sad about, and that’s just the truth.

but what do i know? the next album might be even better than S/T. i should know better by now than to ever question the process, the plan, or the deep belief that i have in paramore… more so than i even have in myself, alone.

every night on Writing The Future, while we were on stage, there was always a moment of realization that we can never relive anything. not any single thing. it’s cruel. seriously, we are a generation who lives almost exclusively through our photos and videos and captions, trying to freeze moments in time but it’s all only a shade of us and our experience. what’s real is what those moment create within us… and that’s what we carry with us and that’s what shapes the moments to come. or at least how we perceive them, feel them, live them. memories do serve us when we are the most nostalgic and i suppose i’m always the most nostalgic… but even my memories of the last 4 years won’t fill me the way actually living it all did.

and that’s got to be why it’s so important to move forward and never live in the past. we can never be fulfilled by a moment that’s gone. if we’re not living in the now (wayne’s world ref) and struggling, striving to find ourselves and each other here in the present then what even is our point? yeah, i know the whole “be present/be content with where you are” spiel sounds like bullshit but it’s true… and no one needs to hear it more than me. con-stant-ly.

speaking of the present: i’ve been wedding planning, attempting to write and sometimes actually writing, moving into a new place, and building a hair-dye company from the ground up. all at the same time. yes, i am completely insane! you should see my crazy eyes. i think they’re permanent now actually.. i’m going to try my best to share bits and pieces of some of all of it as we go along but no promises cause some days i forget the internet exists (and i think that’s a good thing).

last thing:

thank you again for Writing The Future. never cried on stage the way i did during “Future” in Portland. the signs you guys made and held up for all the shows were moving and served as a reminder of our purpose and the hope we had for the band in the beginning. thank you guys for creating a community within our “fanbase”. we do what we can to keep it feeling like a family because that’s truly what it feels like to us… but you guys are daily doing all the work to really make it real. nothing felt more right than celebrating S/T with you guys in those gorgeous theaters.

i’ve typed for long enough now. writing lyrics with carpal tunnel sounds great and all but i’d rather not.

h[III]

I love you, Hayley!

Little Treasures

When I was young, I collected tiny, shiny things. Inside a small music box, I kept a random array of little treasures: a black sequin that fell from my mom's dress, a stray color-light that wedged itself into the carpet, a silver button that probably belonged to someone's sweater. There were earring and broken thumbtacks and colorful strands of thread. I remember putting in a birthday candle and a pink eraser, and a small piece of plastic I grabbed only because it was gold. I sought out small tokens of joy, little slices of light and color. It's not that I did anything with them, really. Every once in a while, I'd open the lid to survey my stock, pulling each tiny, forgotten thing from the box and arranging them on the windowsill in my bedroom just so. Then I'd put all the gleaming, vibrant gems of garbage back into my music-turned-treasure box. (Maybe I kept small pictures of Justin Timberlake in there, too, but that's not the point)

The point's that I actively, purposefully searched for beautiful, charming things to pocket. When I was young, I looked for little slivers of joy to call my own, and I still do. In a different way, I still do, because more and more I've come to understand my own responsibility in finding joy. I understand happiness as a choice, and how happiness comes from making choices.

Recently, I was having a not-good day. A day of spilled coffee, sad news, and some truly unfortunate timing. I could tell early on that something within me wanted to wallow in the gloom, and as I got home, I had every intention of crawling under the covers and turning up my melancholy, rainy-day playlist.

A stripe of sunlight stopped me, though. It's shimmering across my bed, the room all aglow, and I thought, a cup of tea, Aemy. I brewed a cup of English breakfast tea, I opened up one of my favorite books by one of my favorite authors, and I went straight to my favorite chapter, rereading my favorite lines. When I was finished, I picked up the phone and called someone, and I told him what I was doing, why I was calling, what I know to be true: happiness is a practice. A collection of tiny, shiny things in our everyday that make it feel just a little bit like magic, like something we should treasure.