Adulting: People are people, unfortunately

People might not be wishing the worst for you, but they certainly aren’t wishing you the best either. There’s something about bettering yourself that makes people uncomfortable and angry. People have no problem assuming what I’m incapable of without giving thought to all the things I’ve already accomplished. Or if they have, it’s dismissed with little regard.

I’ve wondered why it is that people want to think of me as lesser than, less intelligent, less of everything than they are. I’ve concluded it’s a combination of insecurity, social conditioning, and a lack of desire on their part. You can say what you want about progress. In my eyes it comes in many shapes and fails to become anything more than a concept, like most things.

Sometimes I wish people would just come out and say, “I’m supposed to be better than you. I’m not Black.” This goes unsaid, but it’s clear in the way people behave and how they speak. It’s evident in the opportunities that aren’t given, in the invitations that aren’t sent, the lack of consideration to the way you feel…I could go on.

I’m not writing with an emphasis on eloquence or a desire to be politically correct. I’m writing with the intent of transparency and making my thoughts clear for anyone reading. In the past year I’ve come up against some of the worst kinds of people. Racists, misogynists, people who can’t shake their own misery who desire to suck everyone into it like an inescapable void. That’s a pathetic kind of life, isn’t it.

It’s takes more courage to be generous and happy than it does to be hateful and injurious. While I have the propensity for forgiveness, I believe forgiveness isn’t warranted on all occasions, nor is it applicable. I don’t need apologies. I need for people to stop being trash.

Social Media, Get Away, Please

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Social media spells tragedy for some and fame for others. Social media wreaks of opportunity, yet leads to the subtle unravelling of social awareness and relationships… potentially. I hear from many people how much they love Facebook as it brings them closer to their friends and family, while allowing people from their pasts back into their lives and not always for the better. If you really take a second, how connected are you really?

At this point in time I recognize the bulk of my friends as tiny avatars floating the screens of both my laptop and cell phone, I know the wee bits of their lives through stylized photos on Instagram, what tidbits they scatter on Twitter, and of course by the carefully selected narratives displayed on Facebook.

The times I’m off Social Media completely, are the times I realize I have nothing useful to say to such an audience of people. I don’t know how much the quality of my breakfast means to anyone, or why it should. If something worthwhile has happened I figure, it won’t get too many likes anyway and my fingers back away from the keyboard and onto something more pressing, like a novel that I need to finish.

Is this the sum of my life, tweetable, likable material for everyone to gawk at?

Ugh, the grind of seeming like you’ve gotten your shit together. What’s the big deal about having everything figure out? How did the picture of perfection come to be a series of perfected candids and hashtags? I too have succumbed to this seduction! I used to make sure to update my profile pictures, I’d pick out just the right bands and shows so everyone would see how unlame I was. Meanwhile, I was still listening to
S Club 7, loving every minute of it.

I envy people who have jumped the social media cruise ship. While there are pluses and bonuses to everything, social media included, I resent that it’s become such a pervasive part of my life. For work I use it, at work I’m forever explaining to people how to use it, and I hear elderly people rag on my generation for using it. “These young people don’t know how to have a good time without some thingamajig in their faces.” Just leave me be, leave me be.

I miss the days of simplicity. Myspace in all of it’s customization embracing chillness. I used to scout sites for new backgrounds, make playlists, and bask at my efforts. Maybe the difference is age, maybe the difference is we mistake distance for connection. The day I’m able to reach through a computer screen to hug someone, well, that’ll be real progress.

Five Thoughts on Binge-Watching

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Welcome to my stream-of-consciousness-rant-list-ponderance. I can’t think in clear, complete sentences because my brain has been ruined by, you guessed it, one too many episodes of American Horror Story. Here are some thoughts on Netflix.

One, it’s an intriguing culturalish thing. Everybody loves TV and now, all the sudden kind of, it has been released upon us in the easiest form yet. Hit the button get the zoned-out TV feeling. We’re all doomed. Continue reading