Divine Imperfections

Five MInute Friday: See

See.

 

Sometimes, a lot of times, I wish I could see into the future.

 

I would love to take one quick peek at whatever it is lying ahead.

 

 

Wouldn’t life feel safer, better, if I knew what my next steps would be. Should be.

 

Wouldn’t I be happier, if only I could see what’s to come?

 

 

 

 

But then I think about the beauty of surprise.

 

The excitement of a kid on Christmas morning when she sees the gift she most wanted, the one she may or may not have mentioned to Santa, wrapped in shiny paper under her tree.

 

The way a new mom feels when her child, the one she’s loved all these months without seeing his face, is placed in her hands. To hold. To behold.

 

 

And I know, the key to happiness isn’t seeing what’s ahead.

 

It’s not getting a cheat sheet of what to expect, how to react, where to go, or what to do.

 

 

The secret is seeing what’s right in front of your face.

 

Places made for exploring, right in your backyard.

 

People meant to be cherished. Relationships needing nurturing.

 

Talents that need cultivating.

 

Stories needing to be experienced, first, then told.

 

 

The older I get, the more changes that come, the more I know it’s not about what’s around the river bend, as Pocahontas used to sing.

 

It’s simply about being present, so I can see, and appreciate, and live amongst all the beauty that is ever around me.

 

Beauty always, patiently waiting for me to simply open my eyes.

 

While we were in Austin, walking back up the hill from the water, I was telling Mikael about how sensitive a camera lens is.

 

Especially in the sunlight, it reacts like an eye. Struggling to focus when there is too much light. So the tiniest movement can make all the difference in an overblown shot and a beautiful, vibrant photograph.

 

Sight is interesting like that. 

 

Life is interesting like that.

 

This post is in response to a prompt in the Five Minute Friday series.

 

I know I sound like a broken record, but you should really check it out.

The rules are simple (and it's open to anyone).

Have a great weekend friends.

On Being Back

Well, we did it. We made it to and back from Austin.

 

Last week we headed there to celebrate our second anniversary in the city we spent our honeymoon.

 

And it was, in a word, blissful.

 

In more words it was…

 

sleeping late

exploring the city

hillside views

comedy radio

hikes (made for hand holding)

donuts (made for growing boys and girls)

good company

good books

long talks

large breakfasts

too much pizza

homemade tacos

giggle fests

quirky gifts

 

 

It really was a dream escape. ‘Cause, as it turns out, my dream is monster breakfasts, afternoons with a good book, decadent dinners, and getting to sleep by 9.

 

Who knew?

 

 

Yes; I know that makes me sound ancient. (And I didn’t even mention the wicker rocking chairs on the front porch of our cabin.)

 

But I don’t care. I’m learning to embrace my inner librarian. Which is to say, I’m learning to accept how much I crave peace. And quiet. In order to maintain some semblance of balance in life.

 

Give me raucous nights out on the town sure, particularly if they end in Gourdough’s donuts, and streets lined with Christmas lights.

 

Just make sure you then give me a good morning of rest. To re-gather my thoughts (always with the thoughts, this one). And make my latte the biggest you’ve got.

 

Caffeine and I are soul mates. That’s something else settled by this trip.

 

 

As anyone who has ever traveled knows, the hardest part of vacation is always the coming back.

 

Yes, you’re tired of low-pressure hotel showers.

 

And you’re look forward to sleeping in your own (less laundered) bed.

 

 

But that also means repacking a car you feel like you just climbed out of (if it’s a roadtrip, which mine always are).

 

And it means getting home with tired legs, and giant bags filled with dirty clothes.

 

Oh, the dirty clothes. :/

 

 

I’m utterly convinced jetlag isn’t restricted to cross-continent flights.

 

Surely a one-stop trip from Austin to Dallas (hello kolaches!) will induce it too.

 

 

 

I should tell you, we spent Sunday night at this lovely café in charming Bee Cave. It’s a spot we first discovered last year, when the idea to return to Austin each anniversary (life permitting) dawned on us.

 

We both fell in love with its Argentinian food, and I swooned over its charming use of chandliers.

 

And we determined then and there we’d make it back, if at all possible, for one big, blow-out meal each anniversary.

 

 

Sunday night was that night.

 

Why yes, we would love to start with an appetizer.

 

Prosciutto wrapped shrimp, don’t mind if we do.

 

Fancy chicken empanada with chimchurri sauce? Absolutely.

 

Dinner plates the size of small ships? We got this.

 

Pass up dessert? Just because I’m barreled over with stomach pains?

 

No way.

 

As a life rule I do not pass up crème brulee.

 

And when you tell me the special of the day is Madagascar Vanilla Bean, I won’t even fake hesitation.

 

Yes. With coffee.

 

I will leave here miserable, but happy.

 

And we did.

 

And it was glorious.

 

 

 

And then, the next morning we had to drive home.

 

 

 

Which brings us back to Monday, our actual anniversary.

