It's not you, blogger, it's...ya, it's probably you.

After giving this a lot of thought, I've decided to make the complete switch from Blogger to Tumblr. For a while I've been posting onto both blogs, but that just seems like a lot of work. So, if you'd like to still keep up with what I'm (rarely, hopefully more frequently now) writing, then please follow me on my tumblr.
Peace out! See you on the other side.

Bad Advice: No One Can Love That

Romantic love is, allegedly, a battlefield. Also, love stinks. Tina Turner isn’t sure what love’s got to do with “it,” and Ali MacGraw (wrongly) claimed love means never having to say you’re sorry. Oh yeah, and apparently love is also patient and kind. Seems simple enough. Love is abstract. It is confusing and indefinable, and it elicits a response somewhere deep in the muscles and behind the gut that feels both empowering and maybe a little icky. To be clear, I want to emphasize that I’m talking about romantic love. Because the other sorts of love, parental, child-to-parent, friendship, familial, pet, fandom, those kinds of love don’t seem to require as much work. They are either so much a part of us that they make us feel alive, or they serve a purpose, enrich a moment, and then they gently fade away. But romantic love, that kind of love is made up of frayed live wires and ice cream. It’s a teddy bear stored in a box made from razor blades. It’s a 10,000-piece puzzle with nothing to guide you, a dozen missing pieces, and a perfect picture that keeps shifting with every piece put into place.

Or maybe it’s not. I don’t really know what love is, and I don’t think anyone else does either. That’s why it is the muse for most great works of art. Love is a house of mirrors where every surface can only reflect a metaphor.

Relationships, on the other hand, those can be defined and understood. I may not have any truth to share about love, but I do have something to say about romantic relationships. And what I have to say is this: Facebook, Pinterest, and any other media that compartmentalizes relationships, they are doing a disservice to people who are trying to have a healthy relationship. Knock it off, Photoshoppers!
A long time ago I read something on Pinterest that upset me so much I obsessed about it. I went back and read this horrible piece of “advice” written in cursive on a cream-coloured poster background over and over until I had to stop because it was affecting my blood pressure. I submit it to you here:

Relationships do not get easier. Every day is a struggle. Every day is a battle. It doesn’t get easier with time. In fact, it gets harder. The secret is finding someone who’s willing to be weak and strong with you at the same time. The secret is finding someone who’s willing to work with you and who will push you, challenge you, make it harder for you to leave. The beauty is in the struggle.

You heard it, folks. Every day is a struggle, and it will only get harder. But that’s ok, because you’re going to be with someone who is at his or her weakest at the same time as you. Won’t that be helpful? As this storybook co-dependent relationship goes on you can measure your success on how hard it is for you to leave. Because, remember kids, the beauty is in the struggle. What…the…fuck?

Another cause of my developing nervous tick is the horrible Facebook groups I keep seeing that offer sharable bits of disaster fuel for the relationship fire. One in particular that gets my heartstrings in a knot is “Tears are the Last Gift of Love.” What the hell is that? Can someone please tell me where the hell this came from? I only committed about 4 minutes to Google searching trying to find the source of this little gem before I had to give up because there are only so many alternate spellings using the letter “z” or capital “U”s that I can stand. But, come on now, in what universe is a sentiment like this healthy?

Here are some of my favourite tidbits from this group. Disclaimer: all these quotes are copied directly with the same spelling, grammar, and capitalization. The only thing I added was shame.

“Relationship never dies a natural death…They are murdered by Ego, Attitude, and ignorance.”
“Someone who really Loves you sees what a mess you can be, how moody you can get, how hard you are to handle, but still wants you in their Life.”
“It is better to cry alone than to be angry, Because anger hurts others, while tears flow silently through the soul and washes the heart.”
“I never stoped loving you…I just stopped showing it…..”
“I want a relationship where we talk like best friends, play like kids, argue like husband and wife, and protect each other like siblings..!”
“One day you will miss me.”
“U’ll Not Change Urself 4 Anyone…BUT You Wil Be Automatically Changed When You Are Addicted Toward Someone!”
“I nEvEr fEeL aLoNe, bCuZ lOnLiNeSs iS aLwAyS wId me………….”
“One thing I am absolutely certain, I can’t live this life without you.”

