Why Introverts are Doing Alright

extroversion: the act, state, or habit of being predominantly concerned with and obtaining gratification from what is outside the self 

I am an extrovert. My world consists of snatching violent passionate moments zipping about my external circumstances. Contrary to what American values and culture would suggest, extroversion has nothing to do with one’s capacity to love well, connect meaningfully with others, or find “big-time” success. It’s a neutral personality trait that can be manipulated into good or evil.

introversion: the state of, or tendency toward being wholly or predominantly concerned with and interested in one’s own mental life

I don’t read any piece in that definition suggesting awkwardness or inferiority that would suggest an introvert ought to morph into a gregarious, bubbly individual. That idea terrifies me, actually. Nobody would ever shut up. We’d be a world of dancing, cackling monkeys.

Don’t get me wrong, I love extroverts too. We need both in our society to temper the weaknesses and pull the other out of that wretched, infamous “Comfort Zone”. But the older I get, the more I feel I’ve heard the praises sung for that hero full of vivacious energy, boldness, and booming confidence that smashes their opponent’s ego into the ground as they charge on to fulfilling their destiny. I’d like to devote a few words to the equally admirable traits of the other group of humanity.

Just about every last person I connect with on the richest level of life would classify themselves (and correctly so) as an introvert. They are occupied primarily with the workings of the mind and cheerfully slide into the role of listener and observer when the group gathers together.

Some recent studies suggest that “contrary to popular belief, it is often introverts not extroverts who make the best leaders, because they listen well and have great emotional empathy—skills useful for getting the most out of your team.” (Berkeley) There are also commentaries on how American culture tries to “drive the shy” out of people because somehow it’s not OK; far too often, introverts are the victims of adolescent bullying and many walk a long road to self-worth. I’ve seen this with those closest to me in my life. I have watched over the years as they have encountered brash individuals picking them apart for their “fewer friends”, less dating experience, so-called strange hobbies (who decided sports were cooler than computers??) and their fierce focus on the mind. I know that they are shaping their world into a more beautiful masterpiece because of their personal depth.

I know there are reserved people who will find joy and benefit from pushing themselves to communicate more boldly but outgoing individuals will also find a surreal happiness from stepping out of the limelight and interacting with the magical wallflowers laughing in the wings. I have been permanently changed by painfully shy individuals and I feel grateful to have been born into a family who accepts my explosive self while teaching me to listen in between the differences.

Why Buddhism Answers Most of the World’s Problems

I’m going to cut to the chase; I found myself just a few minutes ago ready to metaphorically blast social media with a literary rocket launcher due to the flooding of childish, close-minded opinions that bombed my newsfeeds. As a Mormon and a feminist (the real Merriam-Webster definition) I have tuned in to a lot of the discussion on the LDS church and its recent excommunications of John Dehlin, Kate Kelly, and other public dissenters. [For those of you who are not aware of the subject, there is a lot of discussion in the LDS church about women holding the priesthood which is an office of responsibility held only by men.] This afternoon I read argument after argument from both parties claiming the other lacked spirituality which, to me, feels like one of the lowest verbal blows you can make to another person. I popped on to the group Ordain Women’s website and read their peaceful, factual quotes with interesting verbage from Joseph Smith himself. I then compared it to lds.org’s statements which were equally peaceful and sound.

At that moment, it hit me that I could empathize and see both sides clearly. I have a small voice. In fact, I am virtually non-existent in the wide realm of the global internet. But I believe in sharing truth and so I wanted to share my tiny testimony with those who perhaps are thirsting for understanding in a world that seems to value slicing into each other’s souls.

The Buddhists have a term called “Shenpa” which roughly translates to “attachment”, including attachments to being “right” that overindulge our ego. One of their great quests lies in overcoming Shenpa and allowing others to live their lives, regardless of whether they stand for right or wrong. I believe in this. I believe that when we feel the temptation to ferociously type a biting response or chuck swears at the driver who cut us off, we need to remember that:

• The human you just called a “moron” feels and learns. It doesn’t matter if it’s the same way as you or not.
• Their state of “rightness” is totally irrelevant to your happiness.
• It is possible to stand for truth without ripping your neighbor’s beliefs to minuscule particles of mocked nothingness.
• We find and radiate light through sharing positivity. Any other path leads to a diminishing of self.

I admit it; I got Shenpa-d this morning by the ruthless debates I stumbled upon. But I believe in changing, repenting, reforming, and all types of redemption so cheers to the rest of my Shenpa-free day.

P.S. For those of you interested in the magic of abandoning the attachment of being right, this link leads you to a TedTalk with brilliant wisdom on the comfort of accepting your own fallibility.

