Our standards are higher than ever: we expect the best from everyone at all times, and if one doesn’t rise to the expectations of their peers, they’re criticized.
This is not a new concept. No matter what, people are going to point out what’s wrong with someone else (and will go to great lengths especially if they don’t like you), casually ignoring their own faults.
But what I’m focusing on is this strange air of professionalism that’s permeating everything we do now. This is, in part, because of the internet and how easy it is to scroll through someone’s life. People become so afraid of having their pasts used against them that they erect a massive wall and hide under the shiny veneer of perfection.
I survived Lent!
I’m not Catholic, but I’ve always been interested in trying out Lent. So this year when Ash Wednesday rolled around, I hopped aboard with a wish and a prayer (literally). For approximately 46 days, I went cold turkey on a number of habits, and despite myself, I made it through.
Once upon a time, I was an insufferable doormat.
In some ways, I still am, but thanks to time and just a hint of pride, I’ve moved past my worst moments.
Even to this day, I struggle with acknowledging my own feelings because I care so much about others’ instead. A guilt settles in the pit of my belly when I have to say no to a person or a request. I know I shouldn’t feel guilty for taking care of myself; in fact, I should do it more often.
I’ve tried journaling by hand in the past, with little effect. Blogging as an activity is easier for me if I’m typing. However, I know the healing power of a good handwritten work (even if it results in an eventual cramp).
There was a time about two years ago when I was at a really low point in my life. I was feeling hopeless and down, and I didn’t know how to approach that. I couldn’t get the angry buzz of negative thoughts out of my head. So, on a whim, I took out a pen and a sheet of paper from my notebook and began writing a letter. It was addressed to a specific person, but in reality I was focusing on myself. The best way I could figure out how I felt was if I pretended I was telling my woes to someone else. Next thing I knew, I had a stack of letters addressed to different people – letters I would never send.
Still, they served as catharsis.
I don’t know if it was a placebo effect and time did the work, but I genuinely believe writing it all out helped me heal faster. I could finally manage a slurry of conflicting emotions I couldn’t vocalize. Attempting to put them down on paper aided me in compartmentalizing those feelings and eventually, moving past them. There are even proven medical benefits to writing by hand versus typing on a screen.
Also, it’s just fun. Picking what color ink you want to use (markers, pen, or pencil?), deciding what type of paper to write on (lined or plain? colorful construction paper or thick oaktag?), or even leaving little doodles in the margins! The act of writing a letter brought me back to grade school in a way, when slipping notes across desks behind the teacher’s back was so exciting and taboo.
It made me feel better just on principle. However, I haven’t given a handwritten letter in a long, long time. I barely even scribble my name down anymore, thanks to technology.
Hmm. This blog is great and all, but maybe I should brush up on my letter writing skills…