 

Mikael and I shared one long hug in the kitchen, trying to bask in that last little bit of vacation smell on one another, before…

 

Dishes. Laundry. Life set in.

 

Pesky, stupid life. What a way to ruin a perfectly good vacation.

 

 

That night it was a take-out picnic on the living room floor, in PJ’s.

 

I set a candle out for good measure, it was our anniversary afterall.

 

But at that point we were no longer the carefree, this is our anniversary vacation, couple.

 

We were just two happily married, utterly exhausted people, preparing themselves for the battle that is reentering the real world.

 

 

Mikael’s first day back at work was long, cold and rainy.

 

My first day back was shock and horror. (Did I mention I grade papers for a living?)

 

But this morning, day two, things feel a bit more natural.

 

Mikael headed to work just a bit after 7, and since I got up with him (or a few minutes after, if I’m honest) I had two extra hours to kill before I “clocked in” (at my home office).

 

 

So instead of rushing to plop down in front of my computer I got to savor the morning instead.

 

I made coffee on the stovetop, and toast (so exotic, I know).

 

Then I sat down with my makeshift breakfast, carefully created from items that mean so much to me.

 

 

Perfectly pinkish-purple jelly, a gift from a sweet girl who made it for us (not child labor, but a friend’s kid).

 

The lagoon-ish blue coffee mug (bowl) I swooped up for 50 cents at a thrift store on South Congress, my favorite Austin street.

 

Nearby, the novel that came highly recommended by a bookstore owner in Marble Falls. She insisted it met my only two requirements for vacation reading.

 

1.)  It has to be fun, i.e. not depressing (like so much of what I read last year).

2.)  It has to be easy to read, meaning no Shakespearian dialogue. My brain needs breaks as much as my body. No wading through Old English on vacation.

 

 

She was right too. The book was excellent. I finished it in my familiar reading chair, back home, on Monday.

 

In a way the book helped cushion my reentry into the real world.

 

Its characters were like links to my vacation-self, so short-lived.

 

 

They also served as welcome reminders that a book can transport me to places our car (and vacation days) can’t possibly take us.

 

They can let me live whole other lives, during twenty-minute coffee breaks.

 

They can send me to faraway lands, on exotic adventures, and traveling through time and space.

 

And on days when life seems to much to handle, they can offer a much-needed (less costly) escape.

 

Oh the power of words.

It really is quite remarkable.

 

I really don’t know what I’m trying to say in this meandering mess of a post.

 

 

Read books.

 

Travel.

 

Eat doughnuts the size of your head.

 

 

Train yourself to enjoy the little things, like waffle fries in stretchy pants.

 

Or latte mugs and slow mornings.

 

 

Embrace your quirks, like your inability to spend $25 on a souvenir t-shirt, but your refusal to pass up $9, glorified custard.

 

Love the one you’re with, so long as that person is your spouse.

 

No one needs a vacation more than the person who just returned.

 

 

Always stop to smell the kolaches.

 

Don’t listen to comedy radio when you’re more than 30 miles from the next clean pitstop (there were some stressful moments there).

 

Rocking chairs aren’t just for senior citizens.

 

 

Embrace what makes you happy.

 

All things in moderation.

 

Simplify.

 

Savor.

 

 

 

I think all I really want to say (maybe need to say) is I’m back.

 

 

 

It was so nice to have the break.

I can’t fully express how much I needed it.

 

But I missed this.

 

 

Home.

 

 

Clacking away on a keyboard.

 

Coffee-induced ranting.

 

Clearing my head, one word at a time.

 

Community.

 

Creating.

 

 

 

This is home for me.

 

And it’s good to be back.

Five Minute Friday: Reflect

 

 Reflect...

 

What else do you do when you’re iced in?

 

Reflect. Bake. Watch unholy amounts of HGTV.

 

Scrapbook your December, which thus far, has been mostly self-quarantined.

Repeat.

 

Think. So much thinking.

Too much thinking.

 

I never noticed until recently just how “don’t stop, won’t stop,” my OCD brain is.

Crunching budget numbers. Calculating calories. I hate math, but it haunts me at night, when all I want to do is count sheep.

 

It’s like I need some ridiculous puzzle to fix, in order to be at “peace.”

But it’s not that peaceful, always thinking, always overthinking.

It’s kind of exhausting actually. Kinda obnoxious really.

 

That’s why I’m so ready to retire, from the over-reflecting.

  

I read the other day that we should glance at the past, but not stop and stare.

While that flies in the face of everything One Republic taught me, I think it’s true.

 

We should learn from the past, but not live in it.

 

That is a balance that’s hard for people like me – the overthinkers, the undiagnosed OCD’s – the ones whose brains are never quiet, even in their dreams.

 

I don’t want to miss out on the beautiful present, because I’m lost burrowing through the past.

But it’s hard for me to let go.

It's hard for me to simply move forward.

 

 

What am I saying? Where is my head? 

Honestly, it’s on the vanilla scones I baked this morning, which are filling the house with a heavenly aroma.

 

I hoarded those vanilla beans for months, ‘cause they were so flippin’ expensive.