Mr. Pressfield is Doing Alright

I would like to thank the festival of nagging individuals who goaded me into writing again via their insidious guilt-tripping and other shady behaviors. So on to the main news: Mr. Pressfield is doing alright.

But Who is Mr. Pressfield?

THIS GUY.

Since the forces of Google will supply you with all you ever needed to know on this fine gentleman, I shall focus my efforts on the part of his life in which he wrote a book called The War of Art. He embarked on this short piece of nonfiction to help you “win your inner creative battles”. After reading 32 pages, I ecstatically closed it up and proceeded to plan out the entirety of a two-part acting workshop I’m giddy to put forth next month. (In a matter of 45 minutes.) He has a way of not only bestowing wisdom on us comfort-clutching mortals, but empowers us to actually accomplish something half-decent. A few sprinklings of enlightenment:

• “Most of us have two lives. The life we live, and the unlived life within us. Between the two stands Resistance…Look in your own heart. Unless I’m crazy, right now a still small voice is piping up, telling you as it has ten thousand times, the calling is yours and yours alone.”
• “You know, Hitler wanted to be an artist. At eighteen he took his inheritance, seven hundred kronen, and moved to Vienna to live and study. He applied to the Academy of Fine Arts and later to the School of Architecture. Ever see one of his paintings? Neither have I. Resistance beat him. Call it an overstatement but I’ll say it anyway: it was easier for Hitler to start World War II than it was for him to face a blank square of canvas.”

And for the finale of this trailer:

“Creative work is…a gift to the world and every being in it. Don’t cheat of us of your contribution. Give us what you’ve got.”

Well, you heard the man. Get to it.

That’s the face of a gentleman who knows what he’s talking about.

Bless Them Who Persecute You

Today’s character remains anonymous on account of the personal nature of her story. For the narrative’s sake, I’ll name her Esther. I met her on a loved-worn porch tucked into the nothings of the Eastern back country. While our initial encounter included silent prayers and shrieking swears (from myself and her respectively), within a matter of minutes we found ourselves gripping each other’s hands as we shared the dark contents of our personal closets.

And let me tell you, Esther keeps a mighty intense closet. The woman witnessed a suicide, clung to substances, left the love of her life when he discovered how to create the sensation of “punch-drunk”, forgave him when he repented, gave birth to two children and cared for her parents until they slept in this world and woke up in the next. And she managed to perform these Herculean labors on a budget that could never seem to commit.

One time, Esther told me that when she started following the doctrine of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, she felt like a tree in bloom. I hope she still feels that way.

Today, she told me that last night she snapped. She forced her belligerently drunk husband to sleep on the porch, falling asleep to her tears and his door-pounding. Amid all her toxic loneliness, she said,

I told him 6 years ago that he could come back if he wouldn’t drink. Last night he said, “You’re kicking me out of my home,” and I said, “As long as you’re angry and drunk, this isn’t your home. I just can’t do this anymore. I’m not going to put up with it.” And then I shoved him away.

Right when I opened my mouth to applaud her strength and self-respect, she whispered,

I shouldn’t have done that.

I shut that mouth of mine. I proceed to the end of this post with caution. I do not mean to suggest that she should have allowed him in or that women should always take back alcoholic husbands. I refuse to play judge. What I do mean to suggest is that Esther’s compassion for her husband serves as a beautiful contrast to the vengeful rage that’s so in vogue these days. Her strength didn’t change. She knows she can’t enable potentially dangerous behavior and she possesses the willpower to draw the line where she needs to.

But she would do it differently if she could.

She escaped the stabbing bitterness that engrosses so many of us injured souls when the world would have accepted her tirades as valid. She chose to love even when she wasn’t obligated. She chose mercy when she could have chosen judgment. She relinquished her control so she could have room to hold onto empathy. I hope to follow her example.

Ciao until next time.

An Ill-Written Look into the Chasm of Depression

In October 2013, I listened to an apostle of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints boom the following words,

“Today I am speaking of something more serious, of an affliction so severe that it significantly restricts a person’s ability to function fully, a crater in the mind so deep that no one can responsibly suggest it would surely go away if those victims would just square their shoulders and think more positively—though I am a vigorous advocate of square shoulders and positive thinking! No, this dark night of the mind and spirit is more than mere discouragement.” [Read the whole talk here, it’s utterly brilliant: https://www.lds.org/general-conference/2013/10/like-a-broken-vessel?lang=eng%5D

When he said that, I reflected on others and not myself. But you know how in cliche movies there is always some cheesy foreshadowing monologue or line such as “There’s no way I’m ever going to fall in love!” or “I’ve never fully recovered from my cat’s death and I think if I had another animal I’d learn to love again”? And then they magically bump into someone at the mall or rescue a lost kitten and life becomes interesting again? Well, that talk back in October was my foreshadow. Turns out my plot line needed a twist and after starting up some medication I knew I shouldn’t have taken, I started down my four month journey of learning what it meant to “feel depressed”.

