Picture Perfect Facebook

Have you ever wanted to post something to Facebook or Twitter or [insert social media platform here] but felt that sharing something would lead people to think that you were searching for attention? I have.

While there are definitely things I do not share on Facebook I have felt lately that there are somethings that people would rather not.

Social media gives us a unique opportunity to curate our own lives down to a level of specificity that is unparalleled. We control almost everything about the digital image we portray. We can post pictures that show us in just the right light, share news articles that directly reflect our ideals, post statuses that portray a happy life, but is it real? Yes some people have their shit together and to those people I say…I am so jealous because I do not. I am constantly wishing my life was more perfect. If I just had more money. If I just had a cat. If I just had a better dinner. If I just had… that is the number phrase in my phrase book.

I have a friend, whom I love dearly, who does something that I do not understand. She can take upwards of 20 – 30 selfies before finding the perfect one to post on Instagram. She was appalled when I told her I usually take the first one I take, if not the first definitely the second. She curates the image she presents to the world and every time she does something like this I always think, is something wrong with me that I just take the first photo? A couple years ago when I was unemployed and working toward that first job I posted something that basically said “everyones life is so perfect, what is wrong with me?” I was over a year out of college and still not full time position while it looked like everyone I went to college with was getting job offers left right and center. I was surprised when many of people commented that their lives were not perfect and that Facebook was the perfect smokescreen to cover up real struggles. My first reaction was, why? Every time I got a job rejection I posted about it on social media, not because I wanted sympathy but because it was what was happening in my life and just in case anyone was following along like a mid-day soap opera I wanted to make sure they did not miss an episode.

Should I not post my political views? Should I not post that my love life is nonexistent because I feel like a unloveable loser? Should I not have this blog to Erica-splain my life to you because well, you can find out everything you need on my Facebook page?

I have never felt the need to hide how much it hurt to get job rejection after job rejection. I have never felt the need to hide how much I was unhappy at first to have moved away from home. I have never felt the need to take more than one selfie and post it to Instagram or Snapchat. I have never felt to hide failures or successes. My life is definitely curated but not to the extent that I feel the need to hold a photo shoot anytime I want to post something on Instagram or not post something about the crappy day I had at work because someone may find out I was not in love with my job.

My life is not picture perfect but that suits me and in my opinion, gives a true account of my life at the moment. Not feeling like I have to present this perfect image to many people I have not seen or talked to in many years is liberating and gives me the ability to allow them to see the real Erica.

 

One Girl’s Struggle With The Meaning Behind Consent (Or Lack Thereof)

It started off as a regular day. I slept in because it was a weekend and because I hate mornings. Many friends have heard me say that if the clock has a single digit I am concerned as to why I am up and not in bed or at a pool or in a hammock. Usually I remind myself that it’s because I am getting paid or enjoying time with a friend or there is a show on Netflix that I just have to watch.

It was an ordinary day. I went to my second job and worked all day long. After a week of long nights at my main job and a long weekend day behind me I texted the guy I had been talk to for awhile and asked if he wanted to hang out. He was cute and nice but the best part was that he seemed to think I was funny. I mean, how could he not. I’m hilarious.

I got off work at 10:30 pm and drove to his house. We talked and hung out. We started kissing and everything seemed to be proceeding as planned.

Now, this is the part where it gets hazy and not because of any drugs or alcohol or short skirts to get me in trouble but because I did something that is seen as a no-no when you are getting intimate. After what seemed like hours of intimacy with no end in sight I decided that I needed to go home. As much as I hate getting up early I did need to get home because I needed to get up super early the next day. I decided that I wanted to leave.

“Oh come on baby. Stay,” he murmured. I said ok.

“It’s really time for me to go,” I said while trying to get out from under him.

“You know you like it. Come on, stay,” he responded while continuing. I let him.

Maybe I can grab my clothes and sneak out while he’s in the bathroom, I thought. But the distance of my clothes from me on the bed, to my keys on the dresser, of the bed to the bedroom door, and the bedroom door from the front door was too great for the few short seconds I had so I decided it was not that bad and to stick it out. I was overreacting. As I look back I see this should have been the first sign that something was not right. That something was off. He came back in the room and we continued. I continued like those thoughts had not happened at all.

