I have a lot of questions and a lot of uncertainty. That's oddly something I've never had too much trouble with in my life, certainty, or the lack of it rather. Open-ended questions don't bother me. Not having a set plan is more my M.O. than adhering to an outline. So I'm living with the questions, giving them space to wander around in me. I'm letting myself become an experiment of sorts, but in the most effortless way, waiting for things to rise out of my subconscious throughout the day and week.
I like to discuss theories and ideas with people, I like to write about them, but to delve into personal thought occurs more when it possesses me. The many things loose in my mind percolate and seek exit or attention whenever they please. Whims aren't good travel guides. No, that's not true at all, I take it back; they're excellent travel guides, but terrible professors and life coaches. Over the years I've learned to weigh the whims and fancies, determining which ones will pass and which ones will have some pull. Some of the questions that are coming up have slowly risen in me over time. It's as if they've been growing, a part of me, almost unknown, but recent events have knocked them loose.
I've asked a lot of questions in my life that as I explored them, I began to find there were never answers to be found. I've come to accept this as a part of life. And sometimes a question's answer is useless as it begs to send us to the past to correct some thing, or take the other path at the fork, and we know that we cannot.
A mere week or two ago, as I pondered the sudden discontentment I had with things not being what I expected, I felt as if I am at a precipice. It was a strange premonition that I really had no reason or cause to believe, other than maybe an odd bit of hope amid disappointment. This thought that I might be about to head in a direction that was unprecedented, but not an omen by any means; an impression of good. The logical side of me wants to blame the beautiful spring day it was as I walked the park by the river and the sky exuded the color blue as if to visually define it. That side of me wants to say it was my heart fighting to have hope instead of more disappointment.
But the side of me that houses all the orphaned questions believes maybe it was truth. Maybe to get to something new and different and good, I have to get comfortable with the questions, the skepticism, the space. It feels like something of a risk, but I also feel like I'm gathering the breath of courage, as before something big - like a leap.
Sunday, February 26, 2017
Monday, February 13, 2017
The Hard Lesson of Vulnerability
I thought I had this whole vulnerability thing down pat. But my heart hurts right now. I keep learning a hard lesson about this, but the lesson is only meant to reiterate that it will be hard; it will be painful.
Vulnerability never seems to get easier. In fact, it feels to me like it's getting harder. I'm fighting getting jaded. I'm fighting myself, trying to hold back the anger that comes out when I'm hurt because that's how sensitive me once learned people will actually listen. If you hurt, more often than not, that's unimportant to he who caused it. Remorse is hard to come by anymore. Vulnerability is supposed to beget vulnerability. It really doesn't. And you can't know until you try, and with every try the will to try depletes.
There's a secondary lesson learned from the fight of vulnerability, and that's compassion. I was brought to learn compassion by falling on my face in vulnerability, time and time again. A bruised and scarred heart recognizes the same when it sees it, and there's a knowing between the two.
So it is I fight and I struggle to remain vulnerable, to be honest, and to be true to myself, in spite of the pain it's caused me my whole life. I repeatedly tell myself that's it's a strength, but it sure as hell feels a lot more like a weakness; like stepping up to a fight without armor. I tire of it. I begin to think to myself, maybe I'll just pass next time. Maybe I'll decide no one is deserving of or trustworthy for my truth, my story. Maybe I'll give up on blazing a trail with honesty, and wait for someone to light a path to me.
But even as I think it, I doubt it. I can't bring myself to believe that the heart can survive without being known. That's the very root of the rejection epidemic: there's risk and the risk is painful. So I have to bring myself back to believing the risk is worth the chance, the possibility that it is in fact a strength and one that someone needs. Likely that will land me used up and tossed aside, as it seems to have a track record of doing. But surely someone needs it; surely another heart needs its story to be held, its tears to be regarded.
So I must do my best to bind up my wound, even while it's still aching, then revisit the worthiness of the cause.
Vulnerability never seems to get easier. In fact, it feels to me like it's getting harder. I'm fighting getting jaded. I'm fighting myself, trying to hold back the anger that comes out when I'm hurt because that's how sensitive me once learned people will actually listen. If you hurt, more often than not, that's unimportant to he who caused it. Remorse is hard to come by anymore. Vulnerability is supposed to beget vulnerability. It really doesn't. And you can't know until you try, and with every try the will to try depletes.
