Category — Uncategorized

Some people are blog purists: if they change a post, they’ll leave a note at the top of the post stating the changes, and they would never dream of deleting an old post (unless there was a very specific reason why it needed to be removed).  Whereas others see blog posts and comment sections as flexible, breathing, and ever-changing.

They’ll delete old posts if they decide to take their blog in a new direction, removing all traces of its old personality as a food blog in order to establish it as a style blog.  Or they’ll leave up a post for three days and then take it down.  Or they’ll change their opinion on something and go back and change the blog post to reflect their new thoughts instead of their original thoughts.

There is no right or wrong way to blog.  But there are definitely different ways of blogging.

Valleywag wrote about it a while back:

It’s an iterative process, and for me the process doesn’t necessarily end once I’ve hit “publish.” I go back and look at things. I see lines that don’t work, and I cut them out. I think of something I like, and put it in. I edit. I polish. I rewrite headlines. I fix and improve, or try to, anyway.

I think editing for clarity or to correct spelling errors is one thing — those are edits to improve.  What about about edits to backpedal?  Or get yourself out of trouble?  Or remove evidence?  Where does that fall in the edit-after-publish realm?

BlogHer had a post a few weeks later about removing (not just editing) old blog posts, a slash-and-burn method to make room for new thoughts or directions for the blog.  She writes,

Whatever it may be, you are not the same. I like to think of myself as a continuous work in progress – mentally, emotionally, and physically.  One of the arguments for keeping your blog intact is for a historical record. I’m thankful I grew up during a time period when your “historical records” were the photo albums your mom put together. I’m glad when I was in college there was no Twitter or Instagram. I didn’t even have Facebook in college.  I’m thankful for that because I’m not sure that I would want the world knowing everything I did or said.

She’s of the delete-if-it-doesn’t-fit-anymore school of blogging.

It’s an interesting thing to think about.  I don’t really look back on old posts very often, and I can’t think of any that make me cringe when I see them.  Do I think my writing style has evolved?  Probably.  I hope so.  But I leave up those posts because maybe there’s a kernel of something helpful amid the crappy writing.

Again, there is no correct way to blog, but where do you stand on the editing or deleting old blog posts continuum?

Side note: Tomorrow is #MicroblogMonday.  Get writing!

Mali recently wrote a wonderful post about the importance of nurturing yourself that contained this nugget of wisdom: “I simply realised that, in the interests of fairness, I was just as worthy of my consideration as anyone else.”

I definitely think that we accept flaws in others that we would never accept in ourselves and that we hold other people’s opinions more important than our own.  But afterwards I kept thinking about whether you can really consider yourself a compassionate person if you don’t practice compassion for yourself?  If you are not included in the equation, or if you don’t give yourself an equal amount of compassion as other people.

I mean, if someone admitted they were a compassionate person except towards blue-eyed people, I don’t think we’d nod and say, “Oh, that’s completely okay.  We still think you’re a wonderful, caring human being.”  We’d think, “Holy fuck, why does this person hold such messed up views towards blue-eyed people?”

So replace “blue-eyed” with “you,” and ask yourself the same question: are you a compassionate, caring person if you do not show care towards yourself?

Of course it calls into question all sorts of questions, such as where does care for one person begin and care of another person end, since human beings often have conflicting needs when it comes to their care.  And it certainly blows the narrative of the martyr out of the water, since someone who sacrifices themselves for the sake of others isn’t really caring for the whole since they are part of the whole.

Which calls into question the whole Superwoman discussion, and the concept of not only having it all, but doing it all in the most Pinteresting way possible.

So.

It certainly gave food for thought, especially in a season where we’re constantly encouraged to do more and give more to remember that we fit into the equation, too.  That our happiness is valid, and our needs equally important.

Your thoughts?

I had to get a new phone this week.  It was the second time in two months, and the whole exercise filled me with dread.  I had that panicky feeling all day; the kind you get when you need to initiate a difficult conversation or when you’re waiting for news.

When my phone died a few months ago and I had to get a new one, Josh and I planned that I would give him the new phone when his phone died, and I would get the new-new phone.  I use the camera a lot for work, so it made sense that I should have the device with the better camera.  Plus the kids use my phone, so… three against one?

Anyway, we thought this was a brilliant plan until we had to put it into practice.  To do this, I needed to back up my phone, wipe my phone, give Josh my phone so he could take it to the store and purchase the new phone, set up the phones with the correct phone number, re-sync the phone with the backup.

There was so much room for error.

It’s interesting how my gut instinct was that this was not going to work.  I was going to run into a lot of frustration.  Either the backup would be corrupt or something would be wrong with the new phone.  In any case, exchanging phones was a fool’s errand that would suck hours out of my week and leave me phone-less for days.

Whereas the kids were excited.  New phone?  That meant new features and new things to figure out.  They were puzzled why I was so worried about this.  Just plug in the phone and technology will take care of everything.

