The Names We Give Ourselves

I gave into the Facebook craze, back when using it was new and pretty necessary.  When you friended people you never even met before going to college, because they were from your state. Or who can forget the time you were friends online with someone but failed to speak to them in real life? Awkward!  Social media underwent some refinement, and more focused forums were born.  I discovered Tweeting and Pinning much later in the game and am still getting acquainted. Personally, I am more fond of Pinterest because it is visually appealing, customizable, and a catalyst for fun projects. Twitter more than fills its niche, though; I just have a problem with brevity perhaps.

Both forums allot the user a limited amount of characters to explain his or herself, like a pitch of sorts. To condense your whole person into a partial paragraph, or a collection of fragments is tricky. Most people want to share as much information as possible, because in essence social media accounts are components of your personal brand. What you post and how you post shape how you're perceived whether you like it or not. And the people/entities you follow comprise the content you are bombarded with day in and out, so choose wisely. Ideally, there will be people that find you just exceptional enough to follow back.

Part of navigating the social media space means wading through users to find what and whom are relevant to your taste. Most intriguing to me is how people describe themselves. A great deal of blurbs I have seen look something like this: I am a motivational speaker, juggler, painter, photographer, dog walker, illusionist, cheese expert, poker player, and firefighter. In my spare time, I catch crocodiles, drink pickle juice, and recite the decimals of pi in reverse.  Ok, not exactly this extreme... but close.

More realistically, people still list off four or five professions in one sentence. And I think, "Wow, what an accomplished human. What have I done!?" But, are we actully all of these things? Likely not, because there are not enough hours in the day to accommodate the exhaustive dedication to each of these fields required to gain proficiency. Unless you have a personal assistant. Then anything is possible, I bet.  

I also ask myself, what are the metrics we use in determining what we are? Is it subjective, based on how we look at ourselves and what traits we most value? For example, if one time I went on a camping trip, have I earned the badge of avid outdoorsman? If one uses Instagram, does that make him or her miraculously a photographer? Or, is it more declarative and indisputable like I am B negative, Diabetic, or Sicilian? You publish a book or get paid to write things; you're a writer. When do we earn the right to say that we are something?

Take this blog for example. I call myself a foodie because I love to eat, not because I know everything there is to know about food or have impeccable taste. The simpler the food the better for me, actually. Good bread and some cheese will suffice. Don't know much about wine. I prefer coffee watered down. Fond of fake sushi (the kind with cooked elements like tempura shrimp). If James takes me to Sonic for a date night, I'm a happy girl. I also just really enjoy the sensory experience of making/eating food. By someone else's assessment, the title may be totally off. Foodie just sounded less gluttonous than eater so I went with it.  

Regardless, we all identify with traits or skills that make us feel worth. If what gives you a feeling of value is also your occupation, then more power to you! Oftentimes home life, hobbies, and volunteer pursuits are where feelings of worth really flourish. Either way, it is clear that people want to contribute, and find their niche. A space all their own in this ellaborate universe.  I for one would like to find the one or two things I can get good enough at to say I am a insert title here. But, there is also something appealing about dabbling. Being well rounded and knowing a little bit about a lot of things. 

In the spirit of social media here are the names I would give myself - Francesca: a contributer, lyric-messer upper, card maker, semi-professional food taster, sticker collector, mystery aficionado, adequate speller, aspiring maker, domestic dabbler, old soul, cookbook hoarder, during-the-movie-question-asker. Most importantly: a grandaughter, daughter, sister, partner, and friend. 

What are yours?   

On Marriage

I am certainly no authority on marriage; nor do I claim to be. But every so often you come across something that makes you stop and consider. This video is one of those things. 

A bit of background: My colleague, Mike, is recently married. He was actually married the week I started working at Look North. What is so special about this coincidence is I am able to celebrate my anniversary of having found a home at work, at the same time he is celebrating milestones as husband to Grace. Mike and I, along with Greg and Joanna ( another married couple I admire and also my colleagues) all love to eat, so we find many things to celebrate over good food. Beyond mealtime conversations between bites of falafel, and the daily web design and development process, we share personal triumphs too. Enter Mike and Grace's wedding trailer, below.

