The final rose/straw.

Before I start, let me say, I am not judging anyone who watches the Bachelor.  This is the first season that I've actually 'followed' a few consecutive episodes and I've watched enough to know that Courtney is a weasel and Casey B. is adorable, though I do have to say that I won't be finishing.  I watch on hulu in the afternoons when I paint portraits and Remy is napping.  I've wanted to write about this particular show because I feel like yes, I can say, 'it is just entertainment', 'I know it's a joke,' etc... but then why have I thought about it when I'm not watching it?  Why does it bother me like a faint stain on a white shirt?  Why did I feel so embarrassed to tell Carl that I've watched it when he comes home from school? Why does it make me feel so weird?

When I taught Freshmen English, one of the first things I taught my students as they started writing is that a thesis statement must be disputable.  There must be some opposition in what you are saying.  People read to be convinced of what they are not convinced of yet. There is not much point in stating the obvious.  I've wanted to write about the bachelor for a long time now, problem is though, every single thesis statement I've come up with, is unarguable.

The thesis statements I kept coming up with in regards to the Bachelor and the goings on in the show went a little like this:

The Bachelor gives us a false sense of what women really are.  Do any of us doubt that?  I don't think that anyone is fooled into thinking that the Bachelor resembles real, everyday life in really any way.  Unless, we did actually fall in love through a series of ridiculous and expensive dates in which 'we could conquer anything', while our beloved kissed 8 other women.  So, the above thesis statement seemed far too obvious to make anything of.  

Thesis statement two: The Bachelor cheapens love and what falling in love actually entails.  Duh. I don't think I am the only one who would love to see a bachelor episode where Ben and his date are put in a real life situation: kids running around, a sink full of dishes and a half empty container of yogurt and some cheap granola for lunch and just two hours on a Friday night for a 'date'? The more I thought about it, the more I realized that none of us are actually basing any of our actions or decisions or sense of self-worth on this ridiculous circus of a show.  These girls are not enviable, at least as they are as we know them.  We all feel embarrassed/sad for them.

Thesis statement three:  The Bachelor treats and portrays women in a sexist and disrespectful way.  Skiing down San Francisco streets in Bikinis, need I say more?

Thesis statement four:  The Bachelor gives us a false sense about how women treat other women.  This idea comes from something a friend, Lauren commented on after I wrote this post. She talked about the phenomenon that reality TV (in particular) makes us believe that women pit themselves against each other in competition on a regular basis. Aren't we all a little confused about these girls and their behavior?  Are they really like that?  Is it stress?  emotions running high?  It must be, because I can't recall the last time a group of women I was involved with acted like we were in competition this way.  In fact, just the other day, I was doing a cross fit workout with a neighbor friend, she is super in shape and pretty, and I jokingly said, as I did a pathetic pushup, 'don't judge any of my workout.'  She responded so sincerely I keep thinking about the phrase, she said, 'I would never judge you!' and I know she was telling the truth.   Lauren makes a valid and important point about womanhood and how it is portrayed in the media.  I think this article says it better than I could write a whole post about it.

My thesis statements were not working because I was just stating the things all of us are thinking.  A testament to the fact that the show just really has nothing more to offer.  There are no intelligent surprises, no reason to think more than just watch.  It is what it is.

One afternoon, after finishing up an episode, I was feeling so so weird.  I had watched keeping in mind that I wanted to write about it, but I came up with nothing but feeling strange.  I had to get in the sun.  Remy and I hopped on the bike and headed out.  It was the time of day when everything is golden.  We rode to the post office to drop off some packages.  As we locked up the bike, we looked up to a tiny man playing a banjo on the sidewalk.  He wore a thinned out cowboy hat, washed, but stained jeans and his white hair wisped onto his forehead.  Luckily I had a dollar to put into his banjo case so I didn't feel awkward standing there with Remy for a good fifteen minutes.  The man hardly looked up, just kept playing and Remy didn't move a muscle.  As he was playing a song about Daniel in the lion's den, singing with a coppery voice, a crisp chill started to set in on us, and I noticed his hands.  They were white and taut as a perfectly wrapped Christmas package.  His fingernails were worn down from playing and the tips of his thumbs, when they flicked up from the strings, looked worn and rough.  In that moment, I was really really happy.  The Bachelor, or even writing about the bachelor seemed like the stupidest thing on earth.  I realized then that it isn't really a matter of proving, or analyzing or criticizing a dumb reality show, because the fact is, it is not reality.  It faintly resembles a reality that is more glamorous than my own life, but I do not want to live that poorly constructed facade of happiness.   Standing on the sidewalk listening to a man play the banjo outside of the post office seemed very real to me.  It was real.

I guess then, after all my efforts to say something intelligent or new about the Bachelor and its effects on society and women, I have nothing to say, except that it is not real.  Maybe some inkling about it is, and I wish the best for those girls on the show, but what really, could we say?  There things that are real, and there are things that are not.  The beauty is that we get to choose the real things.  There is a lot of good in the world, we should be careful not to miss it.

Photos by Yan Photo.

Photos by Yan.

