I wrote this for myself.
And I wrote it for Sofia.
And I wrote it for you.
Comment goes something like this:
somethingsomethingsomething
Your twitter is supposed to be about Taylor. Not about constantly talking to your snobby friends.
somethingsomethingsomething
A Taylor Swift fan account doesn't mean you're listening to her leaked songs and ignoring everyone who doesn't have 122983738 followers!!
somethingsomethingsomething
I would prefer to see tweets about Taylor.
Well thank you, I guess. I'm glad you have my account figured out for me.
Listen, I had candy.
So a response. For me and for Sofia and for anyone out there who needs a little AMEN in the Be Yourself, Try Your Best category.
Here's a little something I've learned the past few years. It holds true to the non-internet world even more so, but I'll keep it to twitter because--well, when in Rome.
***
It goes something like this:
If you post pictures of Taylor Swift, they'll say you never talk about anything but her so you must be really bored.
If you post pictures of yourself or anything your own, they'll say you're promoting yourself.
So, don't post pictures on twitter. Ever.
If you wear gym shorts to the store, they'll say you look disgusting.
If you wear cute tights to the store, they'll say you care too much.
So don't wear clothes to the store. Go naked.
If you listen to a song before it's officially released, they'll say you're not a real Swiftie and you don't represent the fandom well.
If you don't listen to a song before it's officially released, they'll say you're trying to be "good" for attention.
So just stop listening to music. Completely.
If you tweet about your problems, they'll say you're desperate.
If you never tweet about yourself, they'll say your life isn't interesting at all.
So don't tweet at all. Deactivate your account.
If you smile, they'll say you're fake.
If you don't smile, they'll say you hate your life.
So, get Botox and call it a day.
I've received e-mails that I suck because obviously Mila is my favorite person on twitter and I favor her over my other friends. And I suck because Mia is my favorite. And good God, those poor mutuals, obviously Dani is my favorite! I've gained weight! I'm too skinny! Too much writing/not enough pictures. Too many pictures/not enough writing! I can't believe your friends are okay with you writing about them--way to exploit them! You don't write about your friends anymore, you must not have any!
Here's the awesome thing I've learned about ill-constructed and poorly given criticism: They all cancel each other out!
The lesson in all of this would be: don't look right, don't look left, don't create, don't share, don't write, don't talk, don't breathe.
Well, that's kind of not going to happen.
I do believe in being yourself.
Share.
Make mistakes.
Maybe look stupid sometimes.
Learn.
Grow.
Have fun.
Make things.
Connect.
Take risks.
Find good people who make you want to be better.
Listen to them.
Learn from them.
Read books.
Write journals.
Weed out the bad stuff. You'll know it when you see it.
But always.
ALWAYS.
Be true to yourself.
Be your best.
Be grateful.
Love others.
Here's the other funny thing I learned. If the same people keep coming back to tell you they don't support you anymore, they don't really mean it because they keep coming back to tell you they don't support you anymore.
Oh, I'm a picture girl, and there are no pictures in this post. Okay. Picture a giant field of daisies. And I'm running through it. And I'm wearing cute tights. And listening to Sweeter Than Fiction.
And Sofia's probably running next to me.
She's beautiful and sweet and she's always helping other people. Just tweeting things to make our days better. But what she doesn't realize is that she's unexplainable. No, for real. I can't explain her. She always sends such good vibes and even though she doesn't exactly realize all the perfect things she has to offer, they're there. Her kindness, love and beauty are her most obvious traits. And I love her.
Wait. I have more to say. So, applicable. The next part is, once again, for me and Sofia and you.
***********
Sometimes, when things are fine and good and there’s no good reason to explain it, I find myself stuck in my head, and when I’m up there instead of out here, it’s not pretty. I felt that way a little bit last week, and while we have all these names for it—I’m in the cave, on a funk, Debby Downin’, emotionally jagging—it can only be described as a mudslide of thoughts. What started as “I can’t believe I did that, what was I thinking?" suddenly snowballs into a nice brew of self-loathing poison. I didn’t message her back. I’m so irresponsible. I should do better in school. I can’t believe I haven’t cleaned my room in two weeks. God, how long is it going to take me to finish this? I can’t write. I’m messy. I think too much. I care too much. I don't know what I believe about myself. I'm too loud. Why can’t I be more like her? And if I’m not careful, it can end with a deafening, paralyzing I SUCK. And the worst part of it is that I’ve read enough self-awareness books to know that “I SUCK” isn’t a good place to be, and sometimes I'm silly enough to think I’m bigger than that—that I should be beyond “I suck” days—so then I feel doubly horrible for feeling horrible in the first place if that makes any sense. In equation talk, this is like Horrible2 x Horrible2 = All sorts of Horrible x Pi. Actually, I just wanted to say Pi because it makes me feel math-y, something I’ve never been—and oh yeah, I wish I was more mathy. See. More horrible.
I have certain proven remedies for specific feelings of mine. For example, if I miss my friends and I’m feeling uninspired? Remedy: Watch movies and bake cookies with Savanna. If I’m feeling overwhelmed with projects and don’t know where to begin? Remedy: Make a prioritized list and cross things off one by one with a fat red marker. If my room is messy and I can’t find my mojo to clean it? Remedy: Watch five minutes of a Hoarders episode, and I’m not only feeling pretty good about my house, but I’m gloving up to scrub my floors.
