Phoning It in

Improving my life was as easy as watching Netflix.

BAHAHAHA . . . yeah, right.

I took a break from Facebook in the month between my birthday and Christmas. I had already taken a ten day break and gotten back into my old habits of endlessly scrolling. That was when I realized that I required a serious detox; I was facing the holidays, the last few weeks of the semester, and the possible onset of seasonal depression. I quit cold turkey and loved it. I was better able to focus, I was more productive, I "had more time," and felt better overall.

The thing about social media is that it occupies my time, my brain, my eyes, and my hands. So if I'm scrolling, that is pretty much all I'm doing. This became apparent when I found myself looking to occupy myself while nursing. Phone in hand, but "unable" to access Facebook, I searched my apps and arrived in YouTube. I know that ideally I would have filled this gap in my behavior by reading a book, but trading up is better than staying where you are.

My stint on YouTube taught me the importance of knowing what I want from my media. Was I hoping to learn something? Feel something? Even if I was just looking to be entertained, making the conscious decision and searching for something that I was interested in was a more direct and efficient way of being entertained than Facebook scrolling. I found some vloggers I really enjoyed and learned a bit more about psychology, home, and financial planning. I tried to find videos that made me excited to do and be more. And, because I could passively watch, I could do other things at the same time.

I didn't give up my phone. It's actually possible that I used my phone even more. But I also used it more mindfully than I had been using it. Yeah, I watched a ton of Netflix. Like, I binged this ridiculous cop show that stars Josh Groban in less than a week. But I also got back in the habit of running every day. I gave back into my love of true crime via podcast, but I also got my dishes done, read my scriptures, and did some laundry. I don't want to tell you that giving up Facebook made me into Wonder Woman, but as I look back on winters past, I've done much better thus far. I still have days when I lose my patience and yell at my kids, have a messy house, or think I've submitted an assignment when I haven't. The difference is that I haven't spiralled out of control and continued to berate myself for all the ways I'm failing while compounding the problem by wasting more time and comparing myself against Facebook's Greatest Hits.

This wasn't a scientific study. I didn't isolate variables, so there's no way for me to know if this was a correlative or a causative relation. However, in Charles Duhigg's The Power of Habit: Why We Do What We Do in Life and Business, Duhigg describes something he calls keystone habits. Keystone habits are changes in routine that when implemented, are catalysts toward greater transformations than many other possible habits. Exercise and getting up earlier are keystone habits. I feel like for me, giving up Facebook was one of these keystone habits.  

As I approached the designated end to this experiment, I debated coming back. I'm afraid of a relapse. However, I cling to the concept that social media links me with friends and family that I am not ambitious enough to keep in touch with by more traditional means. So, I'm back, but I'm aware. I've set up some rules for myself so that I maintain control. I only log into Facebook on a computer, not on my phone. Rather than being an everyday occurrence, I'll pop in once a week ("Facebook Fridays!" *Gagging* How do I live with myself?) for half an hour. Limiting my time makes it more likely that as I'm logged in, I'll have specific people I'll want to check in on.

I heard an analogy in church once. Technology is a tool. We wouldn't grab a hammer and just start hitting things with it. We wouldn't find ourselves holding a hammer and think, "Hmm . . . I wonder what I could fix with this?" Rather, when we were working on a project that required a hammer, we'd fetch the hammer. My Facebook habits were me wandering aimlessly with a hammer, hitting random things and hoping I'd get something out of the experience. Surprise, surprise: I didn't. Ironically, I got much more out of intentionally binging Netflix. So, I guess what I'm saying here is: whatever you do, do it with purpose.  

The end.

Allow Time to Digest

A couple of days ago, something happened that stirred up a lot of people. You may be tired of hearing about that thing. This post is not a response to that thing, but rather a response to the responses to that thing. And a few other things.

First off, this thing that happened deeply upset a lot of people. That's why I was disappointed by the lack of patience, love, and attempts at understanding that I witnessed from both sides. Even some of those who were seemingly attempting to respond with love still came across as a bit cold and hurtful. I read many comment threads in which those who were grappling with this new information were further battered, rather than comforted.