To me, it seems like these quotes are written by young romantics who are recently single, raised on princess expectations, and trapped in the turret prison of their imaginations looking out over a landscape of idealized fantasy. I believe in love at first sight, I believe in true love, but I don’t believe in relationship at first sight, and I believe true love is honest love. These Internet cards are depicting a glossy, airbrushed version of love that is not only unrealistic, but it’s also inhumane. Please, listen to me when I tell you that a great relationship should not, by definition, get harder as it goes on. Don’t qualify your relationship on whether the person you’re with still wants to be with you despite your moodiness. Don’t cry alone. Don’t consider loneliness your companion. Sometimes a relationship simply does “die a natural death,” and that’s ok. Do not collect these experiences like badges for the heart.

I’m still young. I don’t have all the answers. I don’t have the perfect relationship. In fact, this year my relationship was tested more than I ever thought possible. At this very moment I am more confident in my relationship and more in love than I have ever been before. I know something about a committed relationship, and it does not look like a blurry couple sharing a kiss on a beach with an inspirational quote in the foreground. So to all the Photoshoppers out there, all the Pinterest pinners, here are some new thoughts for your walls and boards.

True love is honest love. Be honest, and be thankful when you receive honesty in return.

Relationships are not about sacrifice they are about problem solving.

Commit to your love for as long as you love your commitment.

Build your relationship as you would build your house—comfortable and reflective of your personality and lifestyle. Most importantly, take the time to make it liveable. You wouldn’t move into a home that was only scaffolding, so don’t move into a relationship that hasn’t yet been built.

Don’t expect to love someone more than you have ever loved anyone immediately after meeting. And if you do, don’t expect it to last. Instead, enjoy the slow build-up.

Real love is holding a conversation with your partner while ignoring that stupid butt-dance she does when a pop song comes on.

Real love is smelling your partner’s armpit to assure her she doesn’t stink.

Real love is planning simultaneous life dreams that may not be fully compatible, knowing that each partner will support the other because that’s just what life is like in this household.

Real relationships are not measured by number of butterflies in the stomach or length of doe-eyed gazes, but by the amount of confidence in your partner.

Real relationships are not guided by short quotes but by long considerations. Doesn’t such an important decision in your life deserve a great deal of thought?

Perhaps I’m being hypocritical now, offering relationship advice after bemoaning bits of bad relationship advice. I suppose writing this post has shown me just how tempting it is to provide words of wisdom about love. Ultimately we all want to find that someone with whom to share our lives. So I’ll finish by asking, do you want to share Photoshopped trading cards about love, or do you want to share healthy and positive experiences with another person for as long as it remains healthy and positive?

Here's what I think of the Dove commercial and its responses

The latest viral advertisement has me thinking a lot. I'm sure you've seen it. If not, I'll wait six minutes. Off you go. If you’d rather not click the link, or you've seen the video but need a refresher—Dove has been at it again.

Dove's "Real Beauty Sketches" commercial features a scant warehouse-type building where a number of women describe their appearance through soft camera lenses while violin music plays in the background. A forensic artist draws these women as they describe themselves, then he draws the same women the way a stranger describes them after a brief introduction. The resulting images are, obviously, quite different. The message? Women don't see their own beauty. Women need to triumph their natural beauty. Women are more beautiful than they give themselves credit for.

The day after I saw that video a blog post began popping up on Facebook, generating as much of a reaction as the commercial. I really enjoyed that blog post, and I'm now following the author on Tumblr. If you haven't yet read jazzylittledrops' response to the Dove "Real Beauty Sketches" commercial, I strongly encourage you to do so. Again, I'll wait. Clicky clicky.

I admit, when I first saw the commercial I had the emotional reaction Dove probably spent tens of thousands to squeeze from me. I'm not ashamed to say I'm a little sentimental. I like to see people change. I like to see people brought to smile. I cue the tears when the music swells.

Perhaps I'm a product of culture, but I'm not totally gullible. There was something about that commercial that didn't sit well with me. It was too fabricated, too one-sided, too obvious. The forensic artist initially drew wider chins, baggier eyes, broader noses. He also drew shadows over their portrait souls. Many faces with broad noses and wide chins have eyes that burn with spirited fire, but not the faces in those portraits.