But then I thought, what good do they do me stashed in a cabinet?

Plus, how delicious would a scone be, with my coffee, on this frigid December morning?

 

Turns out, super delicious.

And that got me thinking about all the other things I’ve been hoarding.

 

Memories, photos, stories I’ve been sitting on, instead of sharing.

Like they’ll lose something in the telling. Or maybe that they’re not worth the light of day.

 

I’ve been clinging to them like they’re “my precious,” instead of realizing how much joy can be found in loosening my grasp.

How much freedom would be found if I would just let go?

 

  

The ice is slowly melting outside, which means the car’s defrost may finally get a rest.

And I think that my overthinking brain might finally get one too.

 

  

Today it’s time to get back outside, back to life among the living, outside my zombie state. 

And I think I’m ready for that, more than ready for that.

To be back out there, in the throws of it.

 

No longer hoarding ideas, and memories, but making new ones.

 

This is another post inspired by the Five Minute Friday series created by Lisa Jo Baker.

I know I sound like a broken record, but it's such a great exercise in freeing your mind (clearly, something I need!).

 

No worries, just writing, for five minutes solid (a little more if you cheat like me).

Even if you don't want to share your work, I really encourage you to give it a try.

You never know what you might have to say.

 

 

Happy Tuesday friends.

Hope you're staying warm.

Five Minute Friday: Tree

Tree

 

Tree, family tree.

 

Like the tiny sapling that lived in front of my childhood home.

 

By high school its branches had reached the roof, and my window. Scaring me some nights as they brushed up against the glass.

 

 

Now when I go home, what was once no more than a twig with a few leaves, is a mighty elm that greets me before the door.

 

It tells me my travels are over.

 

That tree tells me I’m home again.

 

I’ve really grown to love that tree.

 

 

 

Now I think of the large shade tree outside the house I share with my husband.

 

I think of how many generations have lived in this home, and how much that tree must have seen.

 

 

Kids climbing its strong limbs as they stretch up towards the sky.

 

Birds making their own homes in it.

 

They greet me some mornings when I remember to wake up slowly, and sip my coffee, instead of running into the day like a suicide bomber.

 

 

Tree makes me think of the woodgrain pattern I intended to hand-emboss on all 150 of our wedding invitations.

 

How, for weeks, I thought I could do it all myself.

 

And tried.

 

 

I made one invitation, beautifully embossed, before a good friend stepped in.

 

“You just can’t do it by yourself,” she told me. And I wanted to cry with relief ‘cause I knew she was right.

 

 

So I gave up the woodgrain, and was pleasantly surprised how beautiful the simpler version of our invitation was.

 

I wish I’d known then that sweet friend wasn’t just talking about the invitations.

 

 

 

It’s hard to live in a world where we’re dependent on one another.

 

Like vines, like branches, all connected.

 

All tied together.

 

 

 

Some days we want anything but to be linked at the root with these people we call family.

 

We want freedom. Complete independence.

 

We want to be shut off, and separate, from the world.

 

 

But trees remind us of the truth underlying our dysfunctions, and our difficulties with vulnerability, and our pride, which get in the way of being happy at home.

 

Happy in relationship with our significant others, our parents, our brothers, our friends, our siblings, all these people sharing this same planet, this same sod.

 

 

 

They remind us that the only way to be strong, and to weather this world, to survive the cold winters and bring refreshing shade in the spring, to let others enjoy us, and others support us, is to be in this thing.

 

Together.

 

Like all those beautiful trees.

  - 30 - 

 

 

I think the reason I love the fall so much now, is because the autumn air encourages us to live in community. 

Sharing cocoa, sharing blankets, sharing long walks around the park. The very essence of fall is our need to be together.

 

Like I’m mesmerized by how many colors can exist on one single branch of a tree, I’m amazed how much better it feels to go through life with company. 

Thank God for fall, and the seasons that are easy to love.

 

If you're sick of hearing about Five Minute Friday already then I'm sorry, but I'm not sorry. I can't stop singing its praises.

 

Basically a bunch of great ladies (and a few guys) get together every week in cyber world and spend five minutes free writing about a new subject.

The beauty of it is the freedom that comes in shutting up the inner critic and just letting ideas loose.

Some weeks it's the only thing that restores my sanity. 

 

So, as I've said before, even if you're not yet ready to join the community (and let the world see your work; which you really should!) you should still give this exercise a try sometime. 

You never know what you'll get when you do. It could be disgusting, or it could be delicious. (Isn't that what Forrest taught us?)

 

And just like that we're back to trees. :)

Have a blessed weekend friends.

Five Minute Friday: TRUTH

 

 

TRUTH.

 

Truth is relative; that’s the fear I hear. 

And if truth is relative, then it won’t exist at all.

 

We’ll make it into nothing, by trying to say it could be something other than what we’ve been taught, what we’ve held so dear.

 

We cling tighter and tighter with each passing year, each war, each mindless shooting, each orphaned child…

Nothing else makes sense, so we hold tighter to what we do know.