There's a secondary lesson learned from the fight of vulnerability, and that's compassion. I was brought to learn compassion by falling on my face in vulnerability, time and time again. A bruised and scarred heart recognizes the same when it sees it, and there's a knowing between the two.
So it is I fight and I struggle to remain vulnerable, to be honest, and to be true to myself, in spite of the pain it's caused me my whole life. I repeatedly tell myself that's it's a strength, but it sure as hell feels a lot more like a weakness; like stepping up to a fight without armor. I tire of it. I begin to think to myself, maybe I'll just pass next time. Maybe I'll decide no one is deserving of or trustworthy for my truth, my story. Maybe I'll give up on blazing a trail with honesty, and wait for someone to light a path to me.
But even as I think it, I doubt it. I can't bring myself to believe that the heart can survive without being known. That's the very root of the rejection epidemic: there's risk and the risk is painful. So I have to bring myself back to believing the risk is worth the chance, the possibility that it is in fact a strength and one that someone needs. Likely that will land me used up and tossed aside, as it seems to have a track record of doing. But surely someone needs it; surely another heart needs its story to be held, its tears to be regarded.
So I must do my best to bind up my wound, even while it's still aching, then revisit the worthiness of the cause.
Thursday, January 26, 2017
When Words Fail Me
Lately I feel like I've lost my words - okay, try the last several months. I haven't written much, which I'm sure that doesn't help. I have been spending a lot of time alone, a lot of time not being creative, haven't interacted with a team toward a common goal. I'm not in a small group. The holidays meant I didn't see much of my friends... Somehow, a culmination of these and things I'm probably not even aware of seems to have robbed me of clarity I felt I once had. I have been putting my foot in my mouth, I have been accidentally offending people. I've been impressing upon others that I'm something I know I'm not.
When it comes to communication, I'd say I'm big on adapting the message to the audience. It's somewhat in our nature in fact, we use different dialects with different people (one of those interpersonal communication things that fascinates me). Sometimes I'm not great at it. Sometimes I think I've found a brilliant way to say something, that I've curated the perfect words for what I want to communicate - and yet I fail. Miserably.
And I've felt off my game. Here and there I've had a handful of conversations that were downright frustrating. It's like I'm losing my edge. And the funny thing about it is, the same conundrum arises as I'm writing about it: there seems no possible resolve.
When I started writing this, this is where I got stuck for a few days. I couldn't figure it out; how will I wrap this up? Without a good wrap-up, there's no point in writing if only to tell people I have a human struggle. That's the point of this blog, I have a human struggle and a unique perspective on what to do with it.
Well, the thing I realized is that it's about me. I'm the hold-up. If I'm feeling stubborn and prideful, I think everyone else just isn't getting it. And you know, maybe they aren't but, going back to the basics of communication, it's on me to adapt. Often, I am adaptable and I'll describe myself as such, but I fail at it too. When I get frustrated in communication, it's because I'm getting lazy or prideful. If I won't change my message to try and make it clearer, try to get through and simultaneously diffuse, then I can't expect resolve. If I won't dig into myself and exercise patience and compassion, I won't see a resolution.
What I've been questioning for both myself and others is: what is the point of conflict and dialogue? It seems all too often, the goal isn't mutual understanding but rather, self-assertion. When I see it, I try to remind others to choose compassion and patience and understanding, but in reality I need to start with myself. I need to take inventory of places where I lack compassion, patience, understanding, and mercy, then I need to enact those things there. I think of my least favorite verse in the Bible, it's a line about commenting on a speck of sawdust in someone else's eye, but you have a log in your own. It's the hardest way to seek change, but you have to practice what you preach.
So as I practice adapting my communication and enacting patience, maybe my patience and my understanding will grow. There are sure to be trials and errors, but it seems a worthwhile cause.
When it comes to communication, I'd say I'm big on adapting the message to the audience. It's somewhat in our nature in fact, we use different dialects with different people (one of those interpersonal communication things that fascinates me). Sometimes I'm not great at it. Sometimes I think I've found a brilliant way to say something, that I've curated the perfect words for what I want to communicate - and yet I fail. Miserably.
And I've felt off my game. Here and there I've had a handful of conversations that were downright frustrating. It's like I'm losing my edge. And the funny thing about it is, the same conundrum arises as I'm writing about it: there seems no possible resolve.