“I suck” is a tough one though. You can’t just say to yourself “shut up, you do not” because the latter voice tends to be more David compared to the Goliath of “I suck.” There are slingshots and stones though, and I find one of them in my books—the bible—a book that helps to guide many of my decisions, and we’re starting on the basis that it’s full of beautiful poetry. Last week though, I attempted an old Bible trick we used to pull when we wanted God to speak to us. We forced him to by opening our Bible and randomly pointing to a verse with our eyes closed, convincing ourselves that God was leading us to the exact words we needed to hear—like the game we used to play where we’d spin a globe and drag our finger along it until it stopped—and that’s where we’d live when we grew up.
“Speak to me, God,” I’d say. And then I’d open my eyes and read the great words of God meant just for me. And 99.9% of the time, it would be cryptic and unrelated, like “The Amalekites dwell in the land of the south: and the Hittites, and the Jebusites, and the Amorites, dwell in the mountains: and the Canaanites dwell by the sea, and by the coast of Jordan.” And then I’d be all, “Um, okay God. That makes perfect sense.” (note to self: try to aim at least for the New Testament with this one because Leviticus might leave you confused)
The cool thing about poetry books is that when you randomly open to any page and point to a sentence, there’s a good chance it will actually be exactly what you need to hear (no offense, Bible). So I tried it last week, and you’re never going to believe where my finger landed. Page 58: “We have an unfortunate tendency to emphasize our failures.” The author goes on to say that when we “lose it,” we should ask ourselves what it is in us that sees that we lost it. “Isn’t it our own wisdom, our own insight, our own natural intelligence?” And when we recognize that, we should celebrate that very fact as proof that we SO don’t suck. Hooray! Put your yellow shoes on, buy a balloon, kick up a dance and feel awesome for self-awareness, for the “Start here” space in the game of Being Better. For being HUMAN.
My twitter friends and I often bond over funny self-deprecating stories, and we’ve been known to clink virtual bottles over tales of “I blew it, how funny is that?” But we’ve been talking about the danger of too much “I blew it, I suck, how funny is that?” and making sure it’s balanced with “How am I going to move towards being better?” Among healthy banter the other night—with a balanced mix of “I blew it,” “I nailed it,” and “I’m working on it”—I brought up a quote: that you are only in control of yourself. Your siblings, your parents, your friends, the world around you—you can affect them, but you cannot control them. But you can control yourself. So I’m going to take that one thing I can actually control, and I’m running with it. Balls to the walls. What can I do right now to feel better, to be productive, to take charge? I can do the next right thing. And then after that, the next right thing again. One by one. That’s doable. I most certainly don’t have to figure out everything right now, and feeling a little insecure or unsure is not necessarily something that has to be fixed right now. The next right thing might be doing something nice for someone (a great way to get out of your head!) or going for a walk or coloring or cleaning one room or making the decision not to tell that gossip or maybe opening up a book to play the “point to the wisdom I need” game.
And since I wrote this, I already feel so much better. Sometimes for me, writing is hugging my feelings. Write it, say it, scream it, kick it, sing it, dance it, release it, kiss it goodbye and thank those feelings, however uncomfortable they may be, for bringing you insight.
And because I’m trying to be better about thank-you notes (but not feeling like I suck for writing them, stamping them and finding them on my dresser two months after I intended to send them), I’ll start with a little thank you to my feelings. It will work for me.
Dear Uncomfortable Feelings of Insecurity and Ickiness,
I just wanted to send you a quick thank you note for stopping by last week. I guess I have to commend you for your consistency because your occasional arrival patterns have proven you to be a reliable emotion. I noticed your steel-toe boots. Even though you used them to kick me around last week (and honestly, you need to see somebody about why you feel the need to do that), they were still nice boots. I’m looking into upgrading my own boots so I can more efficiently kick you back (I kid, I kid). You know, to be honest, I used to hate you. But I think my hate was really more that I didn’t understand you. Don’t get me wrong—you’re completely unpleasant to be around, and when I’m with you I’m usually only thinking about how long it is before you leave. But every feeling has value, and if I really think about it, you have helped me grow and know myself more. I’ve learned a lot about you too—what feeds you, what quiets you, what stories from the past have made you who you are—and learning more about you makes your occasional presence more bearable. Jumping too quickly to shoo you out the door when you arrive isn’t the kindest reaction now, is it? Sorry about that. Maybe we can work out a relationship—with boundaries, of course—where we help each other more. I had a teacher once who made every student stand up and say something nice about every other student in the classroom, and it was really hard to do for some of the students who weren’t very nice. But I think the teacher knew that the exercise was most important for those kids and for the students who were challenged to find the good in them. It changed our perspective. So, if I had to do that about you I’d say that you’re really good at helping me be vulnerable. And you are a good motivator. Maybe you could be a motivational speaker someday. Or one of those boxing coaches who screams at people that their punch is weak.
Anyway, I’m blubbering. I guess just…thank you for helping me grow.
Sincerely,
Me
And I love Sofia, very much.