 

Now we can’t remember if it was truth keeping us safe,
or if we were charged with saving it.

 

We set out to protect it, at all costs. Just to be safe.

 

If we open our fists to look at it, much less share it, we might lose it altogether.

So we tighten our grasp, cracking whatever mutated form remains in our grip.

 

Better a small, broken truth, than no truth at all.

And that’s what we tell ourselves, and assure those in our closed circle, each with hands cupping his own invisible commodity.

 

We are indivisible. We are one.

Set apart from those outside, those missing the truth that saved us.

 

This is what I see. 

And this is what I’ve known.

Certainty. Confidence.

At a cost.

 

Surely Truth was never meant to be held like this; like a vice. Like a right.

Like something to lord over others.

 Something to beat them down with, and keep them in line with.

 

Nevermind that we claim to be the only ones who can see, or set, those floating lines.

 

 Truth, to me, always sounded like Light.

 

Light like Love.

And Love like Freedom.

 

 

And Freedom like Grace.

 

Grace that can’t be clenched. Or controlled.

Earned. Or saved.

 

 

Grace that abounds in being spent up, given out, passed along, loosely held.

 

Grace that cannot be quantified, or calculated.

Grace that just is, with or without us.

 

 

Grace that doesn’t belong to any one person, or people group, or country, or religious sect.

Grace that is transformative, and transcendent.

Grace that covers the whole earth.

 

 

Grace best exhibited not by tight-knit circles, but by open hands.

 

 

 

The older I get, the more hurt I see. 

Hurt too often inflicted by those fighting in the name of truth.

 

 

And I’ve felt like a traitor, for questioning what it is I’m doing here.

Straining under the pressure of trying to cling to something that slipped out of my hands long ago.

 

 

I worried what would happen if I admitted I’d lost it.

The certainty. The confidence. My shiny security.

 

Would I be accused of trying to outrun or outwit the truth?

An enemy of all I once loved? 

 

Or, in accepting that my hands are empty, and giving up the fight, might I experience a Freedom I hadn't known before?

Might I find that Truth isn't made for keeping, but about being set free?

 

 

* I took a prolonged "vacation" from blogging there for a bit, and writing in general. (Sorta scary for someone like me, that processes best through internal dialogue followed by written, scribbled words.)

But the hiatus makes me all the more grateful that one little prompt could draw so much out of me. Stuff I've been struggling with for months now, unable to articulate.

These thoughts may still be a mess of rawness, scattered thoughts, but I, for one, am glad to get them out of my head. Thanks for "listening."

 

The Reluctant Reader: East of Eden

If ever you’ve wanted to read a book that will completely destroy your worldview, then build it back up slowly, page by page, a little dingier but also much stronger than before, then East of Eden is the book for you.

It’s 602 pages of California-inspired prose, ageless wisdom, and complex characters wrapped into one very epic novel.

 

And if you think that’s exaggeration it’s not. It’s totally not. 

I have never read a book that’s had a more profound impact on me, nor can I imagine one coming along anytime soon that will have similar effect.

 

That’s because everything about East of Eden is timeless, transcendent. It pulls you up into this grand, unfolding story, and even when it takes you to places you never dreamed you’d go, maybe never wanted to go, you can’t get away from it.

What’s more, you won’t want to get away.

 

 

You’ll want to keep pushing forward, because you’ll want to keep experiencing life with them, these characters come to life by John Steinbeck’s beautifully tragic words.

 

And the beauty of this story, the beauty of his words, is that they don’t invite you to stand along the sidelines and pass judgment on the characters. (God knows there’s plenty of that in real life.)

 

No. His words plead with you to crawl into the character’s shoes, even into their souls, to experience the feelings they do, and every painful step in their journey.

He wants you to do more than see the lives they lead; he wants you to live them.

 

As the characters fall in and out of love your heart will do the same.

And as the characters stumble in and out of sin, you’ll live vicariously, getting your hands dirty then trying desperately to scrub them clean.

 

Triumph and failure. 

Heartache and joy.

 

You are there. You are in it, the throws of a life not lived well, necessarily, but well lived for sure.

 

And the very subtle difference between the two is precisely where Steinbeck shines.

He excels in the ambiguous, the gray matters I, for one, am so prone to overlook.

 

He highlights, instead of shies away from, the parts of life that don’t fit neatly into our preconceptions.

And for that I’m thankful.

For that I'm a (marginally) better person I believe.

 

I don’t want to ruin a thing about the story, by getting into who lives where, and who loves whom.

I will, however, share with you the powerful thread that ties all those who’s together.

 

It’s the same thing that ties us all together, good and bad, young and old, kind and cruel, brilliant and fool.

 

 

It’s our capacity to make choices.

Our ability to choose which direction we take, and then to rethink that decision as we go.

 

 

We choose who we want to be, how we want to treat people, and what matters most to us. 

And we do so by making a thousand tiny choices everyday, choices that make up a life merely survived, or a life well-lived.

