In a new window, go open your Facebook account and bring up the news feed that contains people’s status updates.  And now let’s do a little test with the top 10 statuses.  Taking into account your relationship with the person, is their current status update an appropriate first line to a conversation?  If you bumped into them face-to-face and they led with this news because it was in the forefront of their mind, would it be something where you’d nod in understanding (as in, “yes, it is totally fun to get dinner with your grandma and grandpa!”) or would it be something that would make you inwardly cringe and flounder around for an appropriate answer? (For instance, how does one respond if someone starts the conversation with “my boobs are so damn itchy!”)

No, really, go open a new window and do this.  What is your score?  I want to know.

In a perfect world, you should have a score of 10 out of 10.

This, of course, doesn’t take into account the fact that people lump all of their family members, friends, acquaintances, and coworkers into a single account, therefore, what is understandable to one group is a head scratcher for another.  Still, though people may have status updates that make you feel on the outside of an inside joke, everyone should feel as if status updates are something they want to read vs. something that make them cringe in horror.

My Facebook news feed doesn’t always follow this simple rule.  My feed at the moment of writing this scored an 8 out of 10.

Which is a problem because the point of Facebook is communication; to know what is happening in each other’s world.  And if I am moved to hide status updates because the ones you are posting are so unbelievably inappropriate or offensive, it begs the question: why are we connected in the first place?  And yet I cannot tell you how many people have told me that they filter and hide people’s status updates when I’ve commented to them about my personal Facebook Conversation Test.

“Oh, just hide their status updates,” they tell me when I comment that I really didn’t need to hear the intimate details of their last yeast infection.  Nor do I want to hear about how I’m going to hell because I haven’t found Jesus.  Nor do I want to hear their favourite sexual position.  And while that is obviously a solution, it sort of leads to that deeper question: why are we connected?  Why not just remove the person from your feed entirely?  What is the purpose of being connected on Facebook if you’re not reading what the other person is saying?

Since I’m here, throwing stones, I checked my own Facebook feed to see the last 10 updates.  There were a few random quotes from the kids, snarky commentary on Mother’s Day and fast-moving yoga instructors, and an admission that I just watched the Zapruder film for the first time.  Perhaps they’re not the usual things I’d use as a conversation starter, but certainly within the limits of good taste on information I could share with most people, the outliers who hate children, people who do yoga, or adults who wait to see the Zapruder film notwithstanding.  My point, of course, is to make people want to read my thoughts rather than have them run horrified from the information that drops into my Facebook status updates since it’s the way I comport myself in the face-to-face world.  After all, how often do we go to our co-worker and casually announce that we just took the biggest dump?  You do?  Perhaps that’s fodder for a different post…

Should Facebook be a recording of the random thoughts that pass through our brain without any regard to who is on the receiving end of our words?  Or should we look at our words as the first line in a conversation and tailor it accordingly based on the majority of our friend list?

Or… even more importantly, do you see Facebook as a conversation or a platform for multiple monologues?

Thank you for the birthday wishes last week.  I’d love to tell you all about seeing the amusement park pieces, and show you all my lovely photos… but we didn’t go.  The day before, we headed up to the actual old park grounds (most of which was now a shopping mall) to see the ruins.  The only thing that remained in good shape was the entrance castle.  We walked around the fence, peeking in at the forest growing over the ruins, and I felt in that moment that I had my peace even though it didn’t look like the Enchanted Forest at all.

The next day, the day we were supposed to go to Elioak, the Wolvog had his baseball game postponed due to weather, and we spent the day in the house, waiting to hear when he’d be playing.  At one point, we could have slipped out to the farm, but I sort of didn’t feel like it was where I was supposed to be in that moment.  We stuck around the house, and I got everyone to clean for three straight hours.  And then the Wolvog’s baseball team won their game, and we screamed our heads off.

The next day, we went to Nationals Park to celebrate my birthday again, and Lombardozzi and Harper kicked off the game with back-to-back home runs as the first two hits.  Literally, first two hits of the game were both home runs.  In the same vein as not needing to go see the restored pieces of the amusement park after seeing the ruins, I sort of didn’t need the Nats to win after that opening.  It was that good.  Oh, and they didn’t win.  But what I’m saying was that it didn’t really matter because that opening was so spectacular; just as seeing the ruins of the amusement park were enough in the moment.