This commercial uses a classic "before and after" display. The first images were heavy with doubt, exhaustion, negativity. There was nowhere to go but up after that. The forensic artist drew the second picture with airs of cheer and energy. True, the faces were all thinner, with more slender or angled features, but what stood out to me was the second pictures and not the first, were drawn with smiles. That was a stylistic choice of the forensic artist, not the describer.

And where were the women who described themselves according to the features they love? I refuse to believe that those women were not part of this "experiment." Unless, of course, this was a fabrication and not an experiment. And that's where I see the problem. This was not a social experiment recorded and reported, it was advertising—a spare-no-expenses demonstration of modes of persuasion.

After I finished watching that video I dried my eyes, blew my nose, and reposted. I liked the message I easily interpreted—don't be so hard on yourself—but as with so many things, I took it with a grain of salt. So my repost came with some pithy commentary. "Oh Dove, if anyone is going to get me with carefully constructed rhetoric, I'm glad it's you."

The next day a brilliant friend of mine, whose opinion I highly respect, shared jazzylittledrops' blog, accompanied by a resounding "YES!" I read the blog post and immediately thought, oh shit, was I duped by the establishment?

I agree with much of that post's argument. I'm grateful that the author took the time to really deconstruct the commercial and expose those perpetuated stereotypes. Dove's advertising targets an important but sadly capitalized appeal, and if they are going to trumpet the cause then they should be held to a high standard of accountability and transparency. But something about that blog post troubled me as well. It took me longer to figure out what it was compared to what bothered me about the original commercial, but I think I finally have it.

I don't think criticisms of presentations like the Dove "Sketches of Beauty" commercial should breed dissonance. In fact, I'd like to be clear that I think the author, Jazz, does a very good job of presenting both the positive and negative sides of this commercial. Her subsequent responses to supporters and critics reveal that she is mindful that on some level the Dove commercial aims for a good message, but misses its mark.

I worry about the real-world efficacy of the way we write criticism. The structure of her argument is very familiar. We all do it. "This is interesting, but..." I believe this preface creates that polarity I worry about. Friends of mine who have reposted this blog do so with pointedly averse opinions of the Dove commercial. I'm concerned that the "but" approach to criticism draws a line in the sand. Instead, I think we should criticize this content with good old-fashioned positive reinforcement. This commercial was interesting AND…

This commercial was interesting, and I think Dove can go further. This commercial was thought provoking, and I think if Dove were to authentically conduct this experiment it would generate even more constructive discussion. This commercial made some good points, and I think that Dove could do better at making those points accurately represent the problems that women face with identity and perception. This commercial was a good idea on paper, and I think if Dove focused more on truth and less on commercial manipulation they could be a real leader in change and consequently sell more shampoo.

While there are problems with this commercial—I saw some, the author of jazzylittledrops saw others—it was a good conversation starter. I worry that we might all slip into deconstructive brain stomping (that is a theoretical term, by the way), if we automatically put on our skeptic hats and dismiss the ad as a failure altogether. Instead, I would love for this brief moment while we've all come down with the Dove Real Beauty Sketch virus, before our online immunity kicks in and we forget all about this, we focus on how this might facilitate positive change, AND what should happen next.

Grief thoughts

In 2012 I learned a lot of things. I learned how to crochet little baby hats with ears and horns. I learned the process and ceremony of dressing a stag in the forest in the fourteenth century. I learned at least a couple dozen symbols for alchemical mercury. I learned that I am smarter than I thought I was, more stubborn than I expected, and more vulnerable than I ever imagined. Most unexpectedly (because who ever expects something like this) I learned about grief. Grief hurts more than broken limbs, severe cuts, migraines, infections, any other pain I've ever felt. Grief is blind pain.