 

For a long time (most of my life) I viewed reading as an academic event. I saw it as an attempt, a ploy even, to gain more knowledge.

Lately I haven't much wanted to learn though, so the textbook like non-fiction I've anxiously purchased (though great) has started collecting dust on my shelves.

I've been looking for an escape instead, a break from the monotony of my daily existence, not an explanation for it or a How-To Cure.

 

East of Eden has offered just that. An esacpe. An outlet.

From the start it had me hopelessly, utterly caught up in its candor. 

And because it captivated my attention - and my heart - I ended up learning so much more than I could have expected.

 

The book made me feel less alone in my wondering, in my dilemma over which choices to make, and if I know my way at all.

And escaping into it actually helped me feel more connected to humanity. Because it made me feel understood, accepted, in a way that has compelled me to seek to understand others more.

 

What a crazy, incredible gift that is, to set down a book invigorated to live.

And to share that life with others.

 

No wonder it's stood the test of time.

No wonder I couldn't put it down.

No wonder I was a little sad to read the last page, but indescribably grateful too, for having experienced it firsthand.

 

 

Life as an adult can seem pretty grim sometimes.

So many responsibilities. So little time (and money) for fun, whimsy.

 

East of Eden doesn't shy away from the hardness of life. If anything it reminds us that some have it much harder than others.

But, and this is such a big but (pun not intended), it also points to a beauty often lost in our toil and strife. Beauty not always noticed this side of Eden, but beauty that exists, waiting for us to find it.

 

Beauty is what beckons us to aim for greatness, but also to gracefully accept whatever comes.

Beauty is our choices, our ladder to the stars.

 

Do yourself a favor. Take my word on this one.

Rent, buy or borrow this book, curl up with a blanket, and get lost for a while in the beauty that is Eden.

Five Minute Friday: RED

 

Loving him was red.

Taylor Swift, who still feels 22.

And, I’m angry.

 

 

Kitchen appliances. Books neglected on the counter.

So much to do. So much left undone.

 

 

Red, like the flashing lights on so many machines. 

Machines pumping fluids. Machines removing fluids.

 

And on her cheeks, while hooked up to all those monstrocities.  

They’re doing the things a body should.

Things her body was able to do, just hours before.

 

But now she lies there, paralyzed not by circumstance but by fear of the pain. 

With flushed cheeks, and strained movements, and a fear in her eyes I’ve never seen before.

 

Red.

 

Why God? She loves you.

 

Never has a woman loved you more.

 

She talks about you, with the nurses, with her guests.

She talks about you, and your will being done, and how you have the power to heal, but that she’ll accept whatever lot in life you give her.

 

Right now her lot is a mechanized bed, one filled with scratchy sheets, and so many tubes, and she doesn’t have to say it.

I can see in her face she’s angry.

Still, she praises you.

 

That one little fall could land her here…

 

I'm frustrated for her.

She says she went short on her quiet time the morning it happened.

She blames herself.

 

But I blame you.

 

 

Why God? 

Are you as angry as you seem?

 

So spiteful you would pick on someone already small, and frail?

 

I don’t want to believe it.

I don’t want to feel it.

But I look out the window at a sea of cityscape and back in, to nurses scuttling, and people struggling, and my heart aches.

 

The world is not as it should be.

 

Why, why God, don’t you intervene?

 

 

Please tell me you’re not a vengeful God, that strikes old women down because they prayed for 30 minutes instead of an hour.

 

Tell me you’re not a tyrant, doing as you will, with no regards for all the lives you’ve created, seeming pawns in a cruel cosmic game.

 

Tell me you see her, and hear her faint prayers as she drifts into a medicated sleep.

Tell me you hear me, and the words unspoken, behind my own tears and worries.

 

I am pleading for justice. And mercy.

But most of all for grace.

 

 

And I’m begging you to tell me you’re not at all the God the televangelists have painted you to be.

Nor the meek shepherd hanging on so many wood-planked church walls.

 

Tell me you’re more than the light we’ve seen you in before.

Tell me you’re greater, and gentler, than the Old Testament stories used to bash gays and push political ideologies.

 

Tell me anything, God.

 

Say anything, God.

 

That I might not walk away from another hospital room, so angry with you.

 

- 30 - 

 

I haven't been able to write much lately. And what I have scratched out I've lacked the confidence to post.

I've had a hard time articulating to friends and family how I feel too, so these weekly free-writing exercises have been something of a life-saver, forcing me to examine my thoughts, instead of running from them.

 

I'm thankful they've forced me to ask the questions ever tiptoeing on my tongue, instead of keeping my mouth shut, silently choking on all that is unsaid.

 

This, apparently, is a raw season for me. A season of painfully slow growing and struggling to move forward, out of the stagnant waters I've been wading in.

For my praying friends, I hope you'll keep me in yours, and more importantly my family as my grandmother - ever a fighter! - begins rehabilitation after a hip replacement surgery. 

 

It's gonna be a strange, winding road. But I hope to share it with you.

