Monday Confessional, 10.21.13

Welcome to Monday Confessional, where I spill my beans about something I did, thought, or think I thought I did over the last week/weekend. I confess: I have someone very talented doing PR for me.

He runs my Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram accounts. He double- and triple-checks my emails to make sure they're just the right blend of getting down to brass tacks and lightening the mood with humor. He even dresses me in the morning and fixes loose strands of hair that haven't submitted to the sticky will of my hair gel.

Yes, my PR man is me. Myself. I work very hard, almost around the clock, at this public relations gig.

Which is funny because I'm pretty quick to point the finger and accuse famous people in the public eye for being hollow--shiny, positive PR on the outside and not a lot of substance inside.

Maybe I'm still, even a year later, fatigued from the last presidential campaign and election season. Everything seemed to be about scoring points in the public eye--whether it was kissing a baby, showing up at a factory to hang out with workers, or bringing up a tearjerker story about a single mom down on her luck. All for voting appeal.

It's why I can't help but be skeptical when I see any celebrity doing something "nice" in public. One part of me wants to believe in the best in people, and another part of me thinks, She's got a great PR machine running behind her. 

Even when one of my heroes, Hines Ward, put up the post I wrote about him on his Facebook page with a personal message, I had to wrestle and question his intention a little bit. He could be a great guy, or he could have a smart PR person. (My guess is that it's probably both.)

The problem with trying to judge people's intentions is that it's nearly impossible. I can't sit here and actually determine if what someone's doing is only for good publicity or a genuine extension of their character. It's hard to tell PR from the real thing.

Take me for example.

Every photo I post, every thought I write, every saying I quote on social media builds the image of me that I want you to see.

Let's peruse some pictures, shall we?

I want you to think I'm adventurous.

I want you to think I'm funny.

I want you to think I'm spiritual.

I want you to think I'm a dreamer. That I'm brave.

The truth is that I really am some of those things. But the truth also is this:

I'm boring most of the time.

I'm probably more funny-looking than I am funny, but you wouldn't know it because of the time I spend on both to convince you otherwise.

I post reminders about faith not to remind you but because I need it that bad.

I'm afraid. I'm so afraid of making my dreams happen that I often sit paralyzed instead of taking the next step.

It's not that I'm trying to be fake. I want to be genuine--I try desperately to do be that. I think much of what you see of me on social media is what I'm constantly struggling and striving to be. Then there is the version of me, that human and mistake-prone and imperfect person, that sometimes only I see, or my friends or coworkers who actually spend time with me can experience and know.

So don't be fooled by my PR--not all that glitters is gold.

But I hope you join me in the space between the polished, ideal version of me you see on social media and the very human, boring, and sometimes afraid version of me that only I get to see at 11:00 p.m. on my couch.

Strive with me to be the best "us" we can be--to be so bold as to hope for adventure, and faith, and courage. Join hands with me, and let's pick each other up when we inevitably fail to meet that standard.

Whether it makes for good PR or not.

***

Anyone else struggle with how to be genuine on social media?

Fresh from LA: Lessons I've Learned ~ guest post by ashley blevins

Something I've been especially passionate about as of late is the idea that life is short--too short to put off chasing our dreams, to live in fear of the unknown or of failure. Which is why I'm excited for this post from Ashley Blevins. I'm starting a series of guest posts, which Ashley's kicking off,  from people and friends who are in various stages of going after their dreams. Hopefully, we can inspire you to dream, act on those dreams, and set yourselves free from whatever's holding you back. 

Ashley's a dear friend who recently moved out to Los Angeles with her husband Nate and some friends to pursue her dream of being a writer. I asked her to write about what she's learned in the process of actually taking the first steps toward making her dream happen.

She's the co-founder, -writer, -funny person at The Baby Bangs. You can find her there, or follow The Baby Bangs on Twitter, or just follow her on Twitter.

I couldn't be more excited for her as she begins this awesome adventure in LA, or for you to read this post. Enjoy.

***

I was really excited when Paul gave me the chance to write this because it caused me to stop and think about how insane the last couple months of my life have been.

Allow me to give you a real quick summary of things and where I am at with them: I’m a 26-year-old female human that recently moved 3,000+ miles across the country. I’ve worked solely in retail for my entire “professional” career, and on an unrelated note, I’ve been miserable for my entire “professional” career. I love to write. I’m an AMAZING watcher of any and all television screens. I am only capable of remembering useless pop culture trivia.

So the next logical step was obviously to move to California. By my logic, if I’m going to be a struggling (emphasis on the struggling) writer slowly working towards being the comedic writing genius that I want to be, I might as well do it here. It’s a dream that I never thought I would come close to.

I’m a small town bumpkin. It feels like I’m on vacation. I have no idea what I’m really doing. I spent months going back and forth from smiling until my face hurt to crying hysterically in the middle of the night wondering if I am making a huge mistake.