When I started writing this, this is where I got stuck for a few days. I couldn't figure it out; how will I wrap this up? Without a good wrap-up, there's no point in writing if only to tell people I have a human struggle. That's the point of this blog, I have a human struggle and a unique perspective on what to do with it.
Well, the thing I realized is that it's about me. I'm the hold-up. If I'm feeling stubborn and prideful, I think everyone else just isn't getting it. And you know, maybe they aren't but, going back to the basics of communication, it's on me to adapt. Often, I am adaptable and I'll describe myself as such, but I fail at it too. When I get frustrated in communication, it's because I'm getting lazy or prideful. If I won't change my message to try and make it clearer, try to get through and simultaneously diffuse, then I can't expect resolve. If I won't dig into myself and exercise patience and compassion, I won't see a resolution.
What I've been questioning for both myself and others is: what is the point of conflict and dialogue? It seems all too often, the goal isn't mutual understanding but rather, self-assertion. When I see it, I try to remind others to choose compassion and patience and understanding, but in reality I need to start with myself. I need to take inventory of places where I lack compassion, patience, understanding, and mercy, then I need to enact those things there. I think of my least favorite verse in the Bible, it's a line about commenting on a speck of sawdust in someone else's eye, but you have a log in your own. It's the hardest way to seek change, but you have to practice what you preach.
So as I practice adapting my communication and enacting patience, maybe my patience and my understanding will grow. There are sure to be trials and errors, but it seems a worthwhile cause.
Sunday, January 08, 2017
The Bends in the Road
Usually I'm prone to find a silver lining, the bright edge of a dark cloud, however last year gave me a run for my money. By October I was downright aching-hungry for the silverlining to all this mess that was wandering about my life.
I even got to have the Europe trip of a lifetime (okay well knock off a few bucket list items at least) halfway through 2016, yet I forget because the Dark, Dark place overshadowed it. And no, there didn't seem to be a glisten of hope in sight. It felt like if anything everything seemed to compound. So I'd gotten to a point of apathy, which is a bit of understanding that I don't have control; I can put in my best effort, I can kick ass at my job or pay off a bunch of debt and save up a bunch of money, I can put loads of energy into a relationship...and it is no semblance of control. You might think you're go-with-the-flow until everything feels like it sucks, when - all of a sudden - you realize you're just as much of a control addict as the next guy... The point being, it built up like a shitty sediment, and the vicious cycle of apathy and realizing you have no control doesn't help.
But there's a secret to the place where everything sucks -- some people told me in regards to the breakup early on, when it might as well have been gibberish which I only now know to be true:
I even got to have the Europe trip of a lifetime (okay well knock off a few bucket list items at least) halfway through 2016, yet I forget because the Dark, Dark place overshadowed it. And no, there didn't seem to be a glisten of hope in sight. It felt like if anything everything seemed to compound. So I'd gotten to a point of apathy, which is a bit of understanding that I don't have control; I can put in my best effort, I can kick ass at my job or pay off a bunch of debt and save up a bunch of money, I can put loads of energy into a relationship...and it is no semblance of control. You might think you're go-with-the-flow until everything feels like it sucks, when - all of a sudden - you realize you're just as much of a control addict as the next guy... The point being, it built up like a shitty sediment, and the vicious cycle of apathy and realizing you have no control doesn't help.
But there's a secret to the place where everything sucks -- some people told me in regards to the breakup early on, when it might as well have been gibberish which I only now know to be true:
It's terrible until one day when it's not anymore.
I went to the doctor yet again this week and finally got answers - let alone confirmation I'm not just a hypochonriac-quack. See, I'd spent nearly the entire stint of unemployment mysteriously ailed by something. The mystery finally being solved (among other things) got me thinking: Fortunate misfortune, as my life tends to like to bring about, being without any substantial income or unemployment benefits has allowed me to get on state healthcare. Premiums and deductibles are extremely minimal. So with the possibility I'll need surgery to correct the not-so-mysterious-after-all illness, it's a great time to be unemployed and a little broke.
Not long after I was laid off, I took the job hunt to a not-so-local but favorite coffee shop. It became the daily go-to haunt when I noticed a really, really handsome guy who also frequented made eye contact and threw me a smile...which also became a daily, multiple-times-a-day occurence. With a still-healing heart and a jaded attitude, I admired him from afar, doubting that my desire to know him would ever be quenched. People have different stories of how they get together, but in my book this one goes: I looked at him and smiled until he couldn't take it anymore and had to talk to me. If it weren't for an employment vacancy formerly believed to be poorly-timed, I likely would not have stared this wonderful man into being my boyfriend. He's more than I could've imagined, let alone being equally as vexed by me as I am by him.