Not all of it, mind you, but just enough that those of you on the same dark path might know you're not alone.

 

My dad, very subtly, left a book for me this morning. 

The chapter titles weren't appealing, but one did catch my eye.

 

Chapter Twelve: The Wisdom of God.

 

I'm still digesting what it said, but I'll leave you with the words that jumped out at me as I had my daily cup this morning.

 

"Wisdom, among other things, is the ability to devise perfect ends and to achieve those ends by the most perfect means. It sees the end from the beginning, so there can be no need to guess or conjecture. Wisdom sees everything in focus, each in proper relation to all, and is thus able to work toward predestined goals with flawless precision.

All God's acts are done in perfect wisdom, first for His own glory, and then for the highest good of the greatest number for the longest time. And all his acts are as pure as they are wise, and as good as they are wise and pure. Not only could His acts not be better done: a better way to do them could not be imagined. An infinitely wise God must work in a manner not to be improved upon by finite creatures."

- A.W. Tozer, The Knowledge of the Holy (italics mine)

 

 

 

Why I'm Quitting Pinterest... Kind Of, But Not Really, But Sort Of

Since my sister introduced me to Pinterest about two years ago I have gone through spurts of using it like an addict, then avoiding it like the plague. (Thanks Jessie.) 

In theory it is a perfect tool for keeping my desktop from becoming a dumping ground of screenshots of things I’d like to purchase (when I win the lottery I don’t play) or blog links for recipes I will try (if I ever get less scared of working unsupervised in the kitchen).

But in reality, instead of neatly corralling my own inspiration, I’m far too often guilty of using it almost exclusively to stalk the things filling other people’s electronic “inspiration boards.”

In reality, I gorge on ideas how to make my home pretty, while overlooking practical things like keeping it clean.

 

I watch, like a hawk, to see what other people are deeming trendy, stylish, helpful, important, from fashion fixes to pallet furniture, and food facials to family advice.

And as a result I OD on the inspiration, instead of doing anything useful with it. I pin and pin and pin, 'til I'm exhausted and disapointed that I've wasted yet another evening, without trying any one of those "genius," even "life-changing" tips I pinned.

 

It’s gotten so bad – at points – that my husband has threatened to schedule a “Pintervention.” 

And I couldn’t blame him if he tried, OCD as I’ve been about making it through the latest “Popular” posts.

But his concern, and my disappointment, haven't stopped me from logging on and loading up on ideas, ideas of what I think my life should look like.

 

Even when I realize I’m seeing the same three pins over and over, or perplexed at how obsessed people are with Olivia Polermo (wasn’t she just a backup star on The Hills?)… I have a hard time pulling away from the draw that is Pinterest.

The time-suck alone should be cause for alarm.

But there's an even bigger problem that lurks beneath the 8,000 pins and 20,000 likes I've accumulated. A problem bigger than the time I've lost, and the overwhelmed feeling I get when I overdo it, combined.

It's the lie I buy into when I fail to realize what Pinterest really is.

 

It's not a peek into other people's lives. It's not an honest look at anyone else's existence. 

It's a goal sheet, a shopping list, a bulletin board at best.

And, at its worse, it's a smoke screen hiding real life behind expertly lit photographs.

Pictures that tell half truths, the best parts, of other people's stories.

While highlighting the negatives in your own existence.

Seeming to pinpoint all the places your life should be, and could be, so much better.

 

When I log on to Pinterest I’m not actually seeing people’s practical small kitchen storage solutions. I’m seeing a stylized shoot put on by a woman with unlimited resources, like diva Martha Stewart.

I’m not actually learning how to affordably update my fall wardrobe. I’m being bombarded with “Must Have” buys, many that bloggers are endorsing (in spite of astronomical pricetags) because those items have been C/Oed to them.

 

And I love Martha's tips. And I think it's great - incredible - when bloggers are able to earn a living - or fabulous shoes! - doing what they love. 

But for readers (like myself) it becomes dangerously easy to confuse a highlight reel of other people's fashion choices, home decor, and dinner offerings... for what life needs to look like in order to be good.

 

What's a girl without Coach shipping her free sunglasses supposed to do?

 

It's not like the idea behind Pinterest is new. Or that this dilemma - of wanting what other people have, but really just wanting your own life to look prettier, neater, easier! - has only existed as long as the internet.

HARDLY! I'm sure there were cave women discussing who wore the tiger skin best.

 

But I do think the more accessible, the more pervasive "inspiration" becomes, the harder it becomes to be present - and content - with where we are and what we have. 

 

The more time we spend overloading our brains with ways to make our lives "better,"
the less time we spend enjoying, and being grateful, for how good they already are. 

 

Please don't get me wrong. I really like Pinterest, and I know some people use it incredibly well (the way it was intended I'm sure).

 

I LOVE getting ideas, like how to maximize under-the-bed storage. It’s why I have a four-foot tall stack of home magazines I just can’t seem to let go.

I LOVE finding ways to rework my favorite shirts, and dresses, into fun new outfit combinations.