It went like this for what seemed like an eternity. Me saying I needed to leave. Him continuing and saying I should stay. Me agreeing even though I really did not want to. Finally we finished. He asked me to stay over and I said I really needed to get home. I told him I had an early morning. I told him that I wanted my own bed. I told him anything I could think of so I could leave. I gathered my clothes, keys, shoes, and left as fast as I could.

I called my best friend on the ride home and left a message for her. The message was me telling her a tale of a man who took forever, a night of intimacy that wasn’t as great as I thought it should have been, and the drive to his place that was 30 minutes from my apartment, all the while laughing at my misfortune. I realize later I had called her more so I could hear her voice on the messaging machine for at this point it was 4:00 am and she was asleep.

Cut to a couple of months later and I was reading a story that dealt with consent during intimate moments and whether consent can be given and then taken away while in the process of intimacy. The human being inside of me thought, “Of course it can! And that person better stop immediately!” It was during this thought that I had a moment to think about that night 30 minutes away from my apartment.

I had said yes. Then I had said no. He had not stopped. And I had just let it happen.

Why had I let it happened? Why had I let it continue? Why had I not demanded that he stop?

The intimacy had not been bad. It was no means something to brag about but it had not been horrible either. That’s when I realized there were two things that helped me to explain why I had let it happen, why I had let it continue. One, I had been enjoying myself. Even after I said no, I still enjoyed myself. It could not have been bad if pleasure was happening…right? Movies depict rape as someone struggling and hurting and looking void in the eyes. None of that happened so therefore it was not rape. And second, and probably the most important, I was scared. This man was bigger and stronger than me which is what had attracted me to him in the first place but in those seconds I was scared of what could happen if I actually showed a sign of defiance of this act that we had previously agreed upon.

I had said yes, but could I really change it to no? What that allowed? Can I change it back to a yes in the future? Or am I locked into an answer like in Jeopardy with no take backs and no re-dos if the answer isn’t right.

I read stories of other people’s sexual assaults and I cannot help but think that what happened to me cannot be rape because it just does not measure up. There are people who experience horrifying experiences but mine was a consensual one and to this day I do not fell like that changed. Except, I guess, it did. Which is hard to come to terms with and something I am still working on. To this day I hate and am reluctant to even say I was raped because it seems disingenuous and not true. I look back at that night and I don’t feel raped. I say feel and as I type it all I can think it what is rape suppose to feel like? Like I said above, I’m not suppose to like it.

Coming to terms with what happened will probably be something that I am going to have to work one because, right now, I just don’t know.

#Adulting

As I walk to work on a cold day in our nation’s capital I am reminded of how I made almost the same walk four years ago when I was a senior in college. I got up at 6:30 am, caught a train for an almost 2 hours ride, and walked to my internship at the DSCC on Capital Hill. As I look back on those memories made during the 3 days a week for 3 months that I made that trek I remember thinking “this must be what it is like being an adult”. And then that May I moved out of my dorm, never to return to campus and finally received my degree the following August and my life outside of academia started.

However, here I am. Four years, 3 different jobs, 2 internships, and 1 address change later and suddenly I am actually what someone would call an adult. An honest to god adult.

Yet, I have been thinking about what exactly makes someone an adult or more specifically what makes me an adult. Was it when I moved out of a house with 5 people and into an apartment with 3 people? Was it when I received my first full time job and was working the 40 hours a week that I had seen my parents do for years and years? Was it that August when I was technically no longer a “college student”? Was it when I could make the decision to not drive after drinking after turning 21? Or was it when I turned 18 nearly 8 years ago and could buy cigarettes and be tried as an adult in a court of law?

I am definitely more mature than that 18 year old. I am definitely smarter than that 21 year old. I am definitely not as bound by the structure of college as that 22 year old. I definitely have more work savvy than that 23 year old. I am definitely most like that 24 year old who moved into her first apartment but even she seems foreign to  me now.

So many things tell us when exactly we are adults, as if there is a switch that is flipped and poof you’re an adult. The world is telling me that I am a single, working professional no longer living with my family and therefore an adult. But the more the world tells me that,  the more I am not sure it’s the truth.