Here are a couple of things I have learned during this experience thus far. They’ve meant a lot to me and it feels good to get them out. I’m still working them out. You’re still reading? You’re amazing. Have at it.

1. Learn to be unapologetic about the things that you know you want to do.

It took me a long time to be able to tell people that I wanted to work my way into writing and/or performing as a career. And even then, putting the idea out in the open isn’t as easy as it sounds. I mean…I guess it could be for some people.

But not so much for me.

I have friends who are (ACTUAL REAL LIFE) doctors, teachers, and business bigwigs. People who have delivered babies in other countries and record albums for bands we’ve all listened to. This might sound like bragging until you remember that I’m telling you I know all of these people to prove the point that compared to them I know NOTHING.

I’ve worked in spotty retail jobs here and there without a real commitment for years. So saying to these people “I think I’m going to move to LA and try this thing” was terrifying to me. Usually it would turn into a conversation of “Well if you can’t do it now when can you?” and “It’s an exciting opportunity” when really all I had to say was I really want to give this thing a go.

Realizing that I don’t have to justify the choice to any person I come in contact with has been freeing.

2. Take note of whose opinion REALLY matters.

Once I got up the nerve to say this is what I wanted, a slew of opinions came rushing in:

• “You’re going to hate California. I’ve lived there. I give you six months tops. You’ll be back.”

• “Why? It’s so expensive. Good luck figuring out how to deal with those taxes.”

• “Ugh, the traffic.”

• “Couldn’t you just try to do that in New York? Then you wouldn’t be leaving your family behind.”

• “You’re crazy.”

But guess what? None of that matters when you have people who mean the most to you and whose voice you hear the loudest supporting you.

When your parents start making plans to visit before you even leave. When your Dad drives a moving truck across the country to help.

Most importantly, when you have a husband willing to completely change his job, move everything you own and start all over again somewhere he’s never even been so you can try and get your chance. If you take the time to think about it, it’s easy to remember whose opinion you should actually take into consideration.

3. Take time to realize what you’re actually afraid of.

It’s also taken me a while to realize the fear I was experiencing involving this move might be a little more complicated than I had originally thought.

It would be perfectly natural and normal to be scared of moving to a new state a million miles away, regardless of the reason why. Starting a new job and moving are two super easy ways to convince everyone you’re an absolute monster after the stress starts to eat you alive. The trick is to realize you could be feeling this fear for more than just those reasons.

In the countless hours spent panicking about this upcoming life change, I realized another reason I was so paranoid was because I was more afraid of what could happen if I applied myself rather than what wasn’t going to happen when I got here. Because getting here is a huge part of the battle. Making friends with like-minded people, who are also ambitious about writing or performing or trying to be funny, can’t set me back; it can only help me grow.

So maybe I needed to focus on turning that fear into excitement for new opportunities. It’s definitely scary and I’m going to be shot down more times than not, but it’s also a pretty insane learning experience that I just couldn’t get prior to this move.

Do I have everything together? Absolutely not. I started a new job this week I’m hoping won’t make me want to bang my head against a wall every morning.

I need to save up money to be able to live before I can sign up for the classes I want to take.

I have to figure out more ways to show my husband how thankful I am that he’s willing to tag along for this ride.

I need to remember to wear sunscreen and to bring reusable totes every time I go to the store. A lot of ground to cover.

It’s getting there. I’m getting there.

I hope you are too.

***

Keep up with Ashley and her love of pop culture at The Baby Bangs.

Which of these lessons resonates the most with you? Talk to us.

You Have Done Enough

"If you were a real man, you would be able to fix this. You haven't done enough yet." I'm not sure who said this to me, or when. Maybe it was more than one person. Maybe it was multiple times. Maybe it was never said at all--just inferred, interpreted, or perhaps completely imagined.

Regardless of how it made its way in, that message has found a home in my thought process, bonded itself to my DNA. I find myself automatically thinking, "I have to fix this. I can fix this. I have to do more." As if I've been programmed. Or I suffer from compulsion.

When there's a problem, I have to fix it. I have to do more. When there's a rock in the way, sitting in the middle of the road in front of me, I do everything to remove it.

I brainstorm. I problem solve. I make calculations. I derive solutions. I execute. (Like a boss, I might add.)

Then, the problem goes away. The rock gets tossed aside. That's the way it works. It works for MacGyver, it works for Jack Bauer, and it works for me. I dust off my hands, I eat a sandwich, and I take a victory nap. It's what I do--I fix the problem, and I fix it hard.

All is as God and the universe intends it.

Until I realize the problem is still there. The rock is back in the road. And it's bigger this time--heavier, taller, less prone to budge.

It's okay, though. I'm a man, and men fix things. A little elbow grease should do the trick. I roll up my sleeves and grit my teeth. I push, and I pull. I stomp, and I growl.