I LOVE learning how to turn crayons and a hair dryer into unique art to fill my home, or how to transform dishwashing soap into an awesome, affordable Christmas present.

 

 

But the percentage of time I spend actually doing those things, compared to how much time I spend envying the lives I think other people lead – based on carefully curated pins – is sad. And really quite scary. 

Because even though I know way better, I too often buy into the lie, that what I see on Pinterest is real life for everyone but messy, frazzled me.

And then I start worrying that my life is not as good as I once thought, because I don't own a Cost Co-sized tub of coconut oil, or because I have to improvise and use a fruit basket as a drying rack after baking one of the 90 bread loaf recipes I pinned.

 

With Pinterest, but really anytime I choose to start the nasty comparison cycle, the best of what others are presenting becomes the standard to which I compare my whole life.

And I become obsessed with finding fancier ways of storing extra toilet paper, instead of doing practical things, like washing my clothes (with store bought detergent) or putting away my off-trend dishes.

 

 

The ironic thing is that Pinterest itself will tell you, and I’ve told you before, as I've told myself many times…

 

 

I think deep down we all know it, that no one wins in the comparison game.

But it doesn't stop us from playing, or from getting carpal tunnel syndrome from pinning. So what will put an end to the madness? What will finally stop the vicious cycle?

 

Last week a bit of a revelation happened for me when I realized that the reason I often feel sad when I’m logging off of Pinterest isn't because I’m sad to say goodbye to an “App” (one that too often monopolizes my life).

It’s because after perusing so much "inspiration," I’m no longer satisfied by the wonderful things in my life. I’m too distracted by all the things I feel l need to be truly happy, like all those other people must be.

No wonder the days I avoid it altogether I’m often happier and more content with where I am, whether it's eating at a much-loved downtown restaurant, or enjoying a cheap frozen pizza on an ugly couch with my very cute husband.

Even knowing it, though, it's hard not to open that app. The pull is strong, with that one. Pinterest, you don't know what you do to me.

 

As a sometimes recovering, sometimes full-blown, neurotic perfectionist, I know all too well how hard it can be to kick a bad habit. And I think it is particularly tough when the product itself isn't inherantly bad, as is the case with my love-it-hate-it Pinterest.

But that's why in this case I feel the solution isn't to go cold turkey, or accept my addiction.

Instead I'm trying really hard to rethink how I use it. And I'm training myself to use it as a tool once again, instead of a distraction, or a vice.

 

 

If I’m honest with myself - and you - the reason I haven’t written more lately isn’t because I haven’t had things to share, or the time to do it.

It’s because I have been embarrassed that my blog isn’t expertly designed, or supported by sponsors like Ruche and J.Crew.

I've loaded up on inspiration from other bloggers, and ended up feeling inadequate, unworthy.

 

I've worried that because my voice isn’t succinct, or hysterical, I must not have anything of worth to say.

I've worried that because I lead a very simple, small life, my story might not matter.

 

So I haven't said much. I've given in to the fears. The fears created by comparing. Fears that do nothing but keep me from being my best, boldest self.

And it saddens me so, that I've wasted so much time. Comparing. Cowering. Critizing myself.  

 

Not because the world can't live without another blog, but because I need what I have tried to create in this space.

I need a chance to sort through feelings, and celebrate small victories.

I need to make my voice heard, the best way I know how, which right now is through this blog, this imperfect, maybe design-dated, but very personal, and very special to me, blog.

 

 

You may or may not care to know that I’m writing this post from a quaint little coffee shop, that happens to be located in the nearest grocery store, and isn't actually quanit at all.

I thought being here would make me feel more creative, more inspired, than doing it from that ugly couch I mentioned before.

 

But honestly, the elevator music they’re playing sucks. And I have a horrible view of the Mohawk-ed barista actin’ a fool behind the counter.

This isn’t at all what I’d hoped for, when I left the house today.

 

But I’m so glad to be here, with a pretty good latte and the time I needed to do this. Because, I needed to do this. For myself mostly, but maybe for you too.

 

I needed to say enough with the comparison. It’s time to get real.

 

And I think it's fitting I'm doing so in the greener grass I thought this coffee shop would be, only to realize all I really want is to be home. All I really want is to be back in my home, a place I belong, and frankly, a place I don't have to ask a stranger to watch my laptop in order to go pee.

 

 

Honestly, friends - and people who may have stumbled here from a technorati link (I still don't know what those are) - I’m a 29-year-old woman who gets most of my clothes when I have the Kohl’s cash to cover them, or when Target goes red-sticker clearance. 

My favorite meal of late is a turkey bacon sandwich. It’s not fancy, or complicated. But it is delicious, and it’s not a Double Cheeseburger (which for me is progress).

 

I work for wonderful people at a job that sometimes drives me crazy.

And I still haven’t figured out what I want to be when I grow up.

 

But today I feel great knowing, finally, that I don’t want to be the bloggers I read everyday, though I admire them so.

I just want to be me. Cheesy as that sounds.

 

I just want to be who I am, who I really am.