I went blind. I couldn't see my own confidence anymore. I couldn't find my optimism. I lost sight of my strengths. I started groping in the fog for distractions, tricks to keep me from facing reality. I made unfair demands on people who were unprepared or unwilling to deal with my broken self. I turned my back on the people who loved me unconditionally and only wanted to see me happy. I complicated everything. My poor choices were like a drug. I didn't have to cry over my grief if I could cry over my own self pity. It didn't matter if I was drunk or dramatic, I numbed myself. In a grotesque way, while I didn't do this, I think I understand now why people cut themselves. The damage I was doing to myself caused me to both feel something, and kept me from feeling anything at the same time. I kept breaking myself to keep myself from feeling the sting of healing. God, our minds are messed up things.

When all the bullshit finally stank enough for me to climb out of my mess, I couldn't believe what I'd done or what I'd become. I was just animated pain. A walking, talking, barely breathing, mass of gasping crying pain. My people who love me tell me not to be embarrassed, but it's going to take a while before I finally forgive myself for the damage I caused.

I'm trying very hard not to make this read like an amateur self-help post, or worse, an angsty journal entry. But this situation sucked. It really really sucked! You can't truly understand tragedy until it tears away at your heart.

I still don't know what makes it better. Time, I suppose. But I'm starting to remember, or rediscover, the things that make me feel good.

Prayer, or meditation or affirmations or whatever. Connecting to the part of life that is quieter and more meaningful than the surface. I rediscovered prayer and I'm grateful for it. It's getting easier.

Love. That complicated, inexplicable thing that naturally falls into place. The love of my family, my friends, my husband. The greatest feeling is reawakening to real love.

Confidence. Not doubting everything, especially myself. And remembering to listen to my truth.

Acceptance. Lord, grant me the serenity to accept things I cannot change, courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.

This is a hard week. Jordan's birthday is on Wednesday. The end of February marked six months. My family and I still wake up in that thick fog of the nightmare. We all still make blind mistakes. Sometimes the pain still feels unbearable. But I'm finally starting to open my eyes and see the glint that will eventually line the fog silver. The pain sometimes starts to feel like the raw type that comes with healing.

Thank you so much to my people. To the ones who have held me delicately when I kept trying to crumble. To the people who patiently helped glue me back together. To those who will start over and over and over picking up the pieces of me when I start to fall apart. Thanks for seeing me when I couldn't see a thing.

Here's to scabs and scars. Healing is messy business.

England, day 8; Legacy, day 11,070

I'm starting to think that I want every life I see that isn't my own. How much greener could I really expect that other grass to be? Do you know what I've unexpectedly done since I've been here? Set up appointments with two separate professors at two separate universities, and possibly a third, in order to meet and discuss possible research topics. Do you know what I did when I was in my MA? Counted down the days until it was all over and I could break into publishing. Do you know who has't been working in publishing lately? Please picture thumbs pointing at my chest, because it's this one right here. Do you know who said they wouldn't do a PhD? Yup, the same troubled chest-pointer you're reading about.

When I was in Calgary I thought just get through whatever I'm doing and wherever I am and then the adventure will start. When I went to Nanaimo I thought, just get through what I'm doing now and I'll start to really hit my stride. The pieces will fall into place. When I went to Edmonton I thought, just get over this here and it will finally start to pay off. When I left the city I thought, ok here we go. In the country I thought, nothing to do here but be with my books and my thoughts and my notepaper. Now I think, nothing to do here, period. Now I think, get to the largest, busiest city and the most intense university I can find. Get me anywhere but here.

I miss Calgary, I miss Nanaimo, I miss Edmonton, I miss London, I miss everywhere but here and now. I miss feeling like whatever I decide to do, I can't miss.

I've also been thinking, and this is some seriously pathetic "priviledged-people-problems" right here, I've been thinking that I have allowed my incredibly supportive family to be an excuse for me. I've spent a lifetime surrounded by people who say I should go for it, and I think I've been afraid of frustrating them. Not disappointing them. I hate when people say that. If your family loves you then it's hard for them to be disappointed in you. But like I often say, I am always beginning the first day of the rest of my life, and I expect if I say I want to do something one day and then change my mind it's probably pretty exhausting for the people who are waiting in the wings to support me. Seriously, how ridiculous does that sound? Because it sounds pretty ridiculous just typing it. But there it is.

