I've been thinking a lot about social media in the past few weeks. This summer, I've seen several friends get married, lived in the same city as my fiance for the first time in two years (hello, #mcm!), moved (still in the process), gotten married, and am about to change my name/start a new job/move to a new state/basically go through all of the life changes at once. In all of these occasions I've hesitated to post things online for fear of painting an overly cheery picture of my life. I know the hurt that comes with seeing everyone and their cousin getting engaged before you - the gloominess and boredom of scrolling through Instagram and wishing you were traveling and having adventures like all of your friends. I don't want to share only the good things in my life. But I don't particularly want to share all of the bad things, either - those are things that I would rather not memorialize. So then, who am I posting for? For myself - to remember good times, or maybe just to get a lot of likes? For my family and friends - so they know what I'm doing and can celebrate with me? Or for everyone else - really, just to get a lot of likes and affirmation out of them so I can feel justified in my life choices?
I would like to say that I am posting for myself, to share my excitement with others, to make sure that I and my friends can remember fun things.
But even that is wrong, and even that low-ish bar is too high for me to meet.
My motivation is always me-focused, which might sound like a good thing - at least I'm not letting others dictate my life, right? But I often fail to recognize the effect of my actions online, primarily because I am so removed from them. I can't know how many of my followers are feeling lonely and get set off by #mcm (or baby spam or travel or fancy meal) posts...or how many people post carefully crafted images to hide their fears and loneliness by appearing carefree (of which I am guilty). Every action we take has an effect on other people's moods, especially when it comes to the emotions we put into our social media image/comparison game.
So the obvious solution staring at me is to switch from me-focused to God-focused, a task easier said than done. How do I honor God in my twitter feed? I have a few guidelines from scripture on what to dwell on: is it true, honorable, just, pure, lovely, commendable, excellent, or praiseworthy? (Phil. 4:8) If it's not those things...probably not worth sharing. That's not to say I should always be overly positive and need to quote a verse in every caption. But I've found many examples of people who can share their struggles and still praise God, and still find the lovely and excellent aspects of their situations worth sharing.
I suppose all of that was to say that I've been afraid of oversharing some things, of being too excited and too hashtag-happy (especially around my wedding which was the most exciting and best experience of my life to date) - but there is no prize for hiding from social media(/culture). Hiding the truth in my life is lighting my lamp then hiding it under a bowl for no one to benefit from. If my motivation is focused on God's commands - if it's focused on loving others, being authentic, teaching about Jesus and his transformative word - if it's not focused on likes or even my feelings - if this is the case, if I'm contributing to my subculture and sphere of influence in ways that speak truth and purity and excellence, then it would be impossible to argue that it would be better not to post anything at all - and difficult to argue that there's even such a thing as oversharing of these sorts of posts.
Thursday, August 20, 2015
Tuesday, May 5, 2015
one year
My mouth gets dry and my eyes get full when I consider the weight of one year. Time is all relative, I try to remind myself, and one year is hardly a mark of more significance than five months or two weeks. In some ways two weeks was the hardest. In two weeks' time (the amount of time to earn one paycheck or to go on six runs or to have to wait to see Nathaniel when we were doing long-distance between Lancaster and Richmond), I learned my brother was missing; worried and prayed endlessly; reached out of my comfort zone to utilize social media and call hospitals for a John Doe; learned my brother, my family member, Tyler, who is an integral part of Tyler Marisa Chelsea, Tyler, who taught me the rules of baseball and the bad words and to question my assumptions, Tyler was gone. I spent days sustained by the smallest bits of meals I could find because food made me nauseous. I spent nights crying and praying until morning came. I spent hours reading his lyrics and trying to pick a bible verse to print on the programs for his memorial, all the while thinking how much he would hate this attention and how embarrassed he would be by the childhood pictures we were all making our profile pictures. I helped clean out his apartment and watch everything he owned get dissected and split between family members and friends. I sat with family members as they cried and tried to figure out if I needed to be strong or if I needed to cry as they did the same for me. I struggled with feelings of happiness and got too emotional to watch any movie the whole way through (as if it were okay to have all the time in the world to watch movies). I went shopping and wondered how people could spend money and time on new clothes, I saw distant family members, I saw everyone I ever knew (or so it felt) at his memorial and could hardly keep myself from shaking when I saw people who I only knew because of Tyler because here they were but he was nowhere anymore. I shared a eulogy with my sister, the one who hated sharing anything with me especially matching outfits or common interests, and I felt like we were the only two people lost at sea; all around were mourners who knew completely different sides of him, often kinder and deeper sides of his adult personality; and here we were with our childhood memories and our Christmas stories of how grumpy but hilarious he could be. But I didn't feel like we were lost at sea together--an ocean of different memories and feelings separated us. And I was flooded with doubts of how he ended up in this place and what I would tell my future children about him because I had always looked forward to them having the grumpiest and weirdest of uncles. And in two weeks' time, I went back to work and sat through seminars and coded and tried to wake up in the morning without crying, and cried almost every time I went to the bathroom because that was the only place that felt safe to cry.
