In his book Walden, Henry David Thoreau writes, “Every generation laughs at the old fashions, but follows religiously the new.” Considering that I love this season’s off-the-shoulder tops and chokers as much as I now cringe to think of the overalls and bucket hats I
I was learning something I didn’t see coming. Before he was ‘Dad’, he was ‘Ricky.’ Before there was me, there was this place.
Throwing yourself in the face of the “going alone” stigma is scary, sure, but there are also distinct positives to being your own company.
When friendships or relationships become distorted based on what we believe about them, how can we keep a perspective of truly attempting to see the best?
Let’s root out jealously, envy, pride in our own lives in a way that allows us to celebrate other people's accomplishments.
When two people have been doing life one way and then begin the journey of marriage, differences will inevitably surface. You're not alone if you feel like this is harder than you imagined.
Writing is a lot like like gardening. When we’re willing to get our hands dirty, the blank page becomes a space to cultivate and sustain life — a little plot for growing seeds that, when exposed to just the right slant of sunlight, blossom into nourishing fruit. But as any gardener would know, there’s an art, a cadence to growing green things: A season for uprooting, and another for tilling. Next, a time for waiting while the elements work their magic. Then, finally, the harvest.
The same rhythm rings true in growing ourselves. Thankfully, unlike actual gardening, storytelling requires no green thumb. You don’t even have to identify as a writer to reap the benefits of writing — you just have to want to do the work.
Whether we wish we could serve the poor and alleviate suffering like Mother Teresa or pioneer critical scientific research like Marie Curie, we all dream of doing beautiful, world-changing things with our lives. Yet, no matter how much we might long to follow in the footsteps of such women, who in fact believes themselves capable of that kind of greatness?
Perhaps we can imagine ourselves doing so in the future — when we are “older and wiser” — but in our present, imperfect condition? Hardly.
For just a minute, try to remember what it felt like to be five years old. The half-second lag at the top of the swings, the smell of fresh cut summer grass, the feeling of sand in every crevice of your swimsuit. As children, our sidewalk chalk drawings were Picasso’s and our bicycles were magic carpets. We colored the world with crayons, curiosity, and laughter.
Children possess a special kind of contagious optimism that carries them through their small lives. They are blissfully unfazed by the opinions of others. Through all the scraped knees and playground splinters, they continue to try new things and peak out at the world through a lens of joy. Their hearts are bigger, their blues are bluer, and their afternoons are longer. Can you remember how good it felt to be that full of wonder?
We have all been witness to somebody saying “I’m so OCD!” as a means to get a point across that he or she is very particular, detail-oriented and organized. Brands like Obsessive Compulsive Cosmetics have been using this term as a way to market their products as something we ‘need.’
The media has also been throwing around this term, rather carelessly, as being a trait one would aspire to have instead of it being a serious disorder. For example, Khloe Kardashian has a regular segment on her website titled KHLO-C-D. During each segment she demonstrates to her followers how she organizes her cookie jar, packs for an upcoming trip or rearranges her closet. Is such branding an innocent advertising tool, or is it instead stigmatizing to those whom live with this disorder?
The truth is, using this term inaccurately can be quite offensive and hurtful to somebody living with actual Obsessive Compulsive Disorder (OCD). What does it mean to have OCD? Tackling the myths of this serious disorder is the first step to decrease the inaccurate use of the term and bring awareness to those who are suffering.
As troubling as it is, it’s not uncommon to hear someone negatively refer to another as being “so bipolar.” This term can be used as a way to conceptualize your boss’ behavior after he looses his cool during a meeting (no way it could be due to the recent missed deadlines … right?) or to describe your partner during a relationship dispute (again, I did nothing wrong … he is “bipolar”).
We all have that friend who is emotionally unpredictable, impulsive and just plain moody (we all know the type ), but does that mean they are suffering from the serious mental illness that is bipolar disorder? Not only can the incorrect and lax use of this word be offensive, but it also infers that those who are living with bipolar disorder have a choice in the matter. That could not be further from the truth.
What exactly does it mean to have (yes, have … not be) bipolar? Below, the common myths of this very serious disorder are discussed.
With technology dominating our ever-evolving world, society is becoming dependant on constant interaction. Checking Instagram while we wait for our coffee, scrolling Facebook when out to lunch with friends, constantly Snapchatting our every waking move. While technology has allowed us to overcome communication gaps and connected us in many ways, it has seemingly allowed us to abandon any comfort in silence.