Maybe being an adult was a state of mind. However, if that is that case than why is a teenager who thinks they know everything not an adult. I believed so passionately when I was 14/15 that I was mature. A bonafide adult. My parents were just two old people who overreacted too much. I believed it, so I was an adult.

Maybe its when you turn 18. From being able to sign contracts, vote, buy cigarettes, and be tried as an “adult” in criminal cases, the law sees an 18 year old as an adult. They should know right from wrong and the consequences of their actions. In hindsight, I can tell you that there is no way I knew what the heck I was doing when I went to college. Those first three months I struggled, not just with the work but being away from home for the first time. Having to remember to feed myself, share my space with someone else, remember deadlines all on my own because professors were much less hands on as compared to high school. But I was 18, so I was an adult.

Maybe being an adult is a scientific thing. I have heard that your brain, specifically the part of your brain that deals with rationalization and realizing consequences, does not fully develop until you are in your mid-20s. I am definitely in my mid-20s, so I am an adult.

One of my best friends loves the Walt Disney quote “Growing old is mandatory, but growing up is not.” I like the quote too because it instills the idea of childish which can be a relief from the pressures of society described “adult responsibilities”.  Paying important bills related to healthcare, living arrangements, transportation, and food are the milestones society looks at when becoming an “adult” but if those are benchmarks then was I not an adult at 18 because the police officer that would have stopped me if I had shoplifted would definitely have said I was.

I guess what I am trying to say is that in certain aspects of my life I feel like an adult but in others I do not and therefore am confused about if I am or am not an adult. I do know one thing for sure…I will always have time for 90s music dance parties and coloring in my curs words coloring book in my blanket fort.

Putting the Call Out

Erica Is A Professional

So this is specifically for all of my followers. I am trying to make this blog more interactive. I started this blog because I enjoy writing and I am funny. Add a personal computer and a love of the internet and you got “Erica Is A Professional”!

You might have noticed that I have guest writers for my blog. Most of them are people I know and/or went to school with. I am looking to branch out. I would be more than happy to promote other writing and/or blogs here if you would do my honor of sending me posts.

I am also trying to get a new segment off the ground called “He Said, She Said, They Said”. Basically this will be a Q&A section in which I pose between 3-5 questions and people answer them. I am looking to have 2 women and 2 men every other week…

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OH. MY. GOSH. I CAN’T BELIEVE I DID THAT!

So I went to have dinner and drinks with an old friend. She thought it would be a good idea for me to give my number to a guy in the bar. She wrote my number and name on a receipt and told me to go give it to him.

OK, stop there. Up until now everything that had happened was well pretty tame. I have had friends who have wanted me to do this and until tonight I had always been able to talk them back from making me walk to the end of the plank but not tonight. Emily was having none of it. I even tried changing the subject SEVERAL TIMES. But gosh darn her adult attention span caught me every time.

She was very logical with “what is the worst that could happen” scenarios. He could say no or that he wasn’t interested which really isn’t that bad. However, I saw him saying something rude or mean or even worse just laughing.

She even offered to bring it to him herself which had me hyperventilating even more.

So instead of having her bring it to him like we were in middle school. I mustered up the courage and went over and said hi to him.

Ok…so…what happened was what I am calling a “drive by meeting.” I basically went up to him said hi, talked for a minute, gave him my number, and fled the scene. I know, I know not my proudest moment.

In my defense, we were on our way out of the bar and I was giving my friend a ride home so I couldn’t just leave her…right? She has since told me that she would have waited but now we will never know.

Said friend, has since left the state so this will not be happening again any time soon but i am awarding myself 10 life points because I did something that I was afraid to do. And really, isn’t that what life is all about?!

 

 

 

Learning To Love Doing Things Alone

I just read the Huffington Post: The Stigma Of Doing Things Alone by Christina Ling and I truly enjoyed it.

I have found out that I personally LOVE doing things alone.

It started out with me not doing things because I did not want be alone at something. I would be embarrassed and thought others would question why I was there by myself and think there was something wrong with me. Or  I would not ask people to hang out fearing I was bothering them.

However, as I got older I realized that I was missing out on things because I feared being alone.

After I graduated from college, I made a deal with myself. I would stop worrying about what other thought of me and focus only on the opinions of people I respected and/or loved. This mind set has set me free to enjoy life and activities alone.