What a depressed spirit feels like in photographic form.

I won’t bore you with the details. If you’ve ever watched an indie movie, you’ll know the type of character I played; I was the grungy, ugly sweater-wearing one.

There’s a lot of literature, blogs, art, etc. about depression. Some evokes sheer beauty while others induce laughter. I don’t fall into either category really but I wanted to write this post because all that I wanted to hear during those four months was that it would get better and that I wasn’t a total failure at life. So I’m going to do that for any of you that are experiencing crippling moods and bleak futures.

The Beatles weren’t lying when they said it’s getting better all the time. You can’t see that at the moment of course, but that’s OK; you’re human. Cut yourself some slack. So what if you just got hired at the greatest company in the world or married the love of your life or won People’s Sexiest Person award? You can still feel like crap for no logical reason and that’s real and it sucks. But there’s a way out. You’re doing alright. Do one thing better today than you did yesterday and you’re practically skipping your way out of Mordor.

And if you’d like to take the fast track to healing, I can recommend no other better source than working to discover what your relationship with God is. If you already have one, build on it. If you don’t, experiment with your spirituality and find what truth exists.

I’m not a counselor or an expert but I have been spiritually changed through my relationship with Jesus Christ and I believe we will all be made whole again, regardless of the emotional roundhouse kicks we take to our face in this life. While I can’t wait for that day, I plan on waking up with a little more hope than I had the day before.

How I’m feeling these days after applying what I’ve learned in overcoming unreasonable sadness.

It feels lovely to talk to y’all again; I’ll write more eloquently later.

Ciao until next time.

Laundromats Want Everyone To Be Friends: Part Two

My dear friends and readers,

My apologies on the long delay in writing. I experienced a brief, though intense, sensation of vulnerability with my writing and doubted my capacity to express the power of stories. I decided to ignore my feelings until magically, they evaporated and now I no longer care. Shall we proceed on to the second friend I met?

Here is a photograph to whisk you away to the wonderful magic land of The Laundromat:

Today is about Jeremy.

I don’t have a picture of Jeremy but imagine one of those men so tall and commanding they seem to own the room the minute they walk in. Then, swirl around the concept that the tall and commanding gentleman also emanates love for strangers laundering pants. If you did this task, you would have a vague foundation of Jeremy’s immediate character.

You know what I liked about Jeremy? He didn’t care if he butted into a conversation. I loved it. Lindsey and I chatted away merrily when Jeremy jumped in with his own experiences and feelings. Don’t get me wrong; he didn’t rocket-launch the conversation into selfish oblivion. He just heard folks smashing away social barriers and wanted to hammer at it himself.

He told me about how he married a lovely girl less than a year ago and we swapped anecdotes on the sublime and bizarre transition into marriage. I sadly did not jot down notes on our conversation, so you get one little highlight from our talk. I asked him some poorly-phrased and excessively lame question about what he felt surprised him the most about marriage. His answer:

How humbling it is. I didn’t know I could love someone that intensely.

After a lifetime of jokes from those demeaning their spouses along with cautionary tales of impending emotional, marital doom, this fit into the rare category of hopeful honesty. I suspect he knows his wife’s tragic flaws but I like that I don’t know if he does or not. Even though we talked at length on our marriages, all I know is that he feels she changed him. Cheers to a married human who doesn’t bash their spouse.  [click here for a lovely short article on spouse-bashing]

Ciao until next time.

Laundromats Want Everyone To Be Friends: Part One

Yesterday I decided to correct our criminal neglect of our laundry.

I trekked to Mordor with the burdensome bags, detergent, laptop, and purse down the perilous stairs. (At least Frodo only had to carry a ring.) I decided if I had to bite the bubbly bullet and soak some clothes, I might as well meet people in the process. A chipper woman garbed in a hot pink collegiate sweatshirt sat two chairs from me in the designated waiting area. I pulled out my laptop and cut to the chase, telling her about this project and asking permission to delve into her soul. She enthusiastically acquiesced.

We chatted up a storm, discovered we both love baseball, and talked about our outlooks on what wakes us up in the morning.