Remember driving around with parents and friends and getting lost in your thoughts or in the cars passing by? Or sitting down at the dinner table and having moments where everyone was silent, not because they were typing away at their emails and texts, but just because they were eating? We used to greet these moments of comfortable silence daily; should they be encountered now, they simply leave us fidgeting.
I was struck by this quote by my friend and Darling contributor Katherine Wolf from her newly released book Hope Heals:
I imagine most of us have fairly straightforward pictures in our heads about what our lives will look like and who we’ll become. When something happens that is not inside the four corners of that picture we view it as a detour and hope to get back on track as quickly as possible. So what happens when you take a detour and can’t ever get back to the original picture?
You can categorize failure any way you’d like: A malfunction of daily life, the flop of a once brilliant idea, the breakdown of a concept you believed in, but it’s all the same. This didn’t work. Depending on how badly it didn’t work, you could still be cringing ten years from now.
But it doesn’t have to be that way.
Many of us spend so much time focusing on the catastrophe itself, we’re unable to step back and see these little fiascos for what they are: Tiny moments where we manufacture our lives. It’s like our life is an assembly line made up of experiences instead of machine parts. You can’t think of your disasters as failures because they are the very essence of maturity. They usher us in to the era of good decision making and wisdom.
The inner voice. The one that narrates and ponders and analyzes and dreams. It’s always there, guiding us through life and moving us along. And – like we’ve all heard before – it has tremendous power to shape our lives, depending on what we feed it.
While we’re aware how negative thoughts breed negative self-image, what about the thoughts that aren’t so easy to categorize as either negative or positive? What happens when our inner voices are littered with questions?
Is this dress flattering? Can I pull off this color? Would I look foolish if I tried something new?
“How are you?”
The question we all ask most often, that sits stale on our tongues and is received with numb ears and returns to us with an equally unoriginal response. We find it suitable for passing, as it’s been reduced to a courtesy rather than a conversation. It’s the most inquisitive we are usually willing to be.
Einstein once said, “I have no special talent, I am only passionately curious.” And it is this kind of passionate curiosity that allows us to learn; it’s the same practice seen in scientific research, in job interviews, in seeking a faith, on a first date. We cannot know answers until we ask questions.
But our society somewhat lost the art of asking questions when answers are google-able and social media reveals much of what we want to know. There seems to be little left to discover, and this attitude becomes especially problematic as we interact with the world and people around us; we become overly self-involved and lacking in curiosity.
There’s a jar sitting on my desk with dull pencils and writing pens branching different directions like flower stems. I grab one when I want to write, sometimes in the early morning before a long day in the office or late at night when everyone is sleeping. This simple glass holds my growing boldness, proclaiming, “I am a writer.” For many this statement is arrogant because if anyone claims to be an artist in any way, they must hold court in concert halls across the globe, have their work housed in world-famous museums, or make the New York Times bestseller list.
I don’t retract or make apologies though— I am a writer— because of that, I am also an artist. Perhaps you are, too. If you want to declare yourself as one but feel uncertain, then here are three reasons why you should (even if you’ve never sold a painting).
Winter can be a long, dark season, especially when you live in the land of endless snow. This time of year, it can be grey for weeks on end, the temperatures are sub-zero on a regular basis and the wind just cuts to the bone. It’s natural to look at this season as something to endure, a time of year to plow through and just barely survive, and hope against hope that our toes eventually warm up.
But no matter how often we give winter the cold shoulder in the hope that our disregard will eventually cause it to get the hint and stop dropping by, it continues to visit, year after year. So, you know what? I think it’s time for a new approach.
“I’m not smart,” she said, her eyes wide with pain.
I never get used to the heartbreaking words I often hear from the little brown couch in my counseling office. Labels can be difficult to peel off once they stick. We wear beliefs about ourselves like tattoos – messages about who we are that have become a part of our identity.
Intelligence is no exception. Somehow “smart” has become something that we either are or are not. It’s easy to understand how our perspective has been shaped the way it has. After all, most schools and many workplaces tend to measure and celebrate a very specific kind of intelligence. Not all of us have been given a safe place to display our particular brand of “smart.”
Embrace. The dictionary describes this seven-letter word as, “an act of accepting or supporting something willingly or enthusiastically.” Throughout every professional’s career, there are numerous stages that are positively embraced with open arms and a megawatt smile: The job offer, promotion, raise, title change, etc.