We all believe certain things to be true, but there are some things (and certain times) that we don't need to share, regardless of their truth. It may be a fact that my dear friend is overweight. There is no time that I feel justified in pointing that truth out to her. It would not be kind. It would not build our friendship. It would not be helpful. Very often, these truths that we feel inclined to share at inopportune times are well-known by those with whom we are sharing. "Reminding them" does nothing but scrape an open wound they are attempting to heal.

When an issue like this becomes front and center, we feel a need to do something. Say something. Respond in some way. But hasty responses can do a lot of harm that we may never be aware of. I admire the friend who, upon learning this news, was somewhat hurt and confused, but responded, "I need some time to digest this." This is a matter that may require a bit of time to resolve. Some of us may never be 100% okay with it. I don't think that means that we still can't have strong testimonies. One of the more rankling comments I repeatedly hear is something to the effect of, "If you believe the prophet speaks with God to give us revelation then you shouldn't have any doubts." I respectfully disagree. I have a very strong testimony that the prophet, Thomas S. Monson, speaks for the Lord. That does not mean I have never felt anxious, concerned, confused, or sad about anything--even commandments or policies. It feels a little uncomfortable at times. I would say it even hurts. But I also believe that those times I am hurting are stretching me, molding me, and making me stronger. Eventually. In the meantime though, I feel a bit weak, vulnerable, and I need a little bit of extra love and understanding. The last thing I need is for people to freak out because I'm unsteady.

I sat in a church lesson awhile ago that made me squirm. The lesson was based on Rosemary M. Wixom's talk, "Returning to Faith." I loved this talk. The teacher didn't though, and admitted it up front. It made this teacher uneasy to listen to a story of a young mother who had questions about the gospel. And this concern/panic began before the young mother had even left the church--it was off and running at the first mention of doubt. And throughout the young mother's story of questioning, learning, growing, and returning to the church, this well-meaning teacher continued to interject expressions of alarm. It made me incredibly uncomfortable to see what had been for me a calming, reassuring lesson in persisting in spite of doubts turned on its head.

I saw this same discomfort with others' uncertainty present in the faith-filled responses of many. I am very glad that there are so many strong members who have not struggled with this issue. If you are one of them, I commend you. I also ask though, that you be patient with the rest of us. This is a sensitive issue that can merit some deep concerns. They will likely not be resolved in immediate response to something seen on social media, or shared by friends. It is great that you have answers as to why this thing is right and good, but those are your answers. You can feel free to share them if it feels right, but be prepared to realize that they may not assuage the anxiety of those in the midst of questioning. They will need to find their own answers in their own time. As much as we may wish to fix the problems of others and heal their hurts, we can't always do so. Occasionally, we may only offer hugs and prayers as others undergo their trials of faith. They, in time, can be prepared to do the same for us when we encounter our own uncertainties.

I think it's worth noting that not everyone who asks why is on their way to leaving the church. For those who are, it is not something that will come easily. Many who leave have struggled to stay for a long time. The gospel has become an integral part of them, and separating themselves from something that has been so dear to them for so long causes a great deal of pain. I think that whether our doubts lead us to apostasy or not, we all need a gentle environment in which to question.

Remember those things we believe but don't need to share? I keep hearing a lot of people saying, "I see this as a weeding-out of members." *Cringe.* I don't doubt that this issue will try many. It may even be a reason for departure from the church for many. I'm not going to bring that opinion to a public forum where struggling members may read it. 

You know the thing about weeding? I have zealously weeded strange plants from my flower beds only to discover months later that these "weeds" were some of the most beautiful flowers. I just wasn't familiar enough with them to properly distinguish them from weeds. We also learn from the parable of the wheat and the tares that if we attempt to weed in areas where wheat and tares have grown together, pulling the tares can result in the loss of some wheat. For that reason, tares were allowed to grow up with the wheat, and were sorted after harvest.

This is not my garden. These wheat, tares, flowers, and weeds are real people--our friends, our family, and those in our neighborhoods. Their souls are what's at stake here, not just a few missed flowers. That is why I trust the care of this garden to an all-wise gardener. As Hugh B. Brown's brilliant talk (which was made into a lovely Mormon Message) states in its title, "God Is the Gardener." This entire issue is one that I don't completely understand. My only peace comes from knowing that God is the one who is doing the weeding and pruning. Let's leave that to Him, please.