This video was poignant for lots of reasons. Primarily because I am a giant sap, but also because I believe in love. These kinds of messages are far too under publicized.

Marriage is a complicated institution, and is not an end all for happiness; not in the least. But for people who choose to enter into such a union, there are many stressful preparatory elements to consider, one of the most prominent being the wedding itself. There are television series (plural) focused on the monster like behavior some brides adopt during the planning phase. (Or maybe they were monsters to begin with?) Beyond this perversion of personality, there is the material preparation. The ring, the venue, the dress, the menu, the favors, the ceremony. The invitations too. All of these elements sometimes complicate the underlying objective: being married. 

Please don't misunderstand me. Weddings are a significant event, one people likely envision for a long time before/if it happens.  Planning an event, however, probably shouldn't receive more attention than cultivating the life you make with another person, a person you hopefully love. I more than most, love a good piece of cake and dressing up, but I also imagine the craze over the day itself is fleeting. The union entered will carry on far beyond that night, ideally. Depending on the size of your fete, finanical strain may last quite a while too! Side note: Invitations and confections are critical to any event, regardless. If you have need of these things, check out my uber talented cousin Angela.

Marriage shouldn't be a last resort, or an obligation. It shouldn't be a party and a honeymoon. Nor a construct of culture we have to conform to. It is not to be measured in the price tag of a gown, tally of utensils on the table, price per head, or number of karats.  It should simply be a choice. A choice to love another person enough to confront this complicated world by their side, for better or worse. To be faithful. To think of him or her, before yourself...

But what do I know!? If you want to learn a thing or two about marriage, ask my Nana. She and Papa will be married 59 years, this November. He bought her an iPad; bless them.

Everyone smiles

In metropolitan regions, people walking quickly, with either their head down or their eyes fixed on a mobile device is a prevalent behavior. Nose in a Kindle, ear buds plugged in, and a suspended awareness of the world around us is all too common. As much as I like to think otherwise, I do most of these things, quote often and sometimes simultaneously.

There seems to be a stigma around smiling at strangers. People walking towards one another in a hallway or on a narrow sidewalk rather risk face planting while appearing occupied than just well, looking at a person, acknowledging their presence, and perhaps even smiling at them. The fear of being rejected is probably an underlying cause of this. No one wants to be the smiler who gets ignored, or worse receive that look where it appears the other person has something foul smelling right below their nostrils. You know that look. Think back to junior high school if you have trouble visualizing it. Every so often though, people do smile... sometimes at each other even. But you have to put your iPad aside to notice it. 

When I am not scrolling through Instagram or texting while I walk, I notice subtle things around me, sweet things. (For the purpose of keeping this an optimistic dialogue, we will disregard the encounters that leave us utterly pissed off and wanting so deeply to scream some choice four letter words.) Of these rewarding subtleties, not all even pertain to me. Observing people and their behavior is one of my indulgences. Think of it as the more refined older sister to people watching. People watching with meaning.  

A perk of my job is on some Fridays I get to take this little lady for a walk. She rushes for no one, bless her.

A perk of my job is on some Fridays I get to take this little lady for a walk. She rushes for no one, bless her.

When the phone is away with eyes and ears open, the wall that technology sometimes erects comes down; people see other people. And they smile. They smile with their mouths, just their eyes or both. Everyone smiles when you are walking a waddling chocolate lab, who has a mind of her own and stops in the middle of the road to take a breather. Everyone smiles when an elderly couple is holding hands, strolling ever so slowly as if there was nowhere in the world they rather be. 

When a small child reaches for their mother or father. When a doting parent scoops up their little one, and holds them tightly. Everyone smiles when babies chuckle and toddlers say frighteningly honest things. When you trip up the steps, steady yourself, and then look around frantically to see if anyone else has noticed.