But in the years spliced between each of these hard-earned achievements is the sweat, tears, sleepless nights, frustrations and moments of hopelessness that can entice us to ignore the present and fantasize about what could be.
Mingalarbar (pronounced in a sing song-y way “Ming-ga-la-ba) is the cheerful greeting you hear at every turn in Bagan, but this time it was a warning. “Miss. There is a cobra in there. In the back. He lives in the brick wall right there!” A young, maybe 10-year-old kid with his colorful school bag strapped to him had just warned me as he followed me on his old gas-fuming motorbike. “Really? A snake? Cobra?” Hoping my one word questions would prove he said the wrong thing.
“Yes, do you want to see?”
New Year, new you. Sound familiar? We’ve all heard it. Many of us have said it; even fewer of us feel any assurance in our ability to make it come true. Resolutions fly about as wayward as falling snow. We make promises for health, fitness, family, or friends. But so often there’s this semi-joking expectation of failure. And that preemptive guilt, that fear of disappointing before you’ve even begun, can paralyze our potential for progress.
I am still learning
About this thing we call life and how it works
And how we keep time here on this earth
How do we mark heaven here below
And find its mercy in our melancholy?
How do we bring it down to our hearts
And keep it there the whole year through
I do not know, do you?
Whether we like it or not, our jobs and the people we work with have a way of shaping who we are. Over the past year and a half of working for Darling Magazine I have grown and learned a lot, but the following are three key lessons that stand out to me the most:
I entered college pre-med biology. Four years went by and I graduated with a bachelors degree in English writing and rhetoric.
Needless to say, the identity I had entered college with was second-guessed and shaken multiple times. For example, I had looked at my roommate’s life and wanted to implement her characteristics of tidiness, planning, and dedication to schoolwork as my own. I wanted her four-year (and then some) plan, and when I realized it wasn’t in me to create one, I felt insecure instead of realizing that not everyone takes the same road to reach a destination.
For a moment, I saw the person I should be and the person I clearly wasn’t all at once. What is it that causes us to question our entire integrity based not on our own attributes, but on the ones we lack when compared to someone else?
Growing up, I wanted to be a professional figure skater — wait, who didn’t? I would watch the likes of Oksana Baiul, Nancy Kerrigan and Kurt Browning (whom I loved because he has my same birthday) and my heart would soar with dreams of becoming an elite athlete.
There was something about their confidence, the beauty of their talent and elegance that drew me in. In 7th grade, I decided to get serious. I told my mom I wanted to be homeschooled in order to take figure skating lessons every morning at 6am and ballet lessons in the evening so I could become a competitive skater.
Compete I did. Make it to the Olympics? Not really … but it’ still a secret skill that I can bust out around the holidays on the local skating rink [smile].
I’m a dreamer. This fact was made clear to me at an early age through my tendency to obsessively set goals and see just how fast I could achieve them. I’ve lived most of my life with one foot in the future, allowing my brain space to be consumed by who I would be someday instead of who I was right then.
Though I hate to admit it, the thrill of imagining how I would feel about myself and my life if my dreams were realized was often more satisfying than living in the “not yet” of the present. As a result, it became easy for my dreams to feel more like burdens – ideas and goals that weighed on my mind and heart until they were complete. This was only made more challenging by the fact that I usually had more dreams than any one season of life could hold.
Growing up on the east coast meant many things: Summer thunderstorms, fall leaves that just won’t quit, and the requisite 5th grade trip to Williamsburg, VA.
You’d clutch your brown paper lunch as you walked past wig makers and silversmiths to the town square where the tour guide in a three cornered, felted hat would stop quite suddenly. There before him were two tall wooden contraptions with holes for arms and a neck.
The stocks.
Theodore Roosevelt once said, “Comparison is the thief of joy.” It approaches silently, incrementally. It has the ability to hijack even the most confident of individuals and leave them with thoughts of inadequacy and unworthiness.
And nowhere does comparison seem to creep up faster than as we approach our 30th birthday.
Recently, I created a list of things I wanted to do: Go to my favorite cycling class at the gym. Finish all books sitting on my coffee table. Crack open my new cookbook for the first time. Volunteer at the library.
I’ve been between jobs for the last six weeks, so I’ve been taking advantage of the one thing that I have quite a bit of: time.