Online Envy & the Evils of Comparison

Found this article via this blog.

"...And then on some days, I feel like I have nothing to offer, like I must be the only one who isn’t a graphic designer and hasn’t yet managed to display her entire darling life online with lots of chevron and mint accents. I feel so certain that my life is a lot less darling than other peoples’ lives..."

Man, that resonates with me.

I can get so caught up in comparion. I think it's not so much jealousy or judgment, as it is uncertainty that I'm "doing it right". I guess by "it" I mean life, huh?

Dichotomy

"...a stunningly beautiful and thoroughly engaged woman who, in the words of a friend, 'managed to navigate the tricky waters between living a life you could be proud of and still delighting in the many things there are to take pleasure in.'"

I saw this quote in the description of a book on Amazon.

The waters between living a life I can be proud of and delighting in the things there are to take pleasure in certainly are tricky, at least to me.

This is something that I've struggled a lot with for a long while, and the quote above is such an accurate description of how I've felt during this time.

There have been days and weeks and months when I've lived my life with painstaking effort. I made sure to donate an appropriate amount of my time and money to charitable causes, place weekly calls to my grandparents, go the requisite amount of "above and beyond" (is there such a thing?) at work, eat however many ungodly servings of fruits and veggies are now suggested, and try to squeeze in as much cardio time as possible. In other words, tried my G.D. hardest to live "a life I could be proud of".

There have also been times, though notably fewer, when I have immensely delighted in the many (many, many) things there are to take pleasure in. A box of one dozen Paradise Bakery chocolate chip cookies. Three hour naps. Beers, Irish car bombs, mimosas, and vodka crans. Kissing.

I know that there's a balance. I've seen other humans strike this balance and strike it well. But these waters? Well, they're just too tricky for an all-or-nothing girl like me.

Does a Body Good

The week of Thanksgiving {of all weeks} I joined the fitness center at my company and started taking yoga classes. I'd tried yoga three times before: the first time, at a rec center, I hated it; the second time, at a gym, I loved it; and the third time, at Lululemon, I was pretty lukewarm. Exercising isn't something that I've ever really enjoyed, and I've been on and off the fitness wagon more times than I care to recount. Witnessing the health issues that some of my loved ones have been through the past few years began to convince me that it was almost certainly time to grow up, suck it up, and start caring about my health.

Enter my friend Eric. The same new friend who's been introducing me to tons of new music and fun local restaurants had also convinced me to try his yoga class at work. He'd been devoutly attending for two and a half years and had a strong feeling that I'd love the instructor and become as addicted to the practice as he was. After one class, even though it was hard, even though every minute wasn't enjoyable, even though it seemed a little hippy-dippy for my taste, I joined the gym and committed to attending yoga classes.

Now, like I mentioned above, as I'm getting older {twenty-three next month, yeah, I know, stop judging me} I've been more conscious about my health. However, it wasn't exactly health that prompted me to join the gym. Our yoga instructor...she is amazing. While I'm not sure of her exact age, I do know that she's in her seventies and looks not a day beyond fifty-eight. She has so much energy, too, and just sort of radiates youth. This woman is five times as flexible as I am and over three times my age- what gives? Vanity led me to start practicing yoga, because yoga apparently has magical youth-giving properties, AND I don't even have to pat it on under my eyes twice a day...score!

It feels a little silly, but yes, something kind of shallow led me to yoga class. So much more is keeping me there, though. Within two weeks, I felt {and saw} my body grow stronger. I'm not naturally very muscular or strong in stature, so it doesn't take much to bring me up from my base line, but the results were still pretty incredible to me. After just a few classes, I was able to improve my strength and stability in the poses by so much. For a results-oriented human like me, this was so motivating and kept me going back. I love the endorphin rush I get after a class. I love how challenging yoga is without being physically hard on my body. I love how my natural flexibility is an asset to me. I love practicing with my friends.

I love, love, love my instructor.

So, I'm getting stronger, I'm feeling better, I'm proud of myself, and I'm convinced that yoga is the fountain of youth, but there's something that two months of practicing yoga a few times a week has given me that I never really thought I'd have: body confidence.

I've always struggled with liking the way that my body looks, something I think few members of the female race can say they've never given a thought to. I can remember "dieting" and begging my mom for a padded bra at ten years old. I guess I didn't realize that all children basically have the same bodies at that age- some a little more, some a little less. I wasted so many hours fervently wishing that my body would hurry up and grow up already, grow up into the beautiful young woman I knew I was destined to become. My pudgy thighs would thin out, my boobs would come into existence, and my skin would make porcelain look like crap. Naivety at its finest.