While we blabbed away, a couple of other folks joined in on the conversation and I ended up making a handful of friends while my underwear spun Maytag-style. I collected two other great stories which I’ll share in parts two and three of my laundromat posts!

These washers inspired some of the best conversation I’ve had with strangers in a long time.

Lindsey refreshed me with her happy childhood and promising future; I get all giddy when I hear good parents exist and giggly plans are set. (She’s getting married soon!) After more conversation, she commented on how she experienced a certain level of poverty, an issue I can’t relate to personally. I felt grateful for her insights because I know it affects more people than we realize and cripples even the strongest of souls. She told me,

I didn’t really have family challenges but my dad was laid off his job for a year and a half…he finally got a job again but was laid off of that one and unemployed for a couple more months. He worked at a spice factory to make ends meet.

She continued describing the fears that suffocate you when your bank account can’t seem to hold much cash; how it looms over your head like a rain cloud on a family picnic. You can’t think of anything else. When I asked her what her biggest challenge was she said with previously-hidden intensity,

Sometimes I feel like crap because of my income…I used to work 40 hours a week and you know, money was coming in. Now I’m going to school and getting married and I don’t know how I’m going to pay for everything. My biggest help is my parents. They tell me they’ll take care of everything; they’ll help get my fiance to my wedding [across the country]. I think the biggest thing is to count the blessings among the not-so-blessings.

Ironically, my goal I’ve desperately been working on lately reads as this:

Focus on gratitude.

Thanks Lindsey for reminding me life is alright.

Ciao until next time.

 

We Are Not Victims of This World

On occasion, I encounter a story so gripping that to rewrite it would damage the power of the experience. So today, I simply introduce and post someone else’s words.

Meet Lisha.

Sharp wit, surgery-prone, and waiting for the day the government lets her marry the entirety of the Florida Gators. While I admire her fervor for the “orange-and-blue”, she’s the subject of this post because of her hope. Almost from the first page of her life story, tragedy slapped her around in ways too painful to divulge on a blog. All you need to know is life got rough.

This is Lisha’s abbreviated version of her spiritual change and the discovery that she could live life and live it well.

I have made countless mistakes in my life. Wrong choices that led to more wrong choices. Looking back, I can see I was searching for something. I grew up in the Church [of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints]. My parents were sporadically active. But my sister and I, we loved church. We saw it as a refuge from the chaos and instability that was always waiting for us home. Our shelter from the storm, if you will…

Unfortunately I chose a different path after high school. I had some experiences that cause me to question everything I thought I believed in. And so started the journey, in the wrong direction, looking for answers. I was inactive for 8 years. And during those eight years, I tried everything that I could think of to try and cope. Some positive, but most, just really destructive.

Thankfully in March of 2013, I received a diagnosis that would end up saving my life. I had just had hip surgery the year before and then found out I had to have another one…hearing that prognosis, was what I needed, the last piece to get to me rock bottom haha not a fun place to be. But it caused me to finally reach up, and I prayed for help…

It was General Conference [a meeting of the prophet and apostles in the LDS Church], and the first talk I heard was Elder Uchtdorf’s talk “The Hope of God’s Light”. I know many have been touched by the words he spoke that day. I had not, up to that point, ever experienced something so powereful. I felt he was talking directly to me, telling my story.

And I finally found what I had been searching for all these years, hope. I don’t think I realized that was what I had been searching for, I just knew it when I felt it. Glorious hope. I felt that light, a tiny glimmer amidst the darkness I felt consumed by. And I belived his words, that “with Christ, darkness cannot succeed.” And honestly that was all it took. In one month’s time, I stopped everything. I stopped all of my bad habits and changed my entire lifestyle. And I can tell you that I thought it would be harder.

A year later, another event occurred recently which sparked what she termed as “the hardest two weeks of my life.” Despite the daily struggles to avoid destructive habits, she decided not to play the beloved victim role. She says instead,

Yeah, I can smoke if I want to…but then I won’t have the Holy Ghost with me anymore. I wouldn’t be able to feel close to the Savior. And I knew, without a doubt, that there was absolutely no way I could get through the trials I am facing right now without those two things. Period. I wouldn’t survive it. And it was like a weight had been lifted off of my shoulders, because I now knew that I could trust myself to withstand those temptations because I remembered something I needed more.

I am so grateful for the gift of the Holy Ghost in my life, and for the relationship I have with my Father in Heaven and my Savior, Jesus Christ. They keep me going, one day at a time. And I know that with their help, I can overcome every obstacle this life throws at me.

 

Thank you, Lisha, for opening up. I have a gnawing hunch that you will have managed to ignite spiritual change in at least one person because of this post.

Ciao until next time.