So in a lot of ways, two weeks felt the most surreal, the most impossible, because how could so much and so little happen in a fortnight?
But it didn't end there. At one year, I've experienced guilt in my grieving process, intense feelings of fear of losing every one of my family members, counseling, distance from friends as they tiptoed around my feelings and experiences, the terrible anxiety in my stomach when people around me start talking about siblings and I know the inevitable question of my siblings will come up and I have to decide if I want to have an honest conversation or an easy one, the changes in my family's dynamics, the closeness with my Mom as well as the chasm that now exists between her and the rest of the world, the random sad dreams and the random happy ones, the bittersweet nostalgia of listening to Tyler's music (both what he played and what he shared with me all the way back in middle school). Kindness and understanding in unexpected people, and confusion and hurt from equally unexpected sources. Both feeling closeness and distance in my relationships, depending on the day. The fear of forgetting his voice or his smell or how mad he got when he couldn't find Cholula or how consistent we were in getting each other Christmas gifts that we liked rather than ones the other would appreciate. The hesitation before bringing up his name in conversations with people who never knew him and only knew my loss. The question of how to remember him at my wedding. The jealousy of friends who get to plan weddings in the absence of a family tragedy. My first Thanksgiving without seeing him, smelling him, hugging him, playing games, my first Christmas without any of our family traditions or fights. The awful reality every time I let myself forget and then have to remember again how gone he is. The regret of not seeing him one last time. Watching his box be put in a wall and sealed up forever, and then having to eat afterwards and talk to people and having my wedding plans be a distraction from our pain.
All of this will continue. This is why one year is both noteworthy and not. It never goes away. It may lessen in frequency, but not in intensity. This is part of who I am. It's been one year since I lost my brother, and it feels both a lifetime ago and so fresh and new that it couldn't possibly be true.
I know that this post is mostly focused on me rather than on Tyler. When I write things about Tyler, I feel as though I'm writing a letter just to him, and it would feel like a massive invasion of our private relationship to post it online. Some things are just for my memory, and as I've begun to learn about loss, that's okay--because there's not one right, one-size-fits-all method to grief. I should also note that I've glossed over the two most important aspects of my grieving process, again for the reason that they are very personal: the constant support, love, and most of all presence from Nathaniel through my ups and downs; and the very tangible hope that I have in Jesus Christ, the promise that he will make all things new, that he sees our brokenness and offers to heal it, and that death is not worth fearing because it has been overcome by his death and resurrection. I can't begin to comprehend the impact Tyler had on this world, on his friends, coworkers, classmates, bandmates, family. But I know his life, like all lives, was significant and his presence and eternal perspective won't be forgotten. And I thank God that I have been privileged to have a brother and to see some of God's work through Tyler.
So in a lot of ways, two weeks felt the most surreal, the most impossible, because how could so much and so little happen in a fortnight?