Now, I've never been what any reasonable human being would consider overweight, and I don't think I harbor too much extra disdain toward my body beyond the general discontent that I think a lot of women have for theirs {do you have that, too? is it just me?}. I hear this discontent get blamed a lot on society/the media, and maybe that's often the case but, for me, mostly, it's just me applying my same-old perfectionism and controlling nature to the one thing I'd most like to control into perfection: myself.

How has yoga altered this {maybe sorta destructive} thinking? My body is bad ass in yoga class.

That's kinda all there is to it. Yeah, my arms are more toned and I can see the beginnings of some abs, but really? It's how freaking sweet I feel when I'm upside down with my ponytail grazing the shiny wood floor and my clasped hands hanging toward my head. I am so dang proud of my silly old body when it can finally do something that I was trying my hardest at in the last few classes. It's {I'm?} stronger and better than I thought, and I'm so glad that yoga taught me that.

Namaste, indeed.

Leap of Faith

source

I'm going out on a limb, and it's scary.

I'm taking comfort in the fact that I'm trying to make something happen for myself.

If we just do what we're comfortable with, if we don't take leaps of faith, if we don't go for the "long shot", how can we ever know?

Is there a chance that I might miss out on things I could have had, because I didn't want to go through the trouble of stretching myself?

Hopefully more to come on this, friends.

The Sounds of Summer

I remember being them. Splashing my brother, negotiating head starts and rules to games we had created just moments before.  I remember feeling the goosebumps poke through on my skin, but not really, because what does it matter that it's only April? Is there anything better than one of the first swims of the season? I remember the smell of the sunscreen that we barely swiped on before cannon balling into the blue. 

I'm watching their mother, looking up from her phone, yelling to stop running, stop splashing, play nicely, for the love of god! It reminds me of my mother, looking up from her magazine, basking in the sounds of brother and sister playing, smiling, and okay, maybe some "play nicely for the love of god!" 

There have been a lot of summers since I've had anyone watch my dive or hold my head below the surface, and there will be many more before I'm the one requesting that the fun be toned down, just a little. But today, as I lay near the sounds of summer, I'm transported to those far back summers and it's hard to imagine that I'm laying under the same sun. 

Happiness

source

"I urge you to please notice when you are happy, and exclaim or murmur or think at some point, 'If this isn't nice, I don't know what is.'"

Thank you, Kurt Vonnegut (and Holly Burns).

A Creature Unlike Any Other

On my last trip to the library, I picked up the ever-controversial relationship book The Rules. I feel it is important to start this post with a disclaimer: I do not read self-help/relationship books. I am not trying to turn myself into some kind of man trap. 

Basically, I've heard about "The Rules", and I was rather curious to see what they were all about. There are 35 rules, but I'll list the first 10, just to give you an idea of the philosophy of a "Rules girl".

1. Be a “Creature” Unlike Any Other
2. Don't Talk to a Man First (and Don't Ask Him to Dance)
3. Don't Stare at Men or Talk Too Much
4. Don't Meet Him Halfway or Go Dutch on a Date
5. Don't Call Him & Rarely Return His Calls
6. Always End Phone Calls and dates First
7. Don't Accept a Saturday Night Date after Wednesday.
8. Fill Up Your Time before the Date
9. How to Act on Dates 1,2, and 3
10. How to Act on Dates 4 through Commitment Time

Some of the advice was definitely weird, along the lines of "If you have a bad nose, get a nose job" and "Set a timer so your phone calls with him don't last over five minutes", but some of the other pieces were just common sense. Basically "The Rules" are an extreme, standardized game plan for playing hard to get.

I would like to do an experiment in which I play by "The Rules" and see the results, but alas, I cannot, as I have broken one of the most sacred rules: Don't Live with a Man (or Leave Your Things in His Apartment). 

The authors seem pretty adamant that "The Rules" work, but I think that every couple is different and has different needs & preferences. One of the rules is that one should not see a man more than twice a week, and I just don't think that would work for everyone. Another advises women to dump men that do not give them romantic gifts for their birthdays or other holidays. I know for sure that there are some women out there to whom a gourmet coffee maker or fancy light fixture are way more romantic than a tennis bracelet.

If any of you have tried being a "Rules girl", I am absolutely interested in hearing your experience with "The Rules".