Now, I will not go so far as to say these are the "whys" of losing a job I loved with colleagues that felt like family and work that felt important - I won't say that, but I will say when there's a bend in the path, we don't always know that where it might lead us could turn out to be more splendid than the path had appeared. The seemingly straight and narrow with its false sense of security pales to the beauty in the adventure of a winding, curving, rising and falling road; far more rich and worthwhile. Maybe such a curve will take you to a place you find deep healing, right into the very tissues that felt strangely and subtly off the way my tonsils have all this time. Parts of me needed the bend, couldn't be somewhere better without it.
Now, I will not go so far as to say these are the "whys" of losing a job I loved with colleagues that felt like family and work that felt important - I won't say that, but I will say when there's a bend in the path, we don't always know that where it might lead us could turn out to be more splendid than the path had appeared. The seemingly straight and narrow with its false sense of security pales to the beauty in the adventure of a winding, curving, rising and falling road; far more rich and worthwhile. Maybe such a curve will take you to a place you find deep healing, right into the very tissues that felt strangely and subtly off the way my tonsils have all this time. Parts of me needed the bend, couldn't be somewhere better without it.
Saturday, December 24, 2016
May The Weary Rejoice
**Disclaimer: This piece was written pre-deconstruction of religious beliefs and faith system. Many of these beliefs inform the sentiments of the writing and are not in alignment with my values. As this is a part of my journey and an extensive blog over years, I have chosen not to remove a majority of my posts written on faith. Please as a reader, take this into consideration and take what works for you, leave what does not. I also apologize for any harm my words from this past perspective may cause to any readers.**
This is my very favorite day of the year! Truth is I wasn't even looking forward to it this year, I just wanted to hunker down and get through it, and through 2016 to January. I thought I'd just be reminded of what a miserable year it was, feeling singleness even more, not able to afford to buy anyone gifts, it being just another day off in a sea...
I woke up today with another dang sore throat, but ya know what? I am excited. I'm quietly thrilled I get to spend Christmas Eve at my own home church that I love! I'm looking forward to spending time with my family even though it's been a rough year for a lot of us. Though it's new and uncertain as new things of its nature are, I'm awed that [Cute] Coffee Shop Guy, or CSG (whose name will come in due time), came around and has been sweetly sweeping me off my feet for a few days. Just the pick me up this year needed to not go down as the worst ever.
I sit and ponder this day, this eve. It's not really about gifts, and everyone I love is hopefully convinced of that truth without my buying them some thing to symbolize it. It's about love. I did my annual bell ringing shift, on Christmas Eve eve. It was harder for me this year, usually I'm oozing joy and that's only been coming back to me for a few weeks. Some people flat out ignore a greeting directed specifically at them, others give generously in a way that was evident. A few times it brought me to tears the matter-of-fact way that someone would give. It was like a subtle marker of the proverbial joining into the struggles of another without hesitation. Maybe that's just me, and I'm over thinking it, like I can do. But I think there's something powerful in this season. Especially this year, I'm hopeful to see it, to see a weary world rejoice.
Monday, December 19, 2016
Lesson of the Disingenuous
I had two very different interactions recently, and, juxtaposed, they point to something I felt the need to share because it's been on my mind:
In my job hunt, I've been working with a handful of recruiters - a sort of middleman between a company and a potential employee. [Surprisingly, all four of them are women.] Friday, after playing phone tag for a week, I finally got in touch with a recruiter I hadn't been working with yet but applied to a job he'd listed. He talked my ear off for 20 minutes, a miserable 20 minutes at that! At the end of the call, I felt this sense of exhaustion and disgust. When I went to sleep later that night, I couldn't escape the feeling I should cancel my in-person meeting with the guy scheduled for today. I finally sent an email last night, forwarning him apologetically that I would not be working with him further. No response yet today...
However, I got the nicest reply from one of the creative staffing recruiters I've been working with. I'd sent her my updated resume and a simple email saying if anything jumped out based on it, she should let me know. She replied, with lots of exclamation marks, a thank you and that she absolutely would. She also added that things will pick up after the holiday, and wished me an "awesome" one. Her reply was nice, genuine, and kind. I thought about our first phone call, she was my favorite of all the recruiters I'm working with from the get-go.