But it didn't end there. At one year, I've experienced guilt in my grieving process, intense feelings of fear of losing every one of my family members, counseling, distance from friends as they tiptoed around my feelings and experiences, the terrible anxiety in my stomach when people around me start talking about siblings and I know the inevitable question of my siblings will come up and I have to decide if I want to have an honest conversation or an easy one, the changes in my family's dynamics, the closeness with my Mom as well as the chasm that now exists between her and the rest of the world, the random sad dreams and the random happy ones, the bittersweet nostalgia of listening to Tyler's music (both what he played and what he shared with me all the way back in middle school). Kindness and understanding in unexpected people, and confusion and hurt from equally unexpected sources. Both feeling closeness and distance in my relationships, depending on the day. The fear of forgetting his voice or his smell or how mad he got when he couldn't find Cholula or how consistent we were in getting each other Christmas gifts that we liked rather than ones the other would appreciate. The hesitation before bringing up his name in conversations with people who never knew him and only knew my loss. The question of how to remember him at my wedding. The jealousy of friends who get to plan weddings in the absence of a family tragedy. My first Thanksgiving without seeing him, smelling him, hugging him, playing games, my first Christmas without any of our family traditions or fights. The awful reality every time I let myself forget and then have to remember again how gone he is. The regret of not seeing him one last time. Watching his box be put in a wall and sealed up forever, and then having to eat afterwards and talk to people and having my wedding plans be a distraction from our pain.
All of this will continue. This is why one year is both noteworthy and not. It never goes away. It may lessen in frequency, but not in intensity. This is part of who I am. It's been one year since I lost my brother, and it feels both a lifetime ago and so fresh and new that it couldn't possibly be true.
I know that this post is mostly focused on me rather than on Tyler. When I write things about Tyler, I feel as though I'm writing a letter just to him, and it would feel like a massive invasion of our private relationship to post it online. Some things are just for my memory, and as I've begun to learn about loss, that's okay--because there's not one right, one-size-fits-all method to grief. I should also note that I've glossed over the two most important aspects of my grieving process, again for the reason that they are very personal: the constant support, love, and most of all presence from Nathaniel through my ups and downs; and the very tangible hope that I have in Jesus Christ, the promise that he will make all things new, that he sees our brokenness and offers to heal it, and that death is not worth fearing because it has been overcome by his death and resurrection. I can't begin to comprehend the impact Tyler had on this world, on his friends, coworkers, classmates, bandmates, family. But I know his life, like all lives, was significant and his presence and eternal perspective won't be forgotten. And I thank God that I have been privileged to have a brother and to see some of God's work through Tyler.
Thursday, February 26, 2015
a healthy view of health
I have recently fallen prey to the running bug. I knew it was only a matter of time after I moved to Richmond, but somewhere deep inside of me I still felt that I was strong enough to keep myself from converting to athleticism. I have never been an athletic person, and was actually kind of glad when I got mono (the second time) because it was a great reason to never go to the gym (my spleen supposedly became enlarged and at risk of explosion). Because I'm in a narrative mood (blame my novel-writing addiction), let's transition to STORY TIME.
When I was little I ran as little as possible. I found great hiding places in flashlight tag to avoid constant running. I played defense in little league soccer. And I was even homeschooled so I didn't have PE until high school, at which time I ran for the minimum amount of time required to pass the acceptable standards (part of this was motivated by the perception that trying hard in gym wasn't cool, but mostly it was because I physically couldn't try any harder).
Come college, I was a healthy weight but an unhealthy everything else. My view on food was that I'd rather eat what I wanted and not deny myself treats my whole life only to become sick with other diseases and wish I hadn't been so hard on myself with my diet. I still think that this isn't the least healthy perspective to have, especially when it comes to desserts because I love them with such an undying passion. However, I've come to appreciate moderation a bit more since then. Additionally, though, I just straight up did not eat fruit. Most vegetables scared me. And fried foods were by far the most edible and preferable food option in the cafeterias. Slowly, my friends began helping me see that fruit was not the enemy and that some vegetables, if prepared right, could actually be tasty (who knew?). [This is by no means meant to discredit my mom, who by all accounts makes delicious food. I just spent the majority of my life refusing to eat fruits and avoiding most of my vegetables because I thought that I didn't like them.]
The first thing that revolutionized my perspective on health was a Pokemon competition. I blogged about this experience in October 2011 (THREE POINT THREE THREE YEARS AGO HOW), but the basic story is that I accomplished tasks across campus in order to achieve Poke-glory. One of those tasks was visiting a fitness class. This was literally my first time in a group fitness class of my own vocation (my friend Katie made me go to a body pump class once), and it was pretty intense. It was just a pilates class, but for someone who had never really stretched or exercised for more than 5 minutes at a time, you can imagine how exhausted and sore I was afterwards. But I came to understand that this was a good sore, and that I wouldn't mind having it again. And realizing how helpful it was to know exercises to keep your legs limber and your tummy toned (jk this has never happened to me), I bought a fitness pass so I could get guided work outs ALL YEAR. It helped that the following summer I lived with my friend Taylor who was very into going to pilates/yoga/ballet classes with me and also didn't make me feel terrible for being so unfit. (We would eat bagel bites and chocolate afterward. This health thing has been a slow learning process for me...)