I started small, just going to the movies. I have since graduated to larger things. This year I challenged myself to spend “Couple’s Day” alone and it went pretty well. So on Valentine’s Day , I went to a movie, and then to the Shakespeare Theater Company and saw an open rehearsal of their upcoming production of Othello. Side note, the production is going to be fantastic and I encourage everyone to go see it, for I will definitely be going. I did notice that I got a couple of weird looks about being there alone especially on Valentine’s Day, the one day a year where people look at you extra hard about being single. However, those feeling fell away as everyone got wrapped up in what they were watching.

I almost went to a concert alone which I would have been perfectly fine doing it. However, my best friend  ultimately came with me for the last thing of the day and it was perfect to end the day with another single girl.

The year almost since I moved out I have started doing more and more things alone. I went on a trip alone to visit friends, I went to several concerts alone, I’ve watch sports events by myself, and have taken day trips alone. I feel like sometimes people think that I am a loner by choice which is not the case. I have plenty of friend. I enjoy other people. I enjoy meeting new people. I enjoy getting a drink with coworkers but sometimes you just want to sit at a bar, watch a soccer game, and drink a beer, alone.

I have learned how to not limit the things I want to do just because I do not have someone to go with. I have one life and I have to live it. If someone wants to come along for the ride, the more the merrier. If not, see you all at the end of the ride.

Guest Writer: Life Lessons From Star Trek TNG

I’ve recently been re-watching Star Trek: The Next Generation and am continuously impressed by the themes and topics the TV show covers.  In “The Outcast” (season 5), the Enterprise assists a species that no longer has gender, but now and then, someone is born that associates more with female or male. These people are bullied and abused until the authorities take them away to undergo psycho-therapy to “fix” them. This episode aired in March of 1992. The sentiments expressed are very much a reflection upon those who would oppress the gender identity of individuals today, 23 years later. Of course, I’m talking about the LGBT community. When will the archaic thoughts and treatment of people who are different stop resulting from fear? When will it become the norm and commonplace to treat everyone from a place of understanding, kindness, and compassion?

In the episode, Soren, a member of this genderless race identifies as female, falls in love with Riker, but is then discovered by the authorities and put on trial for perversion. She makes an impassioned plea for those with gender identities:

“I am female. I was born that way. I have had those feelings, those longings all of my life. It is not unnatural. I am not sick because I feel this way. I do not need to be helped, I do not need to be cured. What I need, and what all of those who are like me need, is your understanding, and your compassion. We have not injured you in any way; and yet, we are scorned and attacked all because we are different. What we do is no different from what you do. We talk and laugh. We complain about work and we wonder about growing old. We talk about our families and we worry about the future, and we cry with each other when things seem hopeless. All of the loving things that you do with each other, that is what we do. And for that we are called ‘misfits’ and ‘deviants’ and ‘criminals’. What right do you have to punish us? What right do you have to change us? What makes you think you can dictate how people love each other?”

The response of the tribunal:

“After [this] diatribe you must think we are a cruel and oppressive people. Nothing could be further from the truth…We’re concerned about our citizens and we take our obligations seriously. Soren is sick and sick people want to get well. We have a very high success rate in treating deviants like this and without exception they become happier people after their treatment, and grateful that we care enough to cure them. You see, on this world, everyone wants to be normal.”

Sound familiar? I look forward to the day when it doesn’t.

Lara is one of Erica’s oldest friends who constantly seeks to balance the mind, heart, and spirit to not only make herself a better person, but to positively impact the lives of those around her. She and Erica hope that one day, everyone will be treated with compassion and kindness based on the quality of their character.

Guest Writer: Finding And Chasing Your Passion

Hello again! This is Abby, an old friend of Erica’s, you may remember from a post I wrote a while back. This time I want to ramble about something similar, but kind of different, especially in light of a few things that came to happen during the last couple of months.

First, a little background on what I want to ramble about.

I don’t know how many of you, if any, follow a show called RWBY produced by Rooster Teeth, it’s about a bunch of really badass teenage girls who are monster hunters. It’s an awesome little show. And unfortunately it’s creator and lead writer, Monty Oum passed away at the beginning of February.  He was a very inspirational person and remains incredibly inspirational and motivational. And then on February 27^th, Leonard Nimoy – who most of you will know better as Mr. Spock, passed away. He was a major inspiration to a lot of people, not just those in the sci-fi world.