The Big Blog Conversation.

*disclaimer:  this is a rather long post, with a lot of ideas. I would love to hear your thoughts and opinions.  Stick with me, I think these are things worth taking a moment to really consider and think about.  I just realized that last sentence made things sound like they are about to get dire and real serious, they are not, don't worry. 

One of the best lessons I've learned about reading and writing poetry is that a poem is not autobiography, nor is it beholden to real life events or even real people.  When reading a poem, it is easy to assume that the narrator is the writer and that everything that happens in the poem is true to life.  Most times that isn't the case.  My thesis advisor and favorite professor always said that as soon as you start putting words onto the paper, your responsibility is to the poem, and not to accurately represent history, events or even people.   Some people may disagree, but I think that you'd be hard-pressed to find a good poem that doesn't enhance, change, manipulate, or edit real life events in order to get the right image, thought or language across to the reader.  I don't think there is anything wrong with that because when a reader comes to a poem, they are aware of the medium and they know that a poem's job is not to portray reality exactly, but to provoke thought.

However, there is another medium that is far more prominent in our lives, but is not nearly so transparent as the poem, though these two share many similar qualities.  The blog.  The blog, like all other forms of writing, photography and art, is a medium that can and is manipulated according to its creator.

I've had a similar conversation about blogs with many different people a dozen times in the past months.  I think we've all engaged in the dialogue at least once.  It goes something like 'why aren't blogs more honest?' 'Blogs give us a false sense of who and what we should be because everything looks so perfect' 'some blogs make us feel like we are not good enough because we don't look, do, act, a certain way' etc... The conversations aren't meant to be petty, or gossipy.  These quandaries are simply a product of what is around us and what influences us.  I've had my, albeit small, bit of frustration with blogs that portray lives as perfect and shining, always.  I think that there can be sadness or depression that is produced when there is a 'keep up with the Jone's' type attitude because of what we see on popular blogs. This attitude is not even based on what is tangible, but based on a brief internet view via photographs and paragraphs. As I've done more thinking, I want to talk about another angle of this blog conversation that seems easy to bypass because it involves taking a closer and harder look at ourselves.

Blog writers seem to get a lot of guff for being too perfect, too cute, too fashionable, all of the time.  They get criticism and sometimes even angry people (I don't feel angry btw) who want them to be more open, more real.  What seems easy not to take into account, however, is that 'the blog', just like everything else is its own medium.  Just like a novel, or a painting, or a music piece.  The blog doesn't so readily announce its medium though, letting us know that just like anything else, the content is edited, arranged, and displayed according to the creator. It is easy to forget that the person in charge of the blog can arrange things according to what they want the reader to see. Many blogs are honest, and are based on real life, and some people's lives just really are that good, but I think we are doing ourselves a disservice if we convince ourselves that the people writing those blogs have perfect lives, better than our own.  Am I the only one thinking these things?  I hope not, otherwise I am looking rather foolish right now.

I am in my own process of turning responsibility inward on myself rather than blaming pretty bloggers or perfect instagrammers. I love the first paragraph 'Being Enough', a book by Chieko Okazaki. She says, "All too often we compare our light with our very brightest moments or with someone else's brightest moments, and it makes the darkness deeper around us...I want to explore 'being enough'." If I feel annoyed that my house, hair, child, party, life, outfit, wit, etc... is less than picture perfect, letting myself feel annoyed is my own problem, not anyone else's.   We tend to assume that anything on a blog or any photo on instagram is straight non-fiction, which in a lot of ways it is, but there is also an element of fiction to what shows up on a blog or in a photo.  This happens simply because there is no way that a blogger can always, or should always divulge the sticky details of their lives.

Coming to this realization has actually done me so much good.  I started to see myself pushing responsibility further and further from my own hands, and then brushing them off and saying 'those perfect bloggers and their perfect lives are making me think that I have less.'  In actuality, that isn't true, and it's an irresponsible way for me to act.  I am learning that as I dive into (which I don't even do all that often) the world of blogs, I am accountable for how I come away from those blogs feeling.  No one else.  I can be accountable for thinking critically about the medium of a blog.  I can consciously recognize that although [insert your favorite blogger] may look absolutely adorable in every photo (which she does), her life also has its challenges, even if she doesn't write about them, I think it is safe to assume they are there.  It is not her responsibility to write about them if she chooses not to because she is in charge of what she does and does not reveal, and that is totally fine.

It seems that we often do a great disservice, and honestly, a little bit of cheapening of our own agency when we allow ourselves to believe that because a party looked so perfect, or the photo of someone's living room is clearly superior to your own, or the things they eat are more lavish, or their clothes seem cooler, that we are somehow less.  I think we are also letting go of a bit of our own courage when we allow ourselves to blame our laments  and frustrations on someone else.  It is easy to say, 'a blog made me feel that way', it is hard to say, 'I may not ever throw a party like that, or be able to wear that outfit, or have a child who wears that outfit, and that is fine and there is no reason to lament.'  It is sometimes hard, but also the most rewarding and wonderful thing to turn our gaze away from our internet, instagram, Facebook world and look around you only to realize that you do indeed have the very best things, and they are not things that you cannot touch, they are not photographs, but most likely, real things and people.

