The Disconnect

Earlier, a LiveJournal friend of mine posted a positively gorgeous photo of herself, a sample from a professional photo shoot she'd had done recently. Honestly, I was taken aback by how lovely she looked -- very refined features, wonderful skin, and the most gorgeous long violet hair.

Up until that point, I'm not sure I'd seen a picture of this particular person that really allowed me a clear look at her. Once I had, I immediately began to wonder why she doesn't post pictures all the time. She is stunning. Her looks are very close to the type of looks I've always wished I had. "If I looked like her, the entire Internet would be so fucking sick of my selfie spam by now," I thought.

Then I actually read the words she wrote. Among other things, she mentioned having a disconnect between the way she sees herself and the fact that she likes the way she looks in the picture. She mentioned having gained weight and being able to see it in her face and a couple of other things. I really didn't see any of that myself. I just saw a stunningly beautiful girl that is very blessed with what I consider to be an incredible dose of beauty. To me, she looked absolutely flawless.

I can relate though. More than I probably really care to admit. Truth be told, I don't usually think of myself as a beautiful woman. I'm well aware that others consider me to be not just pretty, but exceptionally attractive. I'm also aware that many people feel the same way about my looks that I felt about my friend's. However, I do not see that in myself.

Writing Lab: Full of Stories, Full of Stars

Head of a Young Woman - Jean-Baptiste Greuze

Prompt: "Do you have a lot of untold stories inside of you? How do you feel carrying them around?"

Well, any writer is full of stories to at least some extent and I'm certainly no exception. I don't get writer's block as far as ideas go. I'd even go so far as to say that I come up with at least a couple of viable new ideas a week. However, I'm not terribly disciplined about doing much with any of them. Some of that has to do with how much of my writing energy gets poured into things for my clients these days, but the rest of it is just sheer laziness and apathy.

That said, I do have a lot of untold stories living inside of me to one extent or another. How does it make me feel? Perpetually bloated and full, like a person feels when they overeat at Thanksgiving. On the one hand, there's a satisfaction to feeling that full, because when you're full you're the very furthest thing from empty. On the other, it can be incredibly uncomfortable at the same time. You know it's not normal or healthy to be overstuffed to that extent. I do talk about ideas and whatnot to some extent, which helps. However, verbal conversation and Facebook are really no substitutes for proper stories and poems written on the regular.

Writing Lab: On Legacies

Prompt: "A line from the play Hamilton asks: 'Who lives, who dies, who tells your story.' What do you want your legacy to be?"

This is a hard question for me. As I've touched on here before, I've never wanted to become much or accomplish anything in particular, so I can't really say I've ever truly been interested in leaving a legacy as most people would define the term. I'm 40 years old. I'm growing more tired and jaded by the day. I may never manage to create anything earth-shattering or change the world in any notable way. And to be totally honest, it's OK with me if I don't.

That said, I think what I'd like most is to know I might have inspired other people to approach life differently while I was still here. I am a firm believer in the notion that human beings are taught to swallow bullshit their entire lives from the moment they're born. They're told that there is this one right way to be a child of God, to be a women, to be a man. One right way to look and one list of right ways to earn a living or exist in this world. There's not. There are as many possibilities as far as who you can be and how you can choose to live as can be -- too many to ever count.

On the Passing of Prince and the Loss of Childhood Heroes

I was so sad to log on today and hear that Prince passed away. Not only was he only 57, but he wasn't really one of those celebrities that partied so damn hard you just knew it was a matter of time. Actually, although there hasn't been an official announcement as to the cause of death yet, it sounds like he spent the last few weeks ill with a very persistent case of the flu and just wound up collapsing suddenly at home. He probably should have been in the hospital if he was that sick, although who knows if that would have made a difference.

Like a lot of people, I'm astonished at how many legends we've lost recently. Seriously... legends. People like Prince and David Bowie are icons that seem to transcend their very humanity on so many levels. It seems surprising somehow when such people actually die eventually just like everyone else. It's even harder to swallow when they die for reasons like this. You want to think someone as superhuman as Prince could never be killed by something we've all experienced, like the flu, but there it is all the same.

I've always heard that one of the hardest things about entering middle age is that you start losing older family members -- people like your parents, grandparents, aunts, and uncles. No one warns you that it's also hard to start losing your childhood heroes -- the people you grew up in awe of. The people whose creations shaped who you eventually became and helped you get through your younger years in one piece. 

On Getting Organized for Spring and Contemplating Feminism

I don't know if it's because I sometimes get inspired to organize in the spring or what, but I finally got Google Calendar set up a few days ago. I'm not using Elance, or Upwork, or anything to deal with any of my main clients anymore. Unfortunately, that also means I no longer have a preexisting organization system that keeps me in check as far as deadlines. Instead of continuing to try to hold onto everything by memory, I thought I'd take the opportunity to actually figure out a proper system for keeping work stuff organized instead. You know... the way someone that isn't a child disguised as a 40-year-old would do. 

Now I see why respectable people do maintain day planners and appointment calendars. It's a hell of a lot easier to remember something's coming up when you have a visual representation of your life to look at than it is to just try to store it all up in your head someplace. I even created other calendars in addition to the main one I have for deadlines -- one each for deliveries, astrological events I want to remember, personal occasions, and a couple of other things. I even set up sharing on the ones that are actually relevant to Seth's life so that he can also take advantage. It's great. I feel so fucking together. Like I actually accomplished something useful for a change!

Writing Lab: In the Eyes of Readers

Prompt: "How do you think a reader would describe your blog?"