The tiny beads of sweat gathering on my forehead start to betray me.

The rock remains, seeming even larger than before. It towers above me now.

Curse words. Balled-up fists. This is an affront to my manliness.

I.

will.

fix.

this.

And I begin to do more. Because that is the solution: more effort, more of myself, more bravado.

I grasp the rock with both hands, with ghost-white knuckles, and push until my back and chest burn, and my arms and legs scream until they're shaking like baby pines in a high wind.

I take a step back, square my shoulders, grind the ball of my foot into the ground, and sprint at full-speed toward the rock now. I collide with it. No movement. But I have to fix this. I have to do more. And so I slam into it again, my bone on its unforgiving stone. And I slam into it again. And again. And again.

I sink to my knees in the shadow of this huge rock, having bludgeoned myself almost beyond recognition.

It's there that a voice says to me,

"You can't fix this. There is no more you can do."

Even in my crumpled, bloody state, I don't believe it. My fingers scrape along the surface of the rock to find a hold, and I begin to lift myself to my feet.

But even the rock's shadow has become too heavy for me. I fall to my knees again.

You can't fix this.

There is no more you can do.

There are times in life when we have to dive in and get our hands dirty. We have to problem solve, think of a solution, and take care of the rock in the road before us.

Then there are times when those of us that are stubborn, that are proud, that are too self-reliant need to recognize that we can't fix everything. We can't do everything. Some jobs are God's to handle, or even someone else's to handle, but not ours.

Sometimes, in trying to fix a problem we weren't meant to fix, we break ourselves.

It has taken me a long, long time to understand and accept this simple phrase, to even allow myself to hear the words and let them fall on my heart like a light spring rain:

You can't do anything more.

You have done enough.

You are enough.

Let go.

"It Was the Best of Times..."

"…it was the worst of times." Nobody can quite prepare us for the worst times of our lives.

Sure, we've heard that life isn't easy since we were young. Someone says, "Life can be tough," and we furrow our brows, we nod our heads, we think, Message received, and we go on with our days. We hum as we go off to work or school. We dance slowly to the music playing in our cars. We graduate from high school or college and we take pictures and we assume that we'll smile and laugh and dream and love like this, always.

But we've had no class, no formal education to train us in the art of navigating pain, disappointment, tragedy, or disaster.

For some of us, these worst times make a grand entrance. They announce their arrival via a doctor's diagnosis. They shout through the phone and pierce our ears with bad news. They slam into our car at fifty miles per hour, ripping steel and shattering glass. They stop us cold in our tracks.

For me, these worst times have been more like a parasite. They made a stealthy invasion, subtle and secret. They fed on my blood and bones. They grew larger and stronger by sucking the life from me. Before I knew it, I was looking at a full-grown monster I didn't know I had been carrying with me and I didn't know how to get rid of.

However it happens, we will all have some encounter with these worst times. They're looking for us, and they'll find us.

They are not our friend. They're here to steal, kill, and destroy the life we have now and the life we were meant to have. They will do everything to knock us down, to squeeze the air from our lungs, to take us out of the race or at the very least, leave us paralyzed.

They will tempt us to think that they're in control, they have the power, they run the show now, they're here to stay, they'll get the last word.

Listen to me: That stops now. That stops today. They're wrong.

Even in the midst of my worst times--the seemingly endless storm clouds that loom in my skies, the constant barrage of stinging hail stones, the avalanche that has tried to bury me again and again and again and has made me want to tap out so many times--my best times have followed me into the darkness.

As much as my worst times have tried, they haven't been able to suppress my best times. These are the moments of calm in the chaos. These are the oranges and pinks of sunrise after the grays and blacks of night. These are the pillars that keep the ceiling from falling in on us and crushing us under its weight. These are the buds of green that break through the surface of scorched earth. These are the moments when we're caught up in that beautiful work we know we were born to do. These are the friends who inspire us, challenge us, laugh with us, and cry with us. These are the hands of mercy we lock fingers with and the faces of compassion that meet us in our brokenness.

These best times are the collective embrace of hope that reminds us that we can live our best lives even now. Even in our hurt.

These are the worst of times, but it's time we unseat them from the throne we've given them, overthrow their authority over our attitudes, our hearts, our hopes, our dreams. We're done with you, our worst times, no matter how much you try to keep your office.

We refuse to give you that power over us any more.

We refuse to let you hold us under your thumb.

We refuse to let you bury us, to choke us, to drown us in your black water.

Despite all your effort, we're here, still standing, still breathing.

These are our best of times. We choose to see them brighter, hold them closer, and place them higher than you. Try as you might, we won't let you steal one more day, one more precious moment from us.

Come what may, but we're done with you now. You don't get the last word.

We do.

***

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times,

it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness,

it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity,

it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness,

it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair,

we had everything before us...

~Charles Dickens, A Tale of Two Cities