First time pretending to be fit.
And then I got mono the last week of the year, and my fitness pass expired just as I acquired a wonderful reason to never work out again.
The following summer I graduated and moved to Richmond. I started working out very vaguely because I wasn't sure just how vulnerable my spleen was, but I was starting to get a little tired of feeling unfit. More importantly, I was earning healthy points at work. I started earning points for working out (elliptical), counting calories, reading nutrition articles, attending health-related talks at work, making healthy recipes...at first I thought that I was just doing this to earn points (to earn PTO). But I realized that I actually enjoyed having goals and feeling healthier (eating fewer cookies than I had access to in a day--major accomplishment right there). Then I started running and probably got "too healthy." Running was great. It made my legs feel AWFUL the first few times, which was how I knew it was an effective workout. I had always thought that I was just innately incapable of running, but I realized slowly that it was not something you could just pick up one day and be good at. I was counting calories and thinking about losing weight all the time and was enjoying it, but not really for the right reasons. I never got to an unhealthy weight or other objective standard of unhealthy, but I knew that my mindset wasn't right.
So then I stopped counting calories but continued running and trying to get a good number of fruits, vegetables, whole grains and even fish in my diet. (This should be the most shocking thing I have written so far to anyone who knew me prior to the previous year.) I had a lot of encouragement from Nathaniel in all of this, especially as he helped push me to run further than I thought I could (he even made me like EGGS. Yes EGGS). I started training for an elusive 5k that no one would sign up with me to run (because my friends don't run, live too far away, or run way too fast for me). But somehow, knowing that there would be a 5k someday, I was able to continue to motivate myself to run. Motivation is weird. Part of this was the vague idea that I would make myself run the Monument 10k this March and that it would be less painful if I started training...a year in advance. (I'm still doing this. I'm very dedicated to my goals.)
In November I did a Turkey Trot 5k with my sister which entailed plenty of walking but was still my first race so yay running! In about a month I'll try much harder to make it the full length of my race without walking because I'm pretty sure that that's a thing that, with the proper mindset, I can do.
Anyway, all of that narrative to get to my main points. I think that this is a view that a lot of people have, but maybe you have to go through your own learning process to understand it for yourself. Your health is something that is worth investing in. No one else can take care of your body to the extent that you can through your choices. That's not to say don't eat xyz (sugar, meat, carbs, processed foods, cookies) as a blanket statement, but it is a smart and good thing to think about what you're putting in your body and note how it makes you feel. Not taking care of yourself, when you do have the time/resources to do so, is not only a disservice to yourself but to the people around you. No one wants to see their friends or family suffering from things like heart disease or diabetes--things that, while not fully preventable, are still linked to your health decisions. As with anything on earth, it can be taken to an extreme and you can easily develop an unhealthy attitude on eating or exercising (or not eating or not exercising)--but, just like with eating cupcakes, considered with moderation it can be a very good thing.
When I was little I ran as little as possible. I found great hiding places in flashlight tag to avoid constant running. I played defense in little league soccer. And I was even homeschooled so I didn't have PE until high school, at which time I ran for the minimum amount of time required to pass the acceptable standards (part of this was motivated by the perception that trying hard in gym wasn't cool, but mostly it was because I physically couldn't try any harder).
Come college, I was a healthy weight but an unhealthy everything else. My view on food was that I'd rather eat what I wanted and not deny myself treats my whole life only to become sick with other diseases and wish I hadn't been so hard on myself with my diet. I still think that this isn't the least healthy perspective to have, especially when it comes to desserts because I love them with such an undying passion. However, I've come to appreciate moderation a bit more since then. Additionally, though, I just straight up did not eat fruit. Most vegetables scared me. And fried foods were by far the most edible and preferable food option in the cafeterias. Slowly, my friends began helping me see that fruit was not the enemy and that some vegetables, if prepared right, could actually be tasty (who knew?). [This is by no means meant to discredit my mom, who by all accounts makes delicious food. I just spent the majority of my life refusing to eat fruits and avoiding most of my vegetables because I thought that I didn't like them.]