Less apologetically.

 

I am a woman that hates drying dishes, and my hair.

A daughter to parents that I don’t call often enough (Hi!).

 

A sister that reaches out mostly to talk about Lifetime movies.

And a friend that buys wonderful birthday gifts then forgets to mail them (text me Wyndi).

 

A wife that isn’t a ton of help in the kitchen, but likes laughing through the learning.

And a writer still finding my voice, after years and years of trying.

 

Basically, my name is Jennifer. I’m a Pinterest-aholic. It’s been about two hours since my last pin. And I’ve never been happier. 

This is another in a series of post inspired by the Love Yourself Linkup founded by Anne the Adventurer. I'm so grateful for the challenge to dig a little deeper, and accept myself - and my life - more wholeheartedly.

Thanks ladies for inspiring me with your words and your bravery. But thanks even more for the push to join in on the movement, instead of watching from the sidelines.

Five Minute Friday: Small

Five minutes. Mostly no editing. 

The word is...

 

small.

 

 

Some days I feel small, because I stay at home. I lead a simple life.

 

I see the same four people every day.

 

I visit the same grocery store. The same bank.

 

 

So often ordinary feels simple.

 

And too often simple feels small.

 

 

But then I think about how much I love this small and simple life.

 

 

How thankful I am that the few people I see make my heart happy.

 

How grateful I am to have food on my table, and a roof over my head.

 

How lucky I feel to be leading this “small” life.

 

 

And then I know that small is not bad.

 

Small can be meaningful. Small can be intimate. Small can be special.

 

Small can be a good thing.

 

 

Small, right now, is a good thing.

 

 

I really need this time, for learning to bake homemade bread.

 

For learning to reach out to the friends that live too far away, not only by text, but by mail too.

 

For growing herbs in the windowsill. And picking socks up of the floor.

 

For making the bed. And creating routines.

 

And enjoying quiet, still moments.

 

 

Right now I’m enjoying the small before the storm.

 

 - 30 -  

 

* I was really happy writing that last phrase. But when I read back over what I had written I started to think it made no sense.

I wish I could say it's 'cause I'm not a rule breaker that it's still there, but honestly, I just really liked the sound of it.

Plus, if I'm allowed to stretch a bit to make it make sense, I do think life comes in seasons. Excitement ebbs and flows. Chaos almost always comes after the quiet.  But peace almost always comes after that surge of crazy.

So maybe it is possible to enjoy small before a storm.

And I'm so thankful for that.

 

Five Minute Friday, for those new to the game, is a chance to write, without worry. To let loose. To let the words fly.

And oh how I enjoy it so.

 

I'm a little late (a lot late actually) to this week's prompt. But so glad to have stopped by, and had the chance to think about "small."

 

Five Minute Friday: Lonely

 

It’s lonely when you spend most of your time in your head.

Sitting silently besides friends, siblings, spouses.

Always thinking, instead of speaking.

 

Always thinking.

Always lost.

 

For a really long time I thought that was normal.

The ruminating. The overanalyzing. 

The loneliness of being a person trapped in her own mind.

 

But then, somewhere along the way a conversation happened. 

And a light bulb turned on. Shedding light on those cobwebs in my brain.

 

Maybe there is another way, the light said.

Maybe you don’t have to feel so alone.

 

A beckoning followed.

At least I finally heard it clearer then.

 

Please come out of there. Talk to me, he pleaded.

Just be here, with me. Just let me in.

 

And it was awkward. Even painful. Trying to come out of that safe place.

 

The shelter of isolation, that was actually not safe at all.

The place I inflicted the most self-damage.

Where I flogged myself, time and time again, for perceived flaws.

For misperceived failure.

 

 

But somehow I did it.

 

I found myself on a couch with my husband.

Or at lunch with my sister. 

Or in the kitchen with my dad.

 Or having coffee with a friend.

 

Pouring my heart out, in words, and hand gestures.

Letting my soul speak, instead of keeping it all inside.

 

And I realized, in those conversations, that I wasn’t alone anymore.

I realized, in that connecting, that I wasn’t alone at all.

 

And now I see that I'm not lonely, unless I choose it.

Unless I choose to crawl back into that dark place, trapped with only my own torturing thoughts.

 

I’m not lonely unless I want to be. 

And I don’t want to be, when so much love surrounds me.

 

I don't want to be lonely anymore.

 

- 30 -

 

Five Minute Friday seems to be the only way I can conquer writer's block latey. The prompts have drawn some important stuff out of me, and they've really encouraged me to be more free with my thoughts, my words.

So for anyone interested in joining up, here are the basics of how "it" works, straight from Lisa Jo Baker's blog.

 

"Let’s just write and not worry if it’s just right or not. Here’s how to play along:

1. Write for 5 minutes flat for pure unedited love of the written word.
2. Link back here and invite others to join in {you can grab the button code in my blog footer}.
3. Go and comment on the post of the person who linked up before you. This is the one rule of this community.

It’s a great way to catch your breath at the end of a long week."

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