Excuse Me, Ma'am

Yesterday after Jazzercise, I had a mad craving for a vegetarian burrito with extra guac when I spotted a Chipotle on my drive home. I pulled in and, as I walked up to the door, I was approached by a young man with a plastic jug of change. I couldn't really understand what he was saying through his thick accent, but I gathered enough to determine he was collecting money for...something. I said my standard-to-these-situations "I'msorrygoodluck" with accompanying head shake & slight palm raise. I wondered briefly what the money was going toward as I secured my spot in line, but then mostly I focused on the delicious burrito goodness coming my way. On the way out, I smiled at the young man who had stopped me before, and he smiled back. Any guilt I had from saying "no" earlier vanished. 

Until, I was almost to my car, when I heard, "Ma'am! Ma'am! Excuse me, Ma'am! Ma'am!" I turned, and it was a different man, older this time, who was fundraising for presumably the same cause. His accent was even heavier, but with different origins, and our (his) conversation was longer. I looked at his shirt, and it had a paper sticker with something about drug addicts on it. All I really determined from his speech was that someone "needs help". His jug was filled with lollipops, as well as some change & a few bills. I whipped out my "Imsorrygoodluck", head shake, palm raise, and he walked away. On the drive home, I began to wonder if it would have killed me to give each man a dollar. My rationalizations were basically: 1) I didn't know if their cause was legitimate, and 2) I didn't know if the donations were going to the cause. I guess I could have spent more time asking questions, but it was dusk and, as a young woman, I get very nervous about distractions in parking lots.

By the time I unlocked my front door, I had concluded that I should have given them some change at least. Even if they were to spend it on something illegitimate, did $2 matter? But then I decided that maybe it wasn't about the money, maybe it was about the principle of the thing: I don't want to be a sucker. I don't want to be swindled. I prefer to send my donations to organizations that I've researched and have ties to. That's not to say that I wouldn't contribute money to a well-known organization just because they are stationed in a parking lot (e.g. Girl Scouts or The Salvation Army). Anyway, I think I definitely need to learn to balance my guilt with my principles, because this happens not infrequently.

Lessons from Babies

I am currently in a parenting class. (Sidenote: If you have not gone to college or haven't in several years you might have forgotten the idea of taking sociology classes to get easy A's.) Last night while I was doing my reading for the week on infants from birth to two years old, I came across something that resonated with me, and I knew I had to share it. The section describes how babies enjoy making things happen and exercising their skills. It goes on to say that they are unconcerned with failures; they work so hard to master skills like crawling or walking, never becoming discouraged or giving up. Not only do they have no use for failure, but they also eschew other people's reactions. Babies don't make value judgments about their own actions, and even once they do develop standards for behavior, their main focus is still on the delight of doing a task or performing an action.

This is so amazing. Babies, the least skilled and lowest-performing of all types of humans, have mastered what so many of us try to regain: the abilities to turn a blind eye to failure and to disregard others' opinions. I wonder how much more I could achieve if my energy were not completely expunged simply thinking of all the varied ways I could fall on my face. What must it be like to have such intense focus that no reaction any other person could have could steal it from you? These qualities- self-confidence, perseverance, blind ambition- can seem so out-of-reach, but virtually all of us were born with them, right from the start. Isn't it amazing?

Sad Day

Today my bicycle was stolen from campus. I locked it up, and two hours later it was gone. Not only is this situation majorly inconvenient, but it bums me out for other reasons. I have been borrowing the bike from my mom to get to and from campus the past couple years. Because it is her bike, I feel sort of sentimental about it. When I was hit by a car last year, my bike escaped unscathed; it's hard to believe a couple of guys with some hedge clippers could take it down. It weirds me out to imagine someone riding my bike away from the scene of the crime. I'm mostly upset that there are people who do stuff like this. No, it's not hard crime; these guys aren't rapists or kidnappers, but it still baffles me that there are individuals (probably other students) who make the choice to profit off another person's loss.

So, here is how I am going to think about this loss. My positive spin on the situation is that there is evil and meanness in the world. There are also good people to counter that evil. Right now I feel inspired to try to counter as much evil as possible. I want people to be able to look at me and see someone that is warm and kind, someone that is an example of what evil can't steal.

Great Minds

“Great minds discuss ideas; average minds discuss events; small minds discuss people.” 

-Eleanor Roosevelt

This quote serves as an overdue reminder for those times when my mind is feeling a little too small for its own good. 

What ideas are you discussing today?

Advice from Maggie Mason

Maggie Mason of Mighty Girl just published a list of twenty things she wishes she'd known in her twenties. I think it is so perfect and will be pondering her insight for awhile.

"1. Consider the source. If you’re worried about someone who dislikes you, first ask yourself whether they’re an asshole. If you don’t like them, and they don’t like you, that’s not a problem. That’s a mutual understanding.