The first thing that revolutionized my perspective on health was a Pokemon competition. I blogged about this experience in October 2011 (THREE POINT THREE THREE YEARS AGO HOW), but the basic story is that I accomplished tasks across campus in order to achieve Poke-glory. One of those tasks was visiting a fitness class. This was literally my first time in a group fitness class of my own vocation (my friend Katie made me go to a body pump class once), and it was pretty intense. It was just a pilates class, but for someone who had never really stretched or exercised for more than 5 minutes at a time, you can imagine how exhausted and sore I was afterwards. But I came to understand that this was a good sore, and that I wouldn't mind having it again. And realizing how helpful it was to know exercises to keep your legs limber and your tummy toned (jk this has never happened to me), I bought a fitness pass so I could get guided work outs ALL YEAR. It helped that the following summer I lived with my friend Taylor who was very into going to pilates/yoga/ballet classes with me and also didn't make me feel terrible for being so unfit. (We would eat bagel bites and chocolate afterward. This health thing has been a slow learning process for me...)
First time pretending to be fit.
And then I got mono the last week of the year, and my fitness pass expired just as I acquired a wonderful reason to never work out again.
The following summer I graduated and moved to Richmond. I started working out very vaguely because I wasn't sure just how vulnerable my spleen was, but I was starting to get a little tired of feeling unfit. More importantly, I was earning healthy points at work. I started earning points for working out (elliptical), counting calories, reading nutrition articles, attending health-related talks at work, making healthy recipes...at first I thought that I was just doing this to earn points (to earn PTO). But I realized that I actually enjoyed having goals and feeling healthier (eating fewer cookies than I had access to in a day--major accomplishment right there). Then I started running and probably got "too healthy." Running was great. It made my legs feel AWFUL the first few times, which was how I knew it was an effective workout. I had always thought that I was just innately incapable of running, but I realized slowly that it was not something you could just pick up one day and be good at. I was counting calories and thinking about losing weight all the time and was enjoying it, but not really for the right reasons. I never got to an unhealthy weight or other objective standard of unhealthy, but I knew that my mindset wasn't right.
So then I stopped counting calories but continued running and trying to get a good number of fruits, vegetables, whole grains and even fish in my diet. (This should be the most shocking thing I have written so far to anyone who knew me prior to the previous year.) I had a lot of encouragement from Nathaniel in all of this, especially as he helped push me to run further than I thought I could (he even made me like EGGS. Yes EGGS). I started training for an elusive 5k that no one would sign up with me to run (because my friends don't run, live too far away, or run way too fast for me). But somehow, knowing that there would be a 5k someday, I was able to continue to motivate myself to run. Motivation is weird. Part of this was the vague idea that I would make myself run the Monument 10k this March and that it would be less painful if I started training...a year in advance. (I'm still doing this. I'm very dedicated to my goals.)
In November I did a Turkey Trot 5k with my sister which entailed plenty of walking but was still my first race so yay running! In about a month I'll try much harder to make it the full length of my race without walking because I'm pretty sure that that's a thing that, with the proper mindset, I can do.
First run!
Anyway, all of that narrative to get to my main points. I think that this is a view that a lot of people have, but maybe you have to go through your own learning process to understand it for yourself. Your health is something that is worth investing in. No one else can take care of your body to the extent that you can through your choices. That's not to say don't eat xyz (sugar, meat, carbs, processed foods, cookies) as a blanket statement, but it is a smart and good thing to think about what you're putting in your body and note how it makes you feel. Not taking care of yourself, when you do have the time/resources to do so, is not only a disservice to yourself but to the people around you. No one wants to see their friends or family suffering from things like heart disease or diabetes--things that, while not fully preventable, are still linked to your health decisions. As with anything on earth, it can be taken to an extreme and you can easily develop an unhealthy attitude on eating or exercising (or not eating or not exercising)--but, just like with eating cupcakes, considered with moderation it can be a very good thing.
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