As we engage in tricky discussions, let's do our best to make our love and understanding increase relative to the sensitivity of the issues. While we may speak out in favor of our beliefs or correct factual inaccuracies, we should engage in such discussions with the utmost care. Regardless of whether we fully accept changes yet or not we all need love at this challenging time. Allow time for the Spirit to work in others so that they may receive their own answers and support them. Realize that, despite your wishes, you may not have their answer, and that's okay. Above all, remember that we are all children of God, and our words can deeply affect each other. 

"Be thou humble; and the Lord thy God shall lead thee by the hand, and give thee answer to thy prayers.

I know thy heart, and have heard thy prayers concerning thy brethren. Be not partial towards them in love above many others, but let thy love be for them as for thyself; and let thy love abound unto all men, and unto all who love my name."

(D&C 112:10-11)

Hard Decisions: In Defense of the Vanilla I Have Chosen

I once had a teacher share a story about a sports team whose motto was “Vanilla. Choose the hard thing!” (or something like that). The saying was supposed to represent the difficulty in life when decisions have to be made. In an ice cream shop filled with many options, what's harder than skipping the extravagance and going for the plain, boring, and traditional vanilla? Sometimes those are the decisions that have to be made, right?

But there are people who actually like vanilla. On a recent trip to the store, my little sister was allowed to choose the ice cream. After looking over all the options, she opted for vanilla. As my mom and I teased her about how unacceptable vanilla was (“What sorts of choices will you make in your life if you can't even properly choose ice cream flavors?”) and she pretended she had made a hasty decision (“Cookies and cream? Yeah! I didn't even see that one!”), we went with the more interesting flavor and abandoned vanilla. But I could see by the look in her eyes that she really would have liked vanilla. After all, when you rarely get ice cream, even vanilla is a treat.

As a vanilla person myself, I understand this. And when I say I'm a “vanilla person,” I don't simply mean that I enjoy vanilla Frostys more than their original counterpart. I mean that I'm somewhat bland in comparison to some of the other people here in the ice cream shop of life. I don't skydive and live dangerously. I'm not gorgeous or famous. I'm not trying to cure cancer or rid the world of hunger because I've already accepted that those aren't the stars for which I'm shooting anymore.

It wasn't an easy conclusion. Like every child in America, I was raised on school assignments of “What Would You Do If You Were President of the United States?” and fantasies of becoming a pop star over night. Admitting my mediocrity in the world was tough—and I'm not saying this in a dejected, woe-is-me way. I'm just saying, in a matter-of-fact way, that I'm like everyone else. I mean, I think I'm cool, but it's just an average kind of cool. So, I gave up my more far-fetched ambitions of being a real-life princess-astronaut who moonlights as Bill Nye the Science Guy's assistant and “settled” for something rather vanilla by comparison that I had dreamed of doing far before anything else.

Thus, I became a mother. And I do believe that so far, it has rivaled my previous dreams for excitement, joy, and all-out flavor. The thing about vanilla ice cream, choices, and people is that we are flexible. We go well with chocolate syrup, birthday cake, and sprinkles. We do well in all sorts of circumstances, and no matter what the other options might have been. And as one who likes vanilla, I'm quite happy with the choice I have made, hard as it may have been. I've got all the sweetness I could ever want.

Cheap Yogurt and Hypocrisy at Walmart

Walmart is an interesting place. There are people who will smile back at you when you smile at them, and there are people who won't. We all come together in this one place to purchase almost anything we could want or need, and we all respond to that opportunity differently. Sometimes we get stressed about how many other people are doing the exact thing we are: just shopping and minding their own business. I often catch myself hypocritically feeling like I have a right to be the only one in the store. “WHY DOES EVERYBODY ALWAYS HAVE TO SHOP AT THE SAME TIME I COME?” *Ahem.* Please excuse my outburst(s).

My grandma likes to tell me about how she enjoys psychoanalyzing people according to the contents of their carts. She invents stories about what kind of people they are because they have healthy/unhealthy food in their carts. Well, as much as I may judge people in my head, I try not to be too harsh because I know my cart must be giving healthy people a laugh heartier than their oatmeal. And I always try to keep my judgments to myself.

This is a lesson I learned while shopping at thrift stores with my sisters. No matter how ridiculous the item you are mocking, there WILL be someone who comes up right after hearing your “Who would buy this?” who will pick it up and buy it. Always. So, I try to discreetly whisper about how silly certain items are, instead of broadcasting it to the entire store. And though the local DI's sales have dramatically decreased, my embarrassment has followed suit. I consider this to be a win.