All that being said I want to talk about, following your dreams and finding someone or something that inspires you and why it is so important.

Alright, I’m going to get a little personal here for a minute. When I was younger I didn’t want to follow my dreams. I didn’t want to be different. Now there were a lot of reasons for this, one of the most compelling being that I was bullied. So like many younger children I tried my hardest to fit in, because when you’re little and weird fitting in seems like the best way to go. However as I got older, I realized that was not what I – or anyone do.

Now, why did I start with Monty and Spock? Because they inspired me. Spock, reminds me to always be myself, because when you’re weird and different (just like he was), you shouldn’t have to hide it. Monty, well, he showed me, that you have to chase your dreams with everything you’ve got.

And that’s what I want to talk about: chasing your dreams. They are what makes you, you.

Everyone is different and weird, in their own ways. I like to dress up in costume as comic book or anime characters and go to conventions. I love to write, especially urban fantasy stories. That’s who I am and I’ve embraced it. Why? Because, you have to be true to yourself, even if yourself is someone who freaks other people out. Spock taught me that, what with the being half human, and half Vulcan, he was supposed to be cold and logical, but he let his emotions color his life because that’s who he was. And Monty, he chased his dream with every fiber of his being, throwing himself into it wholly regardless of what it did to him.

Now, I’m not saying you have to sacrifice your health or emotional well-being to chase your dreams and find inspiration. However, chasing your dreams will make you happier, that I can guarantee. People always say, do what you love and you won’t work a day in your life. I’m sorry, but that’s bullshit. Do what you love, and you’ll work harder than then you ever have. You’ll enjoy yourself, despite all the frustration and in the process you’ll make or do something that you can be proud of.  Once you find your passion, nothing will be able to stop you from your desire to make it happen but you have to pursue it. I’m not talking, halfheartedly saying things like, “Oh, I want to be a writer” and then occasionally writing a few lines and saying you’ll go back to it later. I mean sitting down every day and working on it, pouring your heart and soul into it. That’s what it really means to chase your dreams.

In order to chase your dreams, you have to be moved by something, be it your love of cooking or animating or writing or space or whatever. Now, I know thus far it seems like I’ve been focused on what Monty taught me however, Leonard Nimoy, specifically as Spock, taught me that you have to be who you are, and be unashamed about who you are. Being unashamed of who you are will allow you to chase after your dreams and find what you really want to be or want to do.  The perfect example of this is Spock applying to both Star Fleet and the Vulcan Science Academy and when he gets into the Science Academy, realizing that what he really wanted to do was join Star Fleet. And before purist tell me I am wrong yes, I know this is from the 2009 Star Trek movie, and it wasn’t Nimoy’s portrayal but if I am remembering correctly, in the original series this is alluded to, but never seen.

Now while, I’ve probably gone off topic a lot and talked a lot of nonsense, my goal was to share with those who will listen why being accepting of yourself, finding inspiration and chasing your dream is so important.  A life without chasing your dreams, even if you never meet them, would seem empty and, in my opinion, not a life worth living. My last piece of advice is this: work hard and follow your heart. Yeah, work that crappy job because you need to make a living, but when you have the time chase your dream, follow it with all your heart and work hard for it. Because even when it seems like everything is lost and what you’re doing doesn’t seem worth, having a dream means you have something to chase.

After all, life isn’t necessarily the destination but the journey. Life is our individual journeys to chase our dreams.

From The Writer: I want to dedicate this post to my amazing and wonderful Nanna. She was one of the first people in my life to truly teach me how to live a life full of passion and how to chase your dreams. She was the one who introduced me to Mr. Spock and without that introduction I would not be the person I am today. So for probably not the last time, but the first of many, I want to thank her for everything she did Rest In Power Nanna, I miss you more than anything. 

