When I first started blogging- You know what, let's hit pause for one second. You're probably already thinking, "This girl has made all of four blog posts and she's already about to share some important lesson she's learned from her vast experience." I'm right, aren't I? So this is the part where I point out that I've had other blogs before. I blogged briefly in college, and even did a detailed city by city segment after our family trip to Italy. (That part was pretty awesome actually. Not that I'm an amazing blogger, but because I was writing about Italy. Kind of hard to mess that up, right?) But the whole blogging thing never really stuck for me. And I've only recently figured out why that is....
Ok, un-pause. Or, I guess that's called "play." Whatever...
My blogging experience thus far has consisted of me carefully crafting the perfect post to make people think I'm a perfect girl living a perfect life. I'd obsess over making it witty and charming, or at the very least deep and pensive. The point of my blogging was to impress people, plain and simple. And you know what, there's no point to a blog who's only point is to impress people; to project themselves as perfect. Brace yourselves, because I'm about to say something earth shattering, that has the power to change your life if you'll let it:
There's no such thing as perfect.
There it is, plain and simple. And that's the reason I never stuck with a blog before this one. It was pointless. Pretending your life is perfect is what Facebook is for. Trying to do that on more than one media platform is exhausting. You see, I think the real point of blogging is to share your heart with the people you care about; stories from your everyday life, and the random thoughts that keep you awake at night. Like this one. So that's what I'm doing.
Hi, my name is Kristen, and I am not perfect. I don't wake up at the crack of dawn, work out, go to my perfect job where I do everything right, cook three healthy and delicious meals every day, keep a perfectly clean apartment, and do it all in high heels. (My apartment actually is really clean right now, but that's mostly because there's nothing in it.) This morning I woke up at 10:30 because I was up late perusing Pinterest the night before. I did work out today, but I greatly prefer eating obscene amounts of bacon and watching BBC America. It is more or less impossible for me to cook right now because I have one pan, a spatula, and a baking sheet. That's about it. My kitchen table is a large plastic bin turned upside down. I am currently unemployed, and my parents are paying for my rent until I find a job. And my utilities. And my gas. And my groceries. And pretty much everything else. And I do enjoy wearing heels sometimes, but usually not when I'm doing any of the aforementioned things.
Most of my posts are probably going to be short stories of the things that are happening in my life, accompanied by pictures, video clips, and whatever other visual aides I come up with. But every once in a while I will find myself lying awake at midnight, thinking deep thoughts about life and feeling the strange impulse to share them with you (probably with a lot of typos- come on people, it's late- cut me some slack.) And I think that's the point. Because that's real. There is a 90% chance that if you're reading this we are pretty good friends. I don't know why you'd bother visiting a website where all I do is talk about myself if we weren't. And if I don't know you at all then it's highly unlikely you have access to the link that got you here (although if one random soul stumbled across this by happenstance, welcome.) So we're probably friends. And friendship is all about being real. About letting people inside your crazy life and allowing them to actually see the crazy. Stripping down that facade of "perfect" we try so desperately to hide behind. One of the sweetest and most meaningful friendships I have is with a woman who has five small children. Five! And if you think her house is always perfectly spotless and smells like cookies then you're delusional. But I can't tell you how many fantastic nights I've had over there after she puts her kids to bed. Sometimes one of them comes downstairs and throws a tantrum. And I sit there and smile while I eat a plate of delicious nachos. Because this the real life of my amazing friend, and I love her precious kiddos. (Side note, if you've never had deep discussions about life over a plate of nachos between episodes of Psych on Netflix, you've never really lived.) And no, not everyone gets to hear the thoughts I share with her. I'm not going to post them on the Internet for the whole world to see. That's not what "being real" means. Sometimes being real means not spending three hours cleaning before someone comes over when you simply don't have the time. Sometimes it means not spending every second worrying that people on various social media platforms might not think you're perfect. And sometimes, every once in a great while, it means confessing to everyone you know the extent of your love affair with bacon, like I did a few paragraphs ago. (Seriously, if you don't like bacon, you're wrong.)
I guess now I'm just rambling. And this is getting extremely long and not going anywhere near the place I expected it to. But I think you get the point. I'm not perfect. Neither are you. Right now my life looks a lot like an empty apartment with empty walls, and 4 "decorations."
1) A piece of paper ripped from a tiny notebook upon which I wrote the words, "No, but I'm about to," and taped to my freezer door. It's a quote from Jon Acuff's new book "Start" that I spent all evening reading. There's a slight possibility it's going to change my life. Or at least be the spark that sets off the explosion of whatever is about to happen next. (I give it six stars of out of five, if you're wanting a book review.)
2) A framed picture; the only one that didn't get wrapped and taped and sealed in a box in my parents' game room. It's of me and some friends in tacky Christmas apparel. When I say "friends" I mean co-workers from my old job. And when I say "co-workers," I mean family. A family that I miss every stinking day.
3) A tiny snow globe from my trip to Rome
4) A container of sprinkles that a dear friend gave me when I moved. It's an inside joke. And an inspiration. And it makes me smile every single time I look at it.
I'm not perfect. But I'm growing and learning. And doing my best to improve a little every day. So tomorrow I'm not waking up at 10:30. I'm setting an alarm. And maybe I'll make a real breakfast instead of eating a Krispy Kream doughnut. And I'll probably set aside some time to get lost again (see previous post.) And little by little I'll, meet people, get plugged in, and find a Nashville family. And maybe, if I'm gutsy enough, if I can muster just one ounce of crazy, insane bravery...I'll allow these people to see that I'm not perfect. That my dreams are crazy, my life is messy, and I am rather odd. And that's what makes me, me. And that's what makes me special. And, most importantly, that is where grace comes in.
Can we all learn to offer grace to the people around us; the grace to let them be themselves? And, what's even more challenging, to offer grace to ourselves. Give yourself the grace to be you. To be messy. To be real. Because no one is perfect. And I am so tired of pretending to be.
If you've ever wondered what I think about when I can't sleep, this makes the list. Other things I've thought about tonight include Doctor Who, shaved bears, makeup, Bible studies, earl grey tea, and neck braces. So, there you go.
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