The one thing I feel certain about is that I don't know what I want, and I will probably change my mind. How can I exist like that in a world of loving and living people?
I'm excited about meeting with these professors, but I'm not making any plans. How can I? There's all this wishing and hoping and thinking and praying and planning and dreaming, but there's still that living thing I've got to do. If I can just get through what I'm doing and where I am then...what?

Shit just got real...shitty. But I'm in England, so there's that.

The middle of August, right before I turned 30, I posted a highly optomistic fun post about the advice I would like the older me to give the younger me. Since then, things have happened that the younger me couldn't possibly begin to imagine, and the "older" me is not prepared for.

I don't want to let my dirty laundry blow in the internet airwaves. As much as I'm an open book, I'm not a tabloid. At least I hope I'm not. But some things I will disclose because I feel compelled to write about them.

On August 28 my sister Jordan passed away from a car accident while vacationing in Jamaica. I don't wish that sort of shock and pain on anyone in the world. Jordan was honest, courteous, fun, intriguing, brilliant, kind, beautiful, creative, compassionate, adventurous, she was someone for whom you could ask yourself, what would Jordan do, and if you followed that answer, things would be just fine. Things don't glimmer as brightly as they did three months ago. And the most painful part of it all is if she knew the sort of pain that her passing set off, she would be so unhappy about it. She made everyone feel better, and right now things feel, well, they're tough—really tough.

Oh Jordan, I wish you could tell me what to do.

I've also been going through a...what is it...a 30-year-old identity crisis maybe? A post-graduation depression? A "really,-this-is-where-I-am-now?" state of mind? I've got questions for myself that I really don't know how to answer, and at the risk of starting to throw all that dirty laundry up in the air, I've never felt so low.

So, I did the most extreme thing I could think of. I ran away to England for a couple weeks to visit a dear friend. She's going to university in Durham where she studies in a World Heritage Site. Yup, my friends, Anna goes to university in a bonafide castle.
She took me to the cathedral and into the cathedral library. Things that are on my bucket-list: spend more time in castles and do research in a cathedral library.
The Durham Cathedral is where the English historian, Bede, is entombed. I will never stop loving the relics of history. Sure it's morbid, but bring on the dead!

We spent a bit of time in one of the student pubs in the 15th century section of the castle. Apparently the kitchens are in the 12th century part of the castle and are the oldest operating kitchens in England—no big deal. We also went to an amazing bookshop called Barters Books in Alnwick. It's where the "Keep Calm and Carry On" poster was discovered.

I'm here for twelve more days, and in that time I will continue to blog, clear my head, think about what I want and, I don't know. Of course being here, near a university, nearly jobless and lost, I can't stop thinking about a PhD. When things get hard that's what I do. I run back to the harsh but oddly comforting arms of academia.
Oh Jordan, wherever you are, I sure could use your reasonable mind right now.

Here's to another trip around the sun

I turn thirty tomorrow. (In lieu of gifts, donations can be made in the form of purchases at your local bookstore.) Of course turning thirty makes me typically self-reflective and slightly philosophical. So I was thinking today about those blogs, songs, essays, et cetera that offer advice to the me of the past. Sometimes that gets turned on its head to offer a child's advice to his or her future self--don't forget to eat candy, it's ok to get dirty, that kind of stuff. I'd like to try something different. In preparation of my thirtieth year, I would like to offer a list of advice and comforts that I want my future self to tell my past self.

Things the 30+ Me Wants to Tell the 30- Me

1)You are REALLY good at something.

2) You are more patient.

3) You are less critical.

4) You don't care about Facebook anymore.

5) Write more, stupid!

6) The concept of God is only as complicated as you need it to be in order to learn what you need to learn at that moment.

7) That thing you find so difficult isn't so difficult anymore.

8) That other thing you find so difficult is still difficult, but also really fun.

9) That other thing you find so difficult, you don't care about it anymore.

10) That decision you agonized over turned out different than you expected, and also better.

11) Stop taking yourself so seriously.

12) Take more advice from yourself and less advice from others.

13) You are sometimes wrong.

14) Learn to meditate.

15) Eventually you figure out what to do with your hair. It looks fantastic!

Well, happy birthday to me, happy birthday to you, here's to another year of questions and wonder.