My Inner Mean Girl

A piece of advice that I heard this weekend has stuck with me. I do not remember the exact wording but it essentially said that in your mind you should talk to yourself as if you were talking to a friend. At first I thought, I am never mean to myself. Not ten minutes later I was getting dressed and when I caught myself in the mirror I remember chiding myself for my weight, calling myself fat. That was when I realized it. I was being mean to myself without even realizing it. As much as I wanted to believe that I never mean to myself I was, and often. I would never call a stranger much less a friend fat so why was it OK that I was telling myself it? I was in a dilemma after that.

I know that I am not a size 6 and I categorize myself as a plus size woman. So when do I cross the line from recognition of my shape to degrading it? I also find myself always comparing myself to other women without even thinking twice about it. I’ll see a handsome man on the train and think “he’s cute.” Then, as if fate has a nasty sense of humor, a beautiful blonde woman with perfect white skin will get on the train. I immediately think, “Oh well I’m not a blond, blue-eyed, Caucasian women . I could not possible compete with her.” In my mind the race is over and has already been won by the skinny perfect women next to me so I why even try. My inner mean girl is bullying me into giving up. Without knowing anything about either of them personally, my inner mean girl convinces me that they would make a more aesthetically appealing couple so I should not even try. I mean who could want an overweight black girl with a face full of scars from puberty and hair that is not straight and shiny and blond and on and on and…you get my point.

After hearing this quote all I could think about these instance was, that is so mean. I would NEVER say something like that to a friend. I would never compare her to someone I did not know. As far as I am concerned any man would be lucky to date and fall in love with one of my friends. Why should I not want the same for myself?

While my inner mean girl is not as effectual as she use to be she still is, well, quite mean. Not letting her dictated my behavior and put me down is going to be a lifelong struggle but I am going to work to advocate for myself against one of the harshest critic of all. I am one of my best friends and I am going to actively start treating myself as such.

My Voice is Written

I have learned a lot during my more-than-20-years on this Earth. I’ve learned that my parents have always been smarter than I am, even though my teenage self would strongly disagree, college is not for the faint of heart, coffee is good but chi tea is better, and I watch entirely too much TV. However, one thing that I have not yet learned is how to express my emotions. Everyone expresses themselves differently. Some people paint, some sing, some punch walls and/or unfortunately people. So what I guess I am trying to say is that there are constructive and destructive ways to recognize and express oneself. A line I am constantly walking.

I have never been one to volunteer my feelings to anyone. In fact, it takes a great effort for me to share something personal with family or close friends, much less a stranger. I know people who have no problem in sharing their feelings. I envy them. I’ve tried the therapist route. I’ve done the sitting on the couch, the talking about my feelings, the techniques, the exercises. Some of them work for me and some do not. While I understand the confidentiality of therapy, there is something discomforting about talking with a stranger, someone I don’t see every day, someone with whom I don’t have a personal relationship.

Learning to recognize patterns of behavior and emotions within myself has gotten easier, but it’s still something that I work at constantly. I am not going to all of a sudden start spewing my feelings left and right. I do not believe I will ever be that kind of person. I can, however, be that kind of person who learns to express herself in ways that show recognition and validation of feelings. Writing has become an outlet for me. It is an avenue for me to share things I cannot say out loud. There are times when I think this may be the coward’s way around real talking, but one thing I have learned is that keeping it in, especially the destructive feelings, will only result in more harm than good.

If you have read my blog in the past year, you have noticed that I have occasionally invited people to write guest entries. I enjoy reading about what others care about; their thoughts and feelings. Everyone always asks what they should write about and I always tell them: whatever you want. The overall theme of this blog when I started it was to share things about myself that I found difficult to talk about. The blog was an outlet and that’s what I also want for my guest writers. This type of writing should be fun. It should not feel like a chore. Through writing I have been able to explore such topics as my race, adopted, friendship, college, who I am professionally, commuting on the metro, and love.

Above I commented above, sometimes I have to battle the idea that writing is the coward’s way out of having a real conversation. While I do use writing to explore the above topics and others, I would hate for someone I love to see a conversation on my blog that should be done in person. Picking and choosing what I write about is also something with which I struggle with. What is important enough that my audience will learn something and what is too important that it would seem insensitive to put on the internet? A fine line indeed.

Writing does not have to be the research papers of college or the cover letters of job applications. Writing can be a meaningful fun outlet for those thoughts and feelings that we deal with every day. Writing is my outlet.