A Non-Instagram Life

I've been noticing something happening a lot lately. Phone in hand, Instagram on screen, I hear people say, 

"Why can't I look like that."

"Oh my, she's literally perfect."

"She has the perfect family."

And such. I even say it sometimes too, when I see a picture of a particularly beautiful girl or cute outfit, or, or, or, or...

I wonder why my life doesn't look as happy as the photo on Instagram/Pinterest/Facebook. I wonder what people do to make their lives so perfect. I see their pictures and I wonder what I'm doing wrong: why don't I feel that happy/beautiful/confident all the time like they do?

Then I take a second to think and I ask myself: 

What in the world am I doing comparing my LIFE to a PICTURE?

My camera, which is a pretty nice DSLR, can capture a snapshot in approximately five hundredths of a second, and I think that is someone's life? I see a snapshot of perfect curls, a beautiful smile, impeccable make-up and somehow convince myself that that is the life they are living.

Well, note to self:

"Their life does not look like it does on Instagram/Pinterest/Facebook. And neither does yours."

At any given time, you most likely will NOT find me in a newly-sewn dress with my hair curled, or a newly-sewn skirt, holding an umbrella, looking contemplatively out toward a romantically stormy sky.

Wanna know why? Because we document the times that are happy for us. The good things we do or that happen to us. We live in a very individualistic and independent society where asking for help or appearing dependent on someone or something else is frowned upon. Unless we need the attention, why would we post our struggles or our doubts or our moments of weakness?

 I don't do a self-portrait of myself right after I've cried, with my mascara streaming, red eyes, and hair in a frizzy mess. I take pictures of myself and document moments in my life when I'm happy or feel pretty.

Believe me when I say it: I DON'T ALWAYS LOOK LIKE THIS.

In fact, I hardly EVER do.

But there are lots of times that I wear my blue silky pajama pants and force a smile

or when I don't even force a smile

or when I get scared

or when I just slick my hair back with a head band because I just don't care

or when I tie a purple bandanna with the knot on top instead of a headband

or when I'm happy, but I still just don't look so good.

 Lots of days, I don't do my hair. I wear sweatshirts a lot. I don't cook delicious and healthy meals. I don't do really exciting stuff. I don't wake up looking all nice and pretty. I sometimes feel sad and lonely. 

But some days, I do my hair, or cook a nice meal, or do something exciting. And those are the days when I take pictures. And that's okay! Just as long as I remind myself that the situation is similar for most of the people in the world.

Basically, my point is that people aren't perfect. This especially includes me. I'm going to try to remember that the next time I see what looks like a picture of a "perfectly" happy person with "perfect" hair and a "perfect" body and a "perfect" smile and a "perfect" life.

So here's to the Non-Intagram Life, because with one exception, NO ONE IS PERFECT, even if their Instagram makes them look like it:

Perfection is a myth, and that's okay.

xoxo CPTVPT

A Metaphor of Repentance

Sledding is interesting. You hop on a piece of plastic and slide down a snow-covered hill for about ten seconds of thrill, and then you make the trek back up. The ride down is exhilarating and exciting, but eventually it comes to an end and you have to make a choice.

Do you sit at the bottom of the hill forever and ever? Or do you get up, sling the sled over your shoulder and make the trek up the hill? They say that what goes up, must come down, but what about things that go down? Must they come back up?

What about in life, i n sin or when mistakes are made. You know you probably shouldn't but it just seems so fun--exhilarating, exciting--but eventually, you hit the bottom. What I've noticed about those who are able to rise above their past and those who can't, is whether they choose to sit at the bottom, or make the climb back up.

It's not easy. It's always easier to slip and let go and not care, but what does it bring you? A memory of a ride downhill and a reminder that you're still at the bottom.

If you choose the hard way, taking it one step at a time, you will find yourself at the top of the hill looking out over the lower ground, seeing your sledding track down the hillside, others at the bottom who also took the ride, and every footstep you took to make it back.

Standing there at the top, you see a snowflake gently fall from the sky. Then another, and another. The sky is full of snowflakes drifting down and you turn your face to meet them. A moment of serenity and peace among the falling flakes and complete quiet. You look down and the hillside is covered in a blanket of fresh, white snow. But wait, where are the sledding tracks? No trace. They've been covered, wiped out, no longer noticeable.

There are, however, still footsteps, but how can that be? Because others are continuously making the journey up the hill and you are there to lend a hand and pull them up the last few feet. There, you stand together looking out over the valley, a perspective from higher ground, a commonness in your struggle,  a companionship in the faith that the journey up the hill was--and always will be--worth it, and a knowledge that snow, pure white snow, will always cover the tracks of those who make the choice to climb the hill.

Hello...Again

This is one of many various attempts to start a blog. I used to be an excellent journaller (that isn't a word by the way)...as in, I wrote consistently. When I go back and read my journal, however, I realize I was not an excellent writer. It was a basic outline of my day, and that was all. My goal with this blog is not to write consistently: it is to write meaningfully. Hopefully my new attempt with a fresh mindset will reflect in my posts as I write about whatever I happen to have going on in my mind.