Her email got me thinking about these two professional interactions, trying to figure out why they struck me so. The juxtaposition led me to note a disparity in genuineness between the two people. The guy I spoke with was cocky, and smarmy, and just plain annoying. I immediately didn't trust him or feel like he would work to get me in the best fit for me, in spite of his claiming he would. The woman on the other hand (no emphasis on gender, just for differentiation's sake) was genuine in all of my interactions with her, and that makes me absolutely want to work with her.
I recently wrote some thoughts on the influence and ubiquity of social media on our ability to be real, or rather our tendency toward the contrived. It's been on my mind a lot lately. I've never seen the point in letting others' expectations or really any sense of pride determine how I live. There are obvious exceptions, but I think too often we all fall prey to living the way someone else wants us to, instead of authentically. I think the male recruiter might not actually be an annoying, egotistical person. He seemed concerned with proving himself, though I don't know to who because that's not even close to the point of being a recruiter. Granted, I can be the queen of a big talk - if you've ever driven with me, you already know that - but I have to keep myself in check. I don't want that to influence whether someone can trust me. I don't want to so filter my words or alter my portrayal of myself that I'm seen as untrustworthy.
I think that's the reason being genuine is important to me: it affects trust and speaks to integrity. The level of trustworthiness sets the limit for how deep the relationship can go. In twenty minutes of talking to someone, their disingenuousness could lead another to distrust them and their inauthenticity imply a lack of integrity. Or in a simple email, someone can make you feel completely at ease.
To some extent, vulnerability plays in, too. The person who isn't perfect but isn't afraid of that fact will more often earn my trust. Yes there's wisdom in discretion, but also value in honesty. Maybe the more we lead with our true selves, the more our opportunities for connection and all else will be successful.
In my job hunt, I've been working with a handful of recruiters - a sort of middleman between a company and a potential employee. [Surprisingly, all four of them are women.] Friday, after playing phone tag for a week, I finally got in touch with a recruiter I hadn't been working with yet but applied to a job he'd listed. He talked my ear off for 20 minutes, a miserable 20 minutes at that! At the end of the call, I felt this sense of exhaustion and disgust. When I went to sleep later that night, I couldn't escape the feeling I should cancel my in-person meeting with the guy scheduled for today. I finally sent an email last night, forwarning him apologetically that I would not be working with him further. No response yet today...
However, I got the nicest reply from one of the creative staffing recruiters I've been working with. I'd sent her my updated resume and a simple email saying if anything jumped out based on it, she should let me know. She replied, with lots of exclamation marks, a thank you and that she absolutely would. She also added that things will pick up after the holiday, and wished me an "awesome" one. Her reply was nice, genuine, and kind. I thought about our first phone call, she was my favorite of all the recruiters I'm working with from the get-go.
Her email got me thinking about these two professional interactions, trying to figure out why they struck me so. The juxtaposition led me to note a disparity in genuineness between the two people. The guy I spoke with was cocky, and smarmy, and just plain annoying. I immediately didn't trust him or feel like he would work to get me in the best fit for me, in spite of his claiming he would. The woman on the other hand (no emphasis on gender, just for differentiation's sake) was genuine in all of my interactions with her, and that makes me absolutely want to work with her.
I recently wrote some thoughts on the influence and ubiquity of social media on our ability to be real, or rather our tendency toward the contrived. It's been on my mind a lot lately. I've never seen the point in letting others' expectations or really any sense of pride determine how I live. There are obvious exceptions, but I think too often we all fall prey to living the way someone else wants us to, instead of authentically. I think the male recruiter might not actually be an annoying, egotistical person. He seemed concerned with proving himself, though I don't know to who because that's not even close to the point of being a recruiter. Granted, I can be the queen of a big talk - if you've ever driven with me, you already know that - but I have to keep myself in check. I don't want that to influence whether someone can trust me. I don't want to so filter my words or alter my portrayal of myself that I'm seen as untrustworthy.
I think that's the reason being genuine is important to me: it affects trust and speaks to integrity. The level of trustworthiness sets the limit for how deep the relationship can go. In twenty minutes of talking to someone, their disingenuousness could lead another to distrust them and their inauthenticity imply a lack of integrity. Or in a simple email, someone can make you feel completely at ease.