Unfortunately, a lady in the yogurt aisle today had not learned this lesson. I was minding my own business and making my way toward the cheap, store-brand yogurts that are, I know, less nutritious (but also much cheaper) than name brand yogurts that are all-natural with great probiotics and such. As I approached, I listened as a woman loudly explain to her children that she would be buying GREEK yogurt, and that they could have some. Her children evidently didn't want Greek yogurt because they continued to pester her to have a different type of yogurt: “But moooom, look, strawberry banana!” To which she replied even louder than before: “NO. Those yogurts are full of sugar and artificial colors!”

So, I paused for a second and tried to decide what to do since I was heading right for some colored sugar myself. Should I grab a more healthy yogurt? Just because some stranger lady was berating her children in the dairy section? No. I'm better than that. I would have my cheap, inferior yogurt.

I toyed with the idea of walking past and circling around again after the yogurt aisle was deserted, but decided that was taking the easy way out. Not to mention it would be utterly ridiculous! I don't know why I found it so intimidating to just walk up and get my darn yogurt while a woman argued with her children about the nutritional downfall of normal yogurts, but I did. For just a second. I mean, it's not like she made an example out of me after I left by telling her kids “See, what happens to you if you consume sugar and coloring? You'll be like that girl!” If anything, she probably just judged me quietly, like my grandma would. I mean, what kind of person comes home from Walmart and obsesses with people they saw in the yogurt aisle . . . ?

And thus the hypocrisy continues.

Heads or Tails

Coincidence? When reading C.S. Lewis, I think not. I find so much symbolism within his Chronicles of Narnia that I have a hard time dismissing any bits that I find to be consistent with my beliefs. And while he may not have intended for all my insights to be taken symbolically, I dare not discredit his genius by suggesting otherwise.

Melody and I have been working our way through the Chronicles of Narnia. (We read The Magician's Nephew and just finished The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe.) Obviously, it's her first time through. I've read them several times, though, and every time I read them I discover something new to think about. This time through, I've been thinking about the creatures of Narnia.

First off, Narnia contains ordinary animals as well as an elite group that was given the ability to talk. These talking animals are set apart and respected more than their mute counterparts. For example, talking horses are only ridden in times of emergency—such as war, and no talking animal is to be used for food. They are elevated because of their gift of speech.

Many Narnians have a mixture of human and animal bodies, giving them more than just the speech of humans. There are centaurs, fauns, satyrs, minotaurs, and more. And what truly struck me was that generally, those who side with Aslan are those with human heads and animal legs or bodies—like the centaurs and fauns. Those who side with the White Witch may have bodies or characteristics that would make them seem human, but their heads are animal heads. We can see this contrast directly with the “Bull with the man's head” who makes his camp with Aslan and the “bull-headed men” who are present with the witch at the stone table in Lion, Witch and Wardrobe. Both are a conglomeration of man and bull, but it seems significant that the bull-headed men are not simply referred to as minotaurs. And why choose to include such an odd creature as a bull with a man's head? I think this is an intentional message Lewis is sending readers: use your head!

Seriously. Our capacity to reason is unparalleled by any beast—or at least it should be. Unfortunately, I find myself a bit “bull-headed” at times. In my obstinance and failure to reason, I succumb to my more basic instincts and find myself in violation of the first instructions Aslan gave Narnia following its creation in The Magician's Nephew: “[A]wake. Love. Think. Speak.” I may be awake and speaking (although, as a sleep-talker not even the awake part is guaranteed), but I often forget about loving and thinking before I speak. And I think the order of the instructions matters greatly; simply speaking does not a good Narnian make—for this is where the foolish and wicked Narnians separate themselves from those who think and do good.

It was possible for animals who could once talk to lose the ability. Some talking animals did not think, but they loved. Others thought but didn't love. The noblest characters—animal, human, or hybrid—spoke only after loving and thinking.

I hope that my human head and my gift of speech aren't being wasted . . . that my reason and choices keep me in the realm of the human, rather than that of the beast.

Freedom and reason make us men;

Take these away, what are we then?

Mere animals, and just as well

The beasts may think of heav'n or hell.

LDS Hymn #240, Verse 3