If sharing my journal-style writings with other people has taught me anything over the years, it's that I don't usually have an accurate picture in my head of how other people view what they read from me. I don't see my blogs as having a lot of potential appeal to anyone besides myself. When I'm not working, I spend most of my time reading, thinking, or hanging out with Seth watching TV or something. I don't get out a lot. I don't really travel or care to maintain much of a social life, so... like... 98% of what I post is pure navel gazing. I'm talking about myself. Or else I'm reacting to something that happened more than I'm recording it. It's hard for me to imagine that not being kind of a bore to an outsider.

Even so, I'm consistently told by people that do read my writing that they enjoy it. I've heard that I have an interesting voice and an unusual outlook in regards to a lot of things. People have told me they enjoy my humor, my candor, and the unapologetic way I choose to express myself these days. Those that don't like me or my writing have accused me of being a lot of things -- too cynical, too self-absorbed, too blunt, too much of an over-thinker. However, I've yet to have a reader tell me they find me boring, which is really my only worry.

Writing Lab: On Being a Diarist

Prompt: "Do you look at your blog as a way to tell your story? Do you consider yourself a general diarist?"

That's definitely how I look at my blog. I would also probably say that I think of myself as a diarist, especially these days. I've tried to branch out and embrace other types of writing to the same extent I've always embraced journaling and diary keeping over the years, but it never seems to hold my interest for long.

This has even been the case with my other blogs on Blogger. They started as attempts to build resources for other people's consumption or write more generally about topics I care about -- like food, or astrology, or spirituality, or freelancing. However, they ultimately wound up settling into alternate diaries -- places I can go to record my thoughts and experiences as they relate to those topics. I do occasionally write or include resource articles as well if I decide I'm in the mood, but those are few and far between.

Narcissistic as it might sound, I fascinate myself, so I'm my own favorite topic. I love using writing to explore my thoughts and feelings about different things. I love recording things that happen in my life. I love exploring my past and my relationships to other people, as well as to the rest of the world, through my writing. I enjoy the act of at least potentially sharing what I write with other people, but I write mostly for myself.

Writing Lab: On Writing About Others

Prompt: "Do you write about other people? Do you think it's fair game to write about others without asking permission if they're part of your story?"

I'm not sure if this is addressing my blogging or my fiction writing, but either way, the answer's exactly the same. I absolutely do write about other people. To be totally honest, I find it impossible not to.

I'm a big believer in the "write what you know" approach, so everything I write under my own power these days is incredibly personal whether it sounds that way or not. If I'm not writing directly about myself and the actual people I know and have crossed paths with, then I'm writing about characters that are strongly based on real people. Probably to enough of an extent that the people in question would easily recognize themselves if they were to ever read the material.

And yes, I absolutely believe it's fair game to write about other people. There's an Anne Lamott quote I really like that addresses this. Something to the tune of owning your stories and telling them no matter what, because people need to treat you better if they're worried about how you'd describe them in your writing. That really sums up how I feel in a nutshell. As for asking permission, why would I bother? The story of my life is 100% mine and anyone that's at all familiar with any of my writing already knows that I tell it and then some. I'm not going to write something just to smear someone's name or anything, but you can trust that whatever picture I do paint will probably be unflinchingly honest for better or worse.

Writing Lab: Good Old Black-and-White

Prompt: "Have you ever had another blogger write about you? How did you feel reading the post?"

It hasn't happened at all recently, as most of my social circle has long ago forsaken blogging for Facebook or Twitter, but yes. Looking back, I'm realizing that I've seen myself show up in other people's posts quite a lot over the years. However, the context varies, as does the tone.

I'm not even going to sit here and pretend I don't know why some people find me hard to stomach. I don't get up in people's faces or force them to listen to my critiques of who they are or what they're into. (If you approach me and ask though, it's another story.) I really do keep to myself for the most part, but people nevertheless can tell when I don't really return their interest in me or don't see them as being in the same league. I'm told it makes people feel dismissed, invisible, or otherwise unworthy of notice. Apparently that's much tougher to deal with than it would be if I were just... like... a hater. People can usually deal with being hated on, but they don't like being dismissed or ignored, so I've inadvertently made my enemies over the years.

Sometimes those enemies eventually decided they were going to let it all out in writing, usually someplace they know I'm likely to see it or eventually find out about it. They were too chickenshit to say what they wanted to say to my face and most never dared use my name, but it was nevertheless pretty obvious they were talking about me. I'm thinking of ex-friends mostly... and maybe a few acquaintances that wanted to be friends, but that I wasn't really interested in for whatever reason.

A Zebra in a Sea of Horses

Everyone knows that I'm sort of... unique. What everyone doesn't know is that it's not something I've ever actually wanted to be. No matter how hard I've ever tried to fit in at various points in my life, I've always stuck right out like a sore thumb. Sometimes that's a good thing, but most of the time, it's not. Or at least it isn't to me.

Part of that has to do with being mixed race. The rest of it has to do with being neuroatypical. Even at my best, I was never conventionally beautiful, nor have I ever had what you call a winning personality. I'm witty, smart, and have a good sense of humor, so I've always been able to attract people or attention if I really wanted to. But I've also always been painfully aware that I'm not what any man -- Seth probably included -- had in mind when he pictured his dream woman as a young man just getting started in life and deciding what he wants for the first time. Especially not physically speaking. That hurts sometimes.

I wonder all the time what it would be like to know you're actually what your partner always wanted and not just some aging, second-rate alternative that probably had to grow on them over time. I wonder what it's like to meet your partner's parents and have them instantly like you and see you as someone they'd actually like to have as part of their family. I wonder what it's like for your parents to ever have seen you as something other than a huge disappointment. I wonder what it's like for people not to have to "learn" to like you or accept you. I wonder what it's like to know that you've always been everyone's first choice. -- exactly what everyone always wanted and had in mind.