 

**This post’s title was taken from the planner of a dear friend of mine who probably has no clue how much I loved it.

A Writer’s Attempt to Love Unsuspecting Pedestrians

I successfully failed this morning. Let me explain…

Last night, I stayed up to “ooh” and “ahh” the moon in all of its bloody, eclipsical glory which turned me into an exhausted hag. However, as I made my routine 7 a.m. bathroom visit, a strange thought appeared. What if I took a walk and tried to meet a stranger with an amazing story? I pulled up my pants, snatched a flimsy notebook and embarked on my quest. (Somewhere in that mix, hands were washed.)

What human wouldn’t want to talk to this classy lady?

Regardless of whether or not I qualified for “hag status”, I braved the Wyoming chill and its empty sidewalks. I felt so alive and bouncy that I nearly jumped a man peacefully entering his car to go to work. He slipped in right before I could power-walk over to him. (Thankfully, he also slipped in right before he realized a half-crazy woman was hustling straight for his vehicle.)

Walk, walk, walk.

Aha! A second human! But alas, before the excitement could rise within me, he too slipped into his car. My determination remained fully in tact. I fiercely changed my direction when I spotted a group of junior high kids standing awkwardly amid social tension and lack of sleep. Intimidated, I slowed my pace but moved forward. After all, Boyd was only 6. Perhaps tweens can also offer wisdom! But the roar of the bus swallowed any hopes of a serendipitous conversation and they filed in, completely unaware of my bizarre intentions.

I started heading home when to my delight I saw a man walking straight to me! I said a little prayer, boosted my courage with memories of my mission, and speared through the wind. In one swift moment, I realized we would cross each other through an intersection right in front of my parents’ house as my dad was packing up to leave. The next swift moment revealed the man not only was wearing headphones but looked strangely familiar and in my overwhelming confusion of several, relatively normal facts, I said “good morning” and he said “hello” back.

And he passed me by.

He may have been the most passionate man in the world and now we will never know. Despite the improbability of this melodramatic statement, I feel that Heavenly Father was happy with my walk. I left my comfort zone to love someone I didn’t know at 7 a.m. with morning breath and no makeup.

Now, don’t get me wrong. This blog post isn’t to toot my own horn, but I want to help myself and others rejoice in our good decisions. We can feel peaceful about who we are every now and then.

Ciao until next time.

So It Begins…

Hello, my lovelies!

I have embarked on a social writing project which requires your help! Three things led me here:

1. A 6-year-old skateboarder. I’ll explain later.

2. A repetitive, spiritual urging from Heavenly Father to write

3. My passion for authentic living

The “We Are Doing Alright” project consists of gathering moments, anecdotes, and stories of people experiencing a type of life more real than Netflix and bank accounts. For years, I have felt bogged down by the excess of materialism, weak priorities, weakness in general, and superficial conversation. I don’t know if anyone else ever feels this way since I’ve never been anyone else, but I imagine some of you have similar feelings. I feel like some of us are starving to hear that life is good. That even with all of our inherent selfishness and laziness, we may still possess the capability of living well. That even if we are sprawled out exhausted and cranky on an airport floor, that maybe we’re doing alright after all. (see picture at top of blog)

I don’t want to impose what I believe to be beautiful on others, but when I found myself inspired by a kindergartner skateboarder named Boyd the other day, I knew it was time to write regardless of others’ reactions.

So Boyd is the first story.

A couple days ago, in a fit of moodiness I joined Ian (my husband) at the skate park. He skated while I read my good ole scriptures. I glanced up from my book to boost Ian’s ego when the munchkin off in the corner caught my eye. Ferociously lifting himself off the ground, he grit his teeth, slammed onto his board, and propelled himself forward at a shocking speed for a wee one. I watched for the next 20 minutes as he attempted all of the tricks the “big kids” were landing. He never stopped.

He sauntered on over to the group of them and introduced himself. The kid promptly began skating with guys three times his age! Chuckling, I walked over to his watching grandmother and started up a conversation, expressing my admiration at his guts. I had the privilege of talking with Boyd for a few minutes in which he giggled when I told him I didn’t skateboard and he told me he loved playing with his four-month-old brother. However, he only had five minutes left before go-time and he hadn’t landed his trick yet, so off he flew.

Guess what his grandma told me?

“He says he skateboards to ‘conquer his fears.’ He says if he skateboards every day for two hours, he’ll overcome fear. He skates rain or shine.”

He’s six.

And that, is how I want to live my life.

If you have any stories of yourself, others, moments in the past, whatever–please share them. I needed Boyd and someone might need you.

Ciao until next time.