It happens. Every so often, I get a little burned on blogging.
Reader beware, this post is full of Snark (and very little, if any, editing). In fact, you may not like me as much by the end of it, but know that I still love YOU.
That’s how this works, right?
Is it just me or do so many bloggers portray their life like this?
I would read post after post of these seemingly flawless lives. Everyone was living this fabulous cozy life with an endless supply of sunbeams and pony rides. Mornings were spent waking at 10 am, sitting in some dreamy nook amongst a ray of sunshine, sipping organic rain forest certified* tea in a handmade mug while reading some amazing book that another blogger wrote and/or suggested about making life amazing and being our authentic selves, before skipping around their town doing magical things that everyone wants to do or building forts in the yard using vintage bed sheets your great grandmother knitted out of homegrown cotton, before they snuggled into their bed with their perfect mate, tucked in between their precious puppies, drifting away into dreamland, ready to soon start another day of life coated in balloons and lollipops.
“Did you have an awesome time? Did you drink awesome shooters, listen to awesome music, and then just sit around and soak up each others awesomeness?”
Now I’m not saying that people out there don’t really have those lives, I’m just saying I feel like there are a lot less of them than the blogosphere would like you to believe. It was becoming a contest, at least in my reader, to see who could shizzle the biggest rainbow. And while I was glad to see people enjoying their lifes, the snarky Nancy Drew in me couldn’t help but sometimes lean back from the keyboard and think, “Who are you kidding? Anyone with an ounce of instinct can totally tell you’re hideously unhappy in your marriage.” “Please, you don’t get to pretend you are great with budgets when I know someone else bought that all for you.” (Or whatever mean girl commentary popped into my brain). And I also felt like the more made up or fantastical these lives became, the more I saw readers/bloggers whom I generally respected and loved, enjoy their own actually wonderful (more realistic) lives less and less. Mama Bear instinct kicked in (assuming that I even am a bear or even had children, you get the idea).
I, on the other hand?
I muster all willpower to get out of bed by 6 am, immediately regretting the third episode of Dexter/Justified/Walking Dead/Other Violent TV Show Here we so didn’t need to stay up until 1 am watching, and get ready for work – wondering if anyone would notice if I wear the same pants I wore the day before because they’re the most comfy and I didn’t want to wash them after just one use. If my hair is down, I totally showered. If it’s in a ponytail, I totally didn’t. After shoveling breakfast into our faces, tripping on the cats, feeding all the dogs, and hoping I remembered to fill my tank the day before, we go to work. Now work I like… but it’s hardly bunnies and marshmallows. It’s actual work, but it brings me an actual paycheck and some actually hilarious coworkers, so I’ll happily take it. Then I drive home blasting tunes that would make any 16 year old in 1998 proud, throw on pajamas, walk the dogs, crack inappropriate jokes, and try to crawl into bed before midnight, where both of us struggle to find enough blankets to not freeze to death because Emmie has decided to sleep horizontal across the bed and – having just had hip and knee surgery – neither of us has the heart to request that she move over.
And that’s my actual life. And in comparison to the magic one, it might sound like I don’t like my life. False! I adore it (and in actuality, I’m pretty darn organized thankyouverymuch but you get the idea). Sometimes I wonder when blogging what our real lives are like became such a bad thing. Maybe when Dooce or the Pioneer Woman got paid for theirs (don’t get me started – I like her but no, she is not a city girl who found herself in the sticks, but her marketing skills are SUPER). Maybe suddenly everyone wanted to bank on their blogs and the blogs that drew the most readership were the ones who pretended to be their own, unique, special Martha Stewart snowflake.
No one expects you to have this magical existence, and maybe we feed into it because we like to think it’s possible or we love the happy inspirational goodness it brings – but can we be a little real, at least some of the time?
Now I don’t need your TMI stuff. You don’t need to tell me you hate your brother, how trashy your Aunt Barbara is, or that it tends to burn when you pee. I’m fine with those types of secrets. You keep those. I mean it.
But let’s just get a little more okay with not portraying picture perfect, I think it’s exhausting. And when we DO decide to write about something “negative” we’re working through, it doesn’t need to be A Thing where we make every post like I Overcame Cancer but really, you managed to finally get your first adult job and not quit two weeks later. You didn’t Save All the Children just because you are dealing with a fish allergy, or give ourselves fake fears so we can then talk about how we’re Overcoming. Yes, Lots of Caps.
That’s all. Just be you, I’ll be me, and we’ll meet in the middle and have a grand time (where maybe there really IS pony rides and balloon animals).
*Confession: This hippie is totally one of ‘those’ people who buys all her meats, eggs, teas, etc. from local, organic, humane, and sustainable places… so I guess I can’t mock it.