So, all in all, a great birthday.

*******

Josh and I don’t really do gifts on birthdays or holidays.  We just give gifts whenever we feel like giving a gift.  I made a joke on my birthday that he should trot downstairs and get my gift, and he said, “okay” and left the room.  I thought he was joking too, but he came back in with something behind his back, which ended up being one of the best presents ever.

Back in graduate school, I translated a story by Etgar Keret that appeared in Rechov as part of my translation project.  In it, there was a word that I CLEARLY did not know: kalashnikov.  I couldn’t find it in any dictionary, nor did any of the people I asked know it (granted, they were all peaceniks… which might have been the problem).  But time was running out on turning in the project so I left the word in pencil all over the draft of the translation.  Untranslated.  And not spelled correctly either because I was sounding it out from the Hebrew.

My professor sat me down and mashed his lips together and finally said, “Melissa, do you not know what a kalashnikov is?”  So I admitted that I could tell it was a noun, and it was clearly important to understanding the character, but I had no idea what this thing was.  And finally he said, “seriously?  It’s a gun, Melissa.  It’s a gun.”  And this became a big joke amongst my friends.

And then, early on in my relationship with Josh, we went to hear Nathan Englander read from For the Relief of Unbearable Urges, which is this fantastic book, and the whole evening made me fall in love with Josh a little more.

So for my birthday, Josh got me copies of Etgar Keret and Nathan Englander’s newest books, and had the men sign them for me.

So… yeah… he hit it out of the park with a kalashnikov with that one.

*******

I went back to the White House on Thursday for their Women’s Health Townhall, which was thought-provoking.  I need to pull my pictures from the camera and organize my thoughts on it.  But it raised some really interesting questions about infertility specifically in looking at women’s health in general.  More on that soon.

*******

 And now the blogs…

But first, second helpings of the posts that appeared in the open comment thread last week as well as the week before.  In order to read the description before clicking over, please return to the open thread:

• “Anatomy of a Hater” (Searching for Our Silver Lining)
• “Right When” (Mrs. Spit)
• “Somebody’s Baby” (Baby, Interrupted)
• “A New Day” (Freckled Citizen)
• “94 Days” (The Koob Triplets)

Okay, now my choices this week.

Dragondreamer’s Lair has a post about her unseen scars; the ones caused by infertility.  It caused her to doubt her body, to be able to trust in statistics, and to feel unburdened joy over someone else’s pregnancy announcement.  It’s a beautiful post about the far-reaching effects of infertility.

Doping for Baby has a post about moving in and out of being affected by infertility.  She writes, “It’s funny, just when I think I am centered and in a place of acceptance about our currently infertile situation, I become overwhelmed with it all.”  It’s the unknowns that undo her, that get through the armour of calm.  Such an honest, raw post.

Write Mind Open Heart provides a release for her shame, and counsels, “It’s time to neutralize by shining light.  Often, in the light, the things we are most embarrassed by or even ashamed of suddenly seem not so dark, so charged, so burdensome.”  It’s a great reminder, and her comment section is also becoming a dumping ground for other people to release their hidden shame.

There were two great graduation-from-the-clinic posts — one last week and one this week.  Waiting for Little Feet has a post about that final ultrasound at the RE’s office.  It Is What It Is (Or Is It?) also has a post about that final appointment.    Both posts capture that bittersweet wonder of leaving a place that you both love and hate at the same time.  It’s the place where your child originated, and it’s also a place that no one wants to be.  But still, saying goodbye can be so damn hard.

Lastly, Holly’s Narrative Dream has a post about letting go of all her old baby things and accepting the future for what it is.  She writes, “My daughter won’t field calls from her sibling when she’s older and counsel him or her on their love life or job. She won’t be able to bitch about her aging parents and how stubborn we are or deaf we are becoming. She’ll stand on her own. She’s stronger than me, and I handle everything. She’ll be fine.”  It’s a lovely, brief post.