Everyone smiles when holding an ice cream cone or a cupcake.  When little boy scouts stand in a line wearing their equally little uniforms outside of a grocery store. When tired grandparents chase after their grand children, but beam no less despite their noticeable fatigue. Everyone smiles when a frazzled father comes out of the bathroom, with a disheveled child toting toilet paper under his shoes. When a couple has that look of love in their eyes.

Smiles can be the sad kind too. When the things we observe evoke memories of a more pleasant time in the past or a yearning for love and understanding. Nonetheless, we keep smiling,  because if something at one time made you happy, it is never really gone. That, and we can always hope for a better tomorrow.

Note to self: I quite like the things noticed when I pay attention, so I will have to pay attention more. 

We are greater than the sum of our salary and possessions.

Being in front of a computer during the workday, I have become more accustomed to the influences of the web and accompanying sharing (often over-sharing) of content. Sometimes, it awakens a habit of comparing. I don't like comparing if it is used in a non-constructive way. Being inspired by others and rallied to action? Great. This type of comparison promotes progress. Feeling inadequate about not having a concrete course of action for this thing called life? Not useful or productive.  It just leaves me feeling disconcerted, and even a little sad.

Someone, somewhere once said that comparison is the death of joy, and it totally is. When I figure out who, I will site them properly. And to quote my Dad in response to a meltdown I must have had during my youth over some trivial comparison, "What are you gonna go stick your head in the sand?" Love that guy.

There will always be people with more, and well less for that matter. More/less stuff, food, opportunities, skills etc. There are moments when I am deeply bothered by this, probably because I struggle for some forms of order and fairness in my head, and heart. But we are greater than the sum of our salary and possessions. The proof is everywhere. Sun above and earth underfoot. Accessible by all, regardless of your station in life.

There is no premium on belly laughing or dreaming. Loving someone, or having love returned. No price tag on wonderment.

Happiness can be cultivated because the best things aren't things. 

Writing this for the next time I get flustered by the rat race unfolding around us, which happens from time to time. We can't all just up and venture to Walden Pond when we have an existential dilemma. But maybe I can read it from a shady porch... while drinking a Pumpkin Spice latte.

Scenes from Sunday

Sun·day  ˈsəndā,-dē/

noun  1. the day of the week before Monday and following Saturday, observed by Christians as a day of rest and religious worship and (together with Saturday) forming part of the weekend.

Sunday: a day to rest, reflect, and  indulge. All without the guilt one might feel on say a Wednesday or the pressure to be out and about, characteristic of a Saturday. Sundays are like little slivers of heaven, where you can do what brings you to a calm, happy place. That comfort zone is entirely subjective and varies from person to person, but there look to be some consistent trends during the autumn months. Apple picking, prayer sharing, family meals, football watching, and afternoon naps. 

There is something scandalous about sleeping late. I feel like valuable daylight is wasted when lingering under the covers too long. But on Sunday, it is pardoned. Stomach grumblings eventually ensue. The coffee pot is on, and the pancakes are mixed. Chocolate chips and shredded coconut are added for a twist. A dollop of whipped cream delivers the knockout. The dishes even get done on the spot- a rarity.

Comfortable clothes worn to account for the crisp breeze. Windows open, sun shining through. Chit chat and jokes exchanged in the truck en route to DePiero's, a gem of a farm not too far from home.

At home, two things are on: football and a mammoth pot of sauce. Yells echo from the living room and it's obvious Daddy's not pleased with the Giants. He thinks they may go 8-0. Hopefully, not. At commercial breaks, the sauce is stirred and the aroma fills our home. Hot peppers are sautéed too; as I write my nasal passages have been cleared and my eyes are running. Pasta is served and too much is eaten. Soon after, everyone slips into a brief (or not so brief) nap. It's Sunday, remember, so this indulgence is encouraged.

For dessert, there are donuts and coffee. We break into more chatter, in between big bites of fluffy sugared goodness. More football and snoring...

Nothing extravagant happens, but the time together is special enough. It's the little things that matter,  the scenes from Sunday.