I assume technology will always fail and am amazed when it works.

They assume technology will always work and are confused when it fails.

I don’t like change.  I am not a good person for a yearly phone upgrade program.  My stomach was in knots while I attempted to load everything on the phone.  It mostly worked.  It took a really long time, and it got stuck in a continual loop at the end.  But it’s fine.  I think.

Do you assume technology will always work or do you assume technology will always fail?

I read about Nina Keneally’s services on a few sites, and I didn’t know how I felt about it.  She rents herself out as a mum.  You need a good hug?  You need help figuring out what to wear?  You need relationship advice?  You can rent Keneally and have her serve as your temporary mother.

On one hand, what a necessary service.  She cannot replace a missing or estranged or never-known mother, but she can fulfill the needs that stem from being motherless.  Think of her like a painkiller; she can’t cure the illness causing the pain, but she can alleviate the symptoms for a short period of time.

On the other hand, it feels wrong.  It feels wrong for money to change hands in exchange for kindness and comfort.  It’s different from paying for a therapist who goes through years of training in order to help people with emotional situations.  This is someone who has simply lived life.

I guess you are paying for her time.  Which, I know, isn’t a small thing.  Every moment she gives up to a stranger is a moment she takes away from spending on herself.

But… you know what I mean?  Shouldn’t we just reach out to the people around us when we know they are struggling and need a parental-like figure?  Can’t we just send up the bat signal when we’re in need and have our friends and family step in and fulfill the role?  Are we really so starved as a society that we need to pay a stranger to do what any loving, caring person could step in and do?

Perhaps it is all my years as a teacher, for filling in for parents when parents aren’t there from 8 am to 3 pm, for holding hands as kids cried over lost friendships or failing grade, for giving life advice, for offering protection.  I had to act like a mother on 9/11 and act like a mother for girls who got their first period in school and act like a mother by attending their school plays and basketball games and looking at the sculptures they made in art.

It was not hard to act like a mother, which was not in my job description.  My job was to teach English.  The rest of that stuff?  It was just because it was the right thing to do.

It’s Thanksgiving today, and maybe it’s a good time to sit back and reflect on ways we can reach out to one another.  Keneally’s services lay bare the fact that the need is out there.  It’s a matter of figuring out how we can all fill it, not by charging vulnerable people in need of some comfort and advice, but by taking the time to continuously look around you and see where you can give care.  Just because.

Happy Thanksgiving if you’re celebrating today, and if you’re not, you get a head start on thinking up one way you can reach out to another person and offer care by this time next week.  That would make the best Cyber Monday, simply being a listening ear online, offering a comment, virtually holding a hand.

[Melissa stands up, taps her fork against her glass, and clears her throat. The conversation around the table dies down, and she suddenly knows how Dumbledore feels as he delivers his Welcome-Back-to-Hogwarts speech. She considers, as always, growing a long white beard before next year’s meal.  Though we all know that she’ll never manage it.]

Welcome, everyone, to our annual pre-Thanksgiving online meal. Let’s just put it out there bluntly: sometimes the holidays are great, and sometimes they suck, but everyone deserves to have a nice meal around a table (even if it’s only a virtual one) where they feel comfortable and know that the other inhabitants at the table have their back.

For some people, this pre-meal is what gets them through their real meal later in the week. People have written that they’ve printed out this yearly post and comments and left the paper in their purse because it helped to have a tangible reminder that there were people out there who got it. Who weren’t going to ask them when they were going to hurry up and have children. Who weren’t going to cringe when someone spoke the name of a child they lost.

We are all so different. All of us. Around this table. But we have this one facet of our lives — and yes, even though it may be a big, overpowering one for you right now, it is only one facet of who you are — where we overlap: infertility or adoption or loss. And I am so thankful, so grateful, that I found all of you. Everyone needs a You-shaped space where they can be themselves. And that’s what I have here.

So every year, I ask people to bring a virtual dish to our meal. Place it in the comment section, explaining what you brought and why. And say anything else you need to say before sitting back down to enjoy the company. Update about where you are; your emotional state. We’re an international group, hailing from countries all around the world. So while Thanksgiving is an American tradition, I hope that everyone around the world feels as if they can participate. (Especially our Canadian neighbours who celebrated Thanksgiving weeks ago.) I’d love for your dish to come from your culture or country. Don’t worry about the contents on the table clashing.

So I am bringing again Mary McCartney’s English pea soup. I know, not exactly traditional Thanksgiving fare, but it’s warm and filling and it makes me happy. Plus I can make it ahead of time because it freezes beautifully. In the summer, I like salads. But cold weather calls for vegetable-based soups.  We’ve been eating a lot of this soup this fall.

So what did you bring and what do you want to say to the community?

And please, start eating as everyone is introducing their dish. We don’t want the food to get cold and there are so many of us at this table. Thank you so much for coming, and I’m going to carry the warmth of this meal with me for the rest of this week.