   2. Get off the couch. If you find yourself playing hard to get, don’t pretend to be busy. Just be busy.

   3. Don’t waste your time. If you have to play hard to get, move on. You’ll know when you’ve found a healthy relationship because it won’t confuse you.

    4. When in doubt, shut up. Silence is a smart negotiation tactic, the best option when you’re processing how to respond, and always more productive than lying about what you’re thinking.

    5. Don’t complain. Maybe venting makes you feel better, but letting off steam can also lull you into maintaining the status quo. Unfortunately, the status quo is pissing you off, which is why you’re whining in the first place. If you’re frustrated, turn that energy toward fixing your problems, not bitching about them."

Read the rest here...

My very favorite is #18: Don’t be intimidated. World travelers are just people who bought plane tickets. Pulitzer Prize winners are people who sit alone and write. You can break the most profound accomplishment down to a series of mundane tasks.

Miss Manners

Every Monday MSN.com features Miss Manners' etiquette column. I've always thought it would be fun to write an etiquette column. Etiquette is definitely one of my main interests; I have half a dozen etiquette books and read the Miss Manners column religiously. Once I even wrote about business etiquette for honors credit in a class- I know, I am such a geek.

It's just so interesting, don't you think? Most social rules are so obvious and yet others can be so complex and elaborate (eating shellfish, for example). I can't stand when people think etiquette is an archaeic formality or just totally arbitrary. Being gracious, thoughtful, and courteous could never go out of style; and it is usually quite simple to trace back even some of the more obscure "rules" to these three qualities. Also, it's helpful to remember that those who are gracious, thoughtful, and courteous won't bat an eye if you use the wrong fork.

 But just in case:

minding my p's and q's,

a

"Are you asking me to have a frenaissance?"

As much as I love a three day weekend, I was pretty bored on Saturday night. I was feeling really social and wanted to do something different and exciting. Only...I couldn't think of anyone to call. I have friends, I do- it's just that I haven't been in touch with any of them lately. I think I've just gotten so mired in my routine of seeing the same couple people all the time. So, I am starting sort of a friendship renewal project, if you will. It's off to a good start, I think. I have friend dates for Saturday and Monday. I would like to make new friends, too, but I'm not sure how to go about it really. Friendship blind dates? Online friending? Who knows. Anyway, it feels really good to have a project now; you know, something to do while I procrastinate preparing to move, getting ready for my trip, and writing my thesis...

Thursday Conversations

Last summer I spent a couple hours every Thursday afternoon talking with some women at an adult day care center near where I work. The women there are affected to varying degrees by Alzheimer's and similar disorders.

Rita. When I met her, she was over one hundred years old. She always had perfect red lipstick lips and beautiful old earrings. She was living with her daughter and son-in-law, and they dropped her off a couple times a week at the center. She had been going there a couple days or maybe a couple months or maybe even longer; her answers always varied. Rita felt frustrated, because she had been told she would be visiting her daughter's family, but then she found out they had sold her house in Rhode Island. I don't know if this is exactly how it happened, but that doesn't really matter. Rita felt cheated- she wanted to go home. Her smile and her determination affected me greatly. Her life had been a hard one, but she wouldn't say that. She would say that she was blessed with two wonderful daughters and that she worked as a single mom when most women couldn't imagine working outside the home. Rita would say that she helped her family when no one else was there. She married her high school sweetheart, but then he went overseas with the military, and she was left to raise two young girls on her own for a time. She needed him to come home (he hadn't been home in so long), and the military approved a transfer back home. He got sick and died before he saw his family again. Rita got a job and found a way to still pick her kids up from school on time each day. She married again, when her girls were teenagers, but she was left a widow for a second time. She kept working and kept saving for her girls' educations. Then, her uncle (a railroad worker) lost both his legs in a work accident. No one else in her family offered to help him, and Rita couldn't stand the idea of him living by himself. She took him in to live with her family. I heard this story (or versions of it) many Thursdays. I always asked her how she did this, how she found the strength to keep going, keep working, keep living, and she always said the same thing, "I just did." She often told me she'd like to get another job. The fact that she was over a hundred years old did not seem to be a deterrent in her mind. Most Thursdays it was the first time we met. Some Thursdays she thought I was an old friend of the family. Every Thursday she would tell me to go after what I wanted, to make the life I want.