The roundup to the Roundup: How I spent my birthday.  Josh’s fantastic gift.  And thoughts from what I realized about infertility from the Women’s Health Townhall soon.  And lots of great posts to read.  So what did you find this week?  Please use a permalink to the blog post (written between June 1st and June 8th) and not the blog’s main url. Not understanding why I’m asking you what you found this week?  Read the original open thread post here.

A few weeks ago, the Wolvog was playing catcher and he got a bit banged up.  It’s normally one of his favourite positions, but the ball was being thrown fast and hard, and a few times, he turned his body and ended up getting hit.  He left the game bruised, but seemed fine emotionally.  We had a good talk as we walked to the car that the worst had happened — he had been hit by the ball — and he survived.  Fears Be Gone.

He’s a great fielder, so the coach normally places him at base, especially since we’re now in the championship games and he can use each child in their best position twice in one game.  In the last game, the Wolvog was also set to play catcher again.  He donned the gear and stepped to home plate and crouched into position, but when the first ball was thrown, instead of staying down and catching it, he popped up and away from the ball.  The coach reminded him to stay down, and another pitch was thrown, and again, he jumped out of the way.

It was so hard to watch because he was obviously terrified.  I heard him telling one of the assistant coaches that he couldn’t do it, he was too scared.  And that man crouched down over the Wolvog, becoming a human harbour for his body, and he gently talked him through each pitch, making sure he knew he was protected while also encouraging him to catch the ball.  That man remained crouched over the Wolvog for the entire inning, giving him the ability to play the position and feel safe.

I’m not sure if I was more touched that an adult did that for my son — saw him terrified and made sure that he felt safe so the Wolvog could play his position — or if it was more seeing my son overcome all the fears that rushed back at him when he found himself crouching at home plate again.

His team won the game, rallying when they were six runs down.  Because of coaches like that.

Has someone ever created a human harbour for you — either in actuality or figuratively — so you had the emotional strength to do what you needed to do?

Ann and I have been having an interesting conversation (hi, Ann!) about introversion vs. extroversion and shyness vs. boldness.  I am definitely an introvert, but I’m not shy.  Back when I taught at university, I had no problem getting up in front of 400 students and lecturing.  I also have no problem doing a panel at BlogHer.  I may prefer to have Josh speak for me sometimes (ordering food comes to mind…) but if we look at the definition of shyness, I don’t really fit it.  I’m not very inhibited, and I only feel social discomfort when it seems like I’m not connecting with others.  If I’m at a social event and I have friends there, I don’t feel that anxious.

Whereas I’m definitely introverted, and I see it as how deeply I let people in who haven’t already passed the gate to my inner circle (close friends, family, partner, twins).  I’m not extroverted, drawing people close immediately.  I turn inward more than I turn outward.  I think we tend to think of all bloggers as extroverted because they’re putting their innermost thoughts out there, but there are two things about blogging that defy introversion or extroversion:

1. Blogging is interaction once removed.  We send out thoughts out there, but via an indirect system.  There’s a big difference between speaking to anyone (any maybe no one) and speaking directly to a person.  I think of blogging in the same way I think of Halloween costumes and how they sometimes change the way we interact with others, making us bolder because they remove us from our norm and place something between ourselves and the person we’re facing.  Same with masquerade masks.  I’m not Melissa anymore directly interacting with the person in front of me.  I’m Melissa with a layer between myself and others, and that to me dissolves shyness and boldness, introversion and extroversion.  We’re interacting with people, but we’re also holding them at a distance just based on the medium.
2. It’s not blogging itself we need to look at to see introversion or extroversion, but how you respond to other people reaching out to you.  To writing about you, for instance.  Extroverts may enjoy having people write about them more than introverts because writing about someone enters their personal space.  Some people enjoy having people enter their space, and others fear it.  For me, the act of sending my words out there vs. having someone write about me invoke two very different sensations.  I like the first one.  I don’t really like the second.

So I can be an introvert and send my thoughts out there because I’m sort of like a turtle crawling back into her shell after my thoughts are released.  I like the conversation because it helps me to define my own thoughts, and I’m also always interested in what other people think; especially if they disagree.  I like to see the world from new angles, places I couldn’t have gotten to on my own.  But I like just hanging out in my shell and listening until I’m ready to come out again.