Most likely little things with scrubby faces, who like to eat things off the floor (this could be a dog or a child), or fingerprinted windows that we look out to see a favorite scrappy plant, or a dirty bowl next to the sink that remind us how good last nights ice-cream was.  Most likely we will see real things, pertaining to a real life that is awash with the difficult and the divine.  We will see messes, but also a place to call home.  We will see real imperfect people trying to do their best and not just photographs of people.  A blog, however lovely, cannot accurately portray all of these wonderful things, or all of these sad or difficult things, which somehow also make life good.  Nor should a blog have to.  A blog is a fine medium for what it is, it does a lot of good to connect us to other people, even rally support and succor friendship, but I think we should be careful to never be tricked into thinking that the blog of someone else is better than the life you get to live.


"It may not be for many years,  it may not even be in this life, that you will understand how great and glorious your works truly are. (Okazaki 22)"

I believe I'm Beautiful

A dear friend of mine works at a center where women are in the process of recovery from different eating disorders.  This friend told me that one afternoon she was talking with a patient and my friend told the patient she was beautiful.  The patient in return asked my friend if she (my friend) thought that she (my friend) was beautiful.  My friend said she was a little taken back by the question, as we are not asked that in such a direct way very often, or even ever.  She paused, then answered in the affirmative.  Correct answer.  Later that week as we were out at dinner, my friend passed the same question on to me.  I squirmed in my chair, swished a few half-answers around in my mouth and finally sputtered a yes.  I've thought about that question over and over in the months since, and I wish I would have, or even could have answered the inquiry with more confidence and enthusiasm.  At the time though, I wasn't prepared to respond that way because I'd never been asked if I thought I was beautiful. It seems vain to say yes, we assume we should be 'modest' (insert self-depricating), but is it really vain to say yes?  I don't think so, or at least after a lot of  thinking about it.  I think it is actually incredibly refreshing to find someone who stands on their own two feet instead of leaning about waiting for someone to tell them what they are.  It's a hard thing to do though, to say, 'yeah, I'm pretty imperfect, but also pretty awesome.'  Brave?  Maybe.  Practical?  I think so. Joyful? Definitely. Liberating? a hell's yes.  I have to say though, even having said all that, I find myself reticent to post this post.  I'm taking that as a sign that it is important for me to write then.  It's funny that in a world that is fairly obsessed with looks, body type, hair, fashion, etc... we rarely, if ever, actually have to answer to the questions that are perhaps the most vital for our well-being and happiness.

I feel like I am asked if I think I am beautiful indirectly everyday.  Like when I went shopping for a pair of pants yesterday, and again, nearly left in tears because although I don't feel like a giant, according to j. crew and the Gap, I am.  I look at blogs and the tape recorder in my heads starts the reel: 'I wish I could dress like that, have hair like that, be skinny like that, have that room, that wall, that skill...etc...'.  It seems faux paux to actually say that you think you are pretty alright.

I love to look at old pictures.  It is a favorite Sunday activity to pull out of box of photos or look through an album on the computer.  A couple of months ago I was going through pictures of myself from past years and I started to think, 'hey, that girl looks beautiful.'  I realize that I am no hot babe, and that no one is envying my sweet styles. I know that I am not the perfect weight.  If I had a fashion blog it would be titled, 'how to wear black leggings everyday'  Trust me, I know my insecurities and flaws like obnoxious roommates, but... as I looked at those pictures, I suddenly felt very sad to think that the girl in those photos had spent time and energy (and by spent, I mean wasted) feeling un-beautiful or un-pretty.  This may make it sound like I myself had an eating disorder, or extremely low self-esteem, but in actuality, I didn't, nor have I ever.  I am just as average as can be.  But that is the problem, I think we are all investing time and energy into feeling less than we really are, no matter who we are.

 Birthday crayon self-portrait.

I've been letting myself feel beautiful these last months and I feel like a weight has been lifted. Actually, even literally, the less I stress about extra baby weight, the more it slinks away.   I think we should all try letting ourself feel beautiful.  It's actually pretty fun.   I realized that I don't want to look back on my photos with me and Remy and Carl and know that inside I was feeling overwhelmed with trying to be perfect.  I want to look back on our photos and know that I am totally present.   I have a lot more to say about all of this, so I will probably come back to the topic several times.

If you read and want to make a comment, please do this:  Ask yourself, 'Do I believe I am beautiful?'  Then in your comment, write why you are, or at least one reason.  Maybe your answer is no, and that's pretty tough.  I think we've all been there too.  Maybe it's time then to ask yourself why you feel that way, and what can be done to change it.  I imagine the answer is not simply to go to the gym more, or to get a new haircut, but probably requires a little more searching around on the inside and coming up your own reasons that are not beholden to anyone or anything.

Gee whiz, don't think that I am trying to become a motivation speaker or something.  I realize I can wax a little corny, even melodramatic?  But seriously, I feel like these topics are so important and we rarely have to stare them in the face.