I know...

Most of you have probably stopped reading. Why? Because there was nothing to read. (I know, so logical).

And now you wonder if I’m tempting you with a cruel morsel or an appetizer with promises of a coming meal. I can’t really tell you. I don’t know…that.

I can tell you I bought a dress, a really cool dress. One that is a size too small. It has been sitting on my dresser, with the receipt, awaiting replacement. I left it there when I hoisted on a pack of survival gear and marched proudly into Yosemite with two friends. I stressed over weather, bears, elevation, pain in my calves, rations of food, and water supply. My body smelled, my hair was gnarly, and the people I passed (mostly guys) gave me major props.

I’ll admit, the props were nice, seriously nice, as the pain grew worse, the vista’s more beautiful and the mind more doubtful (was I crazy?!). Yet, at the end of it all, I didn’t want the props or the pictures. I wanted my husband.

With facebook and blogs and pinterest, it’s more possible than ever to compare myself to others and seek validation in a tangible way (‘likes’, ‘comments’, ‘pings’). It’s easier than ever to find and press the “cool button”. My dress is just another password in a long line I’ve collected to get “in” the world around me.

But as vestiges of my college days filter through my memory, I wonder if, like the backpacking trip, I’m caught up in the props while missing something very different. In the crash-course of wilderness survival, life lessons often crystallize very nicely. But not here in the real world.

I suspect that easy access to the coolness of others has slowly distracted me. I pour energy into comparison and acquisition and reconstruction of my life according to others. I used to pour energy into being a good friend, into the act of relating. Have I subtlety become obsessed with my own image at the expense of others?

It’s more complicated, of course, than just a switch of focus. Relating to others has become more difficult as the adult world with it’s distance, schedules, and commitments, tear us from the easy proximity of college dormitories and shared walks to the cafeteria or roommates across the apartment hallway. Relating now is popcorn style, once a week here or there. Everyone seems fine with it. My own husband doesn’t seem to require much relating to be content. So why not fill up all the holes with things that look sharp or function well or garner me props/likes/comments/pins, a way to make everything feel valuable?

Well, because I KNOW the better way. I’ve been there before. I just don’t know quite how to make it work in this new post-college/married/electronic world in which I find myself. Perhaps the best way to start is to return the dress and to continue to search for the right ‘yes’ and the right ‘no’. Even if those ways are small, I think together they’ll begin to make a difference.