I am consistently turtle-like all over my life: slow and steady wins the race definitely rings true (though my version may be more like, “it’s good to be slow and steady, but I don’t really care about the race”) and I don’t get drawn into changing myself to fit new trends.  This should probably be fairly obvious by my clothing choices which have remained consistent and comfortable since 1992 (am I the only person who still wears overalls and stripey shirts?), but it also takes me a long time to see the point of taking on new technology or trying out a new site, and even then, I’ll only utilize them if it doesn’t mean a great deal of change.  And I’m turtle-like in my interactions; peek out of shell, go back into shell.

But turtles aren’t shy.  They don’t pull into their shell due to social anxiety.  They pull into their shell because they like to cocoon until they determine whether something is safe.  I don’t spend a lot of time around turtles, but I’d be willing to bet that they don’t pull themselves into their shells when they’re just chilling with their turtle significant other.  Once I’ve determine that the person feels emotionally safe, I keep my head out of my shell.

But when people write about me, it’s as if they are reaching into my hard shell with their fingers and dragging my head out for others to see.  It’s one thing for me to stick out my neck; it’s another to suddenly feel virtual fingers gripping me.  Though I know there are people who never need to pull their neck into a shell; perhaps they’re more like a different animal, one who is a little more cuddly and cute.  Sometimes I wish I were more cuddly and cute.  But I comfort myself with accepting that I am a turtle by reminding myself that at least I’m not a crab.  Or a bivalve.  Or a millipede.  People do keep turtles as pets, even if they aren’t the most exciting creatures to love.

And don’t even get me started on the third layer which is wanting attention or the lack of desire for attention since I also separate out my desire for attention on me vs. attention on my words/thoughts.

So I’m a non-shy introverted.  What are you?

Photo Credit: LabyrinthX via Flickr.

Updated with Clues!

Like a hungry beast who can never be satiated, the Blogger comment box opens its giant maw and swallows everything I try to post lately.  And it seems to just be me unless you all start chiming in that it’s you too, and if you do, I will feel less like Blogger’s Chosen One, destined to fight the comment box alone (for neither can live while the other survives), and more like part of a Fellowship of the Blog, trying to take the mighty Blogger comment box back to Mordor.

No, seriously, every comment I’m leaving lately on Blogger blogs is being eaten.

And I think it’s only me because I am seeing comments on some of these posts.  Some comments are getting through; just not mine.  At first I thought they were being held for moderation, but I asked a few people to check their spam filters, and the comments aren’t there.  So you may be missing a lot of comments that people think you’re getting.

First I couldn’t leave comments on WordPress and had to set up a new email account so I could leave comments since my old one was associated with an unused WordPress account that I set up years ago so I could read someone’s blog. (I’m sort of hating that person right now because right after she asked all of us to sign up, she stopped writing the damn blog so it was for nothing.)  And now I literally can’t leave comments on Blogger.  At all.

In a time period when comments are going down simply because people are reading on devices not conducive to comment leaving, you would think that blogging software would make it easier to leave a comment, more encouraging of comment leaving.  Instead, it is getting harder and harder to leave a comment.

So, this is to (1) ask if I’m the only person with this problem and (2) let you know that I am trying to comment on your blogs.  But my comments keep getting eaten by various platforms.  And that is really frustrating because some of those comments were gems.  I mean, yeah, some weren’t that great, but a few of them?… they were brilliant.

Okay, maybe they weren’t brilliant.  But I like my comments.  And I want them out there and not sucked into a black hole of the Internet.

Update:

I’ve tried the different browser trick, and that hasn’t solved my problem.  But one thing I have noticed is the blogs I can’t comment on have comment boxes that look different from the ones that I can comment on.

Can’t:

Child Bearing Hips.

A Half Baked Life.

Can:

Awful But Functioning.

What do the “can’ts” have in common?  And what does the “can” have different from the “can’ts?”

I think if we figure this out, we will determine which commenting option you don’t want to have if you want to receive comments.