Bertha. Bertha did not want to be at the center. Every ten minutes she would tell me it was time for her to leave. I would tell her that her niece Camilia would pick her up at four thirty. She would say, "oh, yes, Camilia." Many times she'd tell me she needed to find her kids; it was time for them to be heading out. I don't know if her kids were dead or just lived very far away, but the only family I saw her with was her niece's. Sometimes Bertha would be very insistent about leaving. So I would ask her what she would do if she were at home. She said she would enjoy. "Enjoy" was Bertha's word. She loved to relax and eat and enjoy. She would frequently ask me to take her out, out to dinner, out dancing, out anywhere. The first couple weeks, I was very nervous about this kind of talk. I didn't want to say anything that would get me in trouble with the center. As time wore on, however, I started to agree. "Yes, Bertha. Where would we go? What would we eat? Would you like to drive?" It was a distraction she needed. We mostly had the same conversation; I'd compliment her blouse, she would rub my shoulder with one bony hand and lean in and thank me with her eyes, she would want to leave, I would tell her that I want her to stay, to enjoy. I never ran out of conversation with Bertha. I had maybe five talking points, but she never minded that I repeated myself. Some days she would be very weary. She would tell me her husband has died and she needs to make the arrangements, but she has no money. I knew her husband must have died years and years ago. I told her that it would work out, that someone would come through for her. She would wave away my assurances and tell me what a good man her husband was. "He was a preacher, you know. No one heard a man preach as well as him." She would laugh and smile and then grow quiet again. Having no husband of my own, I cannot imagine the enormous heartache associated with a loss like that, nevermind having to relive the days after even years later. Sometimes I wish I had taken Bertha out; I wish we'd gotten all dolled-up and ordered cornbread and greens and just enjoyed.

Betty. The first thing I noticed about Betty was that she never stopped moving. Also, the employess seemed to have little patience for her. The center scheduled a new activity every thirty minutes or so, but the only thing Betty ever did was walk. She would quickly pace from room to room, muttering, worrying. When I walked with her, she would brighten. I would compliment her on her clothes (she was always so well put together) and she would smile and talk about the item of interest. I would try to take her mind off her worrying. The best way to do this was to talk about Colorado. She'd lived there with her family and she loved it. It was easy to see that her frail frame had once been adept at skiing and hiking. She had graduated college and all five of her kids had, as well. She was so proud. Most of the time I could only get one or two coherent sentences from her at a time before her speech would turn to worrying. Her worries weren't ever clear. It seemed like she would string two halves of different worries together. She never stopped walking as she worried. I would try to calm her anxiety, but nothing I said helped entirely. The best time, though, was the time the center let me take her outside. She was amazed at every flower, color, building. I was amazed to see how much of her anxiety melted away at the influence of nature. I guess it was the Colorado girl in her. The last couple times I visited, Betty was very different. An employee told me that her family had changed her medication. The anxiety was definitely gone but so was her excitement. It was like they had erased Betty along with the worrying. I don't know if they ever changed the medication again, but I can only hope that she is walking through those rooms again instead of sitting sedately in some chair staring at a game of bingo.

The Young and the Tied Down

A friend from high school recently joined a group on Facebook called "18+ And Not Engaged Or Pregnant" or something to that effect. Reading this on my page immediately made me laugh, because I know exactly what she is getting at: many, many of our high school acquaintances had barely thrown their graduation caps in the air before they were knocked up. Some didn't wait until prom to become "engaged". Now, I'm not judging (believe me, I'd tell you if I were). I mean, getting married at eighteen definitely speaks to the old-fashioned romantic in me. I am nothing if not a lover of all things old-fashioned, but in an era where the divorce rate is greater than fifty percent; I wonder if a little more caution might be called for. I once read in a women's magazine that people who marry before the age of twenty-five are 24% more likely to get divorced. This totally has no bearing on your marriage, I'm sure, but I feel like today's youth in general just aren't as mature as the youth of decades past. Another factor to consider is that I went to high school with a dense population of Mormons meaning that, while they will marry and procreate young, they probably won't get divorced. I don't know where I'm going with this except to say that these young brides might have been offended when they saw how many of their friends from high school joined that group. Maybe also to say that the people who joined the group might be a skosh jealous. I can see both sides really. My brother married his wife when he was twenty-two, and all I can really say is that when he found the love of his life he had to be her husband; and they're great together. But the girl who married that football player who cheated and lied and dumped her every other week? Maybe she shouldn't be trying for that second child and instead take a couple classes at community college. My non-judging is sounding sort of judgmental, I know; and you may be starting to think that I'm a skosh jealous. I'm not. Seriously, you should see some of these guys these women are calling "hubby". You would know it's no contest if you met the guy I call "boyfriend".