To some extent, vulnerability plays in, too. The person who isn't perfect but isn't afraid of that fact will more often earn my trust. Yes there's wisdom in discretion, but also value in honesty. Maybe the more we lead with our true selves, the more our opportunities for connection and all else will be successful.
Thursday, December 08, 2016
Curation Liberation
Today I woke up and scraped the remaining makeup off my face from the day before. It was the holiday costume party for my part-time job, and I wore a full-face of makeup for the first time in...who knows how long. I did my hair. I wore the tights with the waist sincher. Everything short of heels.
When I'd finished perfecting my look before I headed to the party, I paused in the mirror, recalling how different I look with eyeliner and eyeshadow and mascara and any pesky zit covered slyly with concealer -- made up, to be sure. See, a few years ago, I found liberation from makeup; from the need to daily change my face to how I thought the world would better accept it. Years before, in high school, I discovered my natural hair was more than acceptable and that hours of my life had been wasted every week making it what I thought it should be.
In a second of giving myself the final look over, my altered look reminded me of something I'd been pondering already. A week or two ago, I was doing something - I don't even recall what - and I was straining to try to capture a picture with my ailing phone, in bad light, when I caught myself. Why am I doing this? WHAT am I doing? A pillar of the way I try to live my life has always been being genuine; I struggle with anything that requires me to do something I feel is contrived. And as I wiggled and bent and shifted to try to get the perfect shot I thought, this isn't what I'm about, yet somehow it's become second-nature. The joke in society is, "If you didn't instagram it, did it even happen?"
I don't do things in life for the sake of my instagram or facebook audience; I don't do them for the sake of someone else's approval of the picturesque parts of my life. I don't do things in life for any other reason than to experience it. I miss when taking photos of something was simply to memorialize it and capture its wonder or significance, not just to impress people with carefully created snippets of our lives.
So I've been taking pause and asking myself - and only myself - to be honest, why am I doing this? There are hundreds of people who have unbridled access to the curated version of my life, yet they don't know me. That's something to think about. How can I live true to myself in the hyper-filtered age of Instagram? How do I live life with a blind eye to the measuring stick that is Pinterest? Do my passions have any purpose if not exposed in a rant to whoever has yet to unfollow me on Facebook? Is this a wise or valuable use of my time?
I want to strive to have these questions, this pause be the only filter for my choices and my actions. I want to live to be who I aspire to be, not just appear to be who I think the world wants me to be. I want to go back to living life just for the experience of it.
When I'd finished perfecting my look before I headed to the party, I paused in the mirror, recalling how different I look with eyeliner and eyeshadow and mascara and any pesky zit covered slyly with concealer -- made up, to be sure. See, a few years ago, I found liberation from makeup; from the need to daily change my face to how I thought the world would better accept it. Years before, in high school, I discovered my natural hair was more than acceptable and that hours of my life had been wasted every week making it what I thought it should be.
In a second of giving myself the final look over, my altered look reminded me of something I'd been pondering already. A week or two ago, I was doing something - I don't even recall what - and I was straining to try to capture a picture with my ailing phone, in bad light, when I caught myself. Why am I doing this? WHAT am I doing? A pillar of the way I try to live my life has always been being genuine; I struggle with anything that requires me to do something I feel is contrived. And as I wiggled and bent and shifted to try to get the perfect shot I thought, this isn't what I'm about, yet somehow it's become second-nature. The joke in society is, "If you didn't instagram it, did it even happen?"
I don't do things in life for the sake of my instagram or facebook audience; I don't do them for the sake of someone else's approval of the picturesque parts of my life. I don't do things in life for any other reason than to experience it. I miss when taking photos of something was simply to memorialize it and capture its wonder or significance, not just to impress people with carefully created snippets of our lives.
So I've been taking pause and asking myself - and only myself - to be honest, why am I doing this? There are hundreds of people who have unbridled access to the curated version of my life, yet they don't know me. That's something to think about. How can I live true to myself in the hyper-filtered age of Instagram? How do I live life with a blind eye to the measuring stick that is Pinterest? Do my passions have any purpose if not exposed in a rant to whoever has yet to unfollow me on Facebook? Is this a wise or valuable use of my time?
I want to strive to have these questions, this pause be the only filter for my choices and my actions. I want to live to be who I aspire to be, not just appear to be who I think the world wants me to be. I want to go back to living life just for the experience of it.
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