One week left: steering clear of social media (most of the time)

I'm one week away from completing the Challenge I Never Thought I'd Take: giving up social media for a whopping 40 days.

Does it seem a little dramatic to call stepping away from social media a "challenge?"

Yes. It does.

Even though my work has included social media for the past 10 years, it's still a little....silly....to think of taking a 40-day break as, well, a break.

But whether I like it or not, I've come to grips with a few truths since making this decision the night of Fat Tuesday:

• The same principle applies to personal life as does to corporate accounts: the conversation is happening, and I can participate or not -- that's up to me.
• Some things are, in fact, worth sharing. A few examples I've learned are:
• recipes
• workouts (so.much.encouragement!)
• random smiles throughout the day
• quotes -- I'm a sucker for a good quote 
• good sales (amirite, y'all?)
• Some things are not do-or-die in term of sharing. For instance:
• random things I see (is a beautifully framed image really viewed if it's not instagrammed?, is a meal really prepared and eaten if not shared socially?, etc.)
• I occasionally -- the instances have notably decreased, thankfully -- feel as though I need a little verification of how I'm feeling. (I liked that sunset, but do you? -- definitely the weirdest thing I've admitted to date ;-) 
• And some of my traits may not be, as I originally suspected, inborn:
• ADD -- this is not my making light of this disorder; this is my thinking all these years that I may have had a disorder and then having it affirmed...but only by the presence of social media. Whether or not ADD or ADHD was present in my life prior to social, semblances of it certainly are now.

This collage of Ringo spectacularly depicts my reactions to many aspects of social media. Love it! Hate it! Over it! What is it? Etc.

Also, while I have popped onto social a couple of times during my intentional intermittent season (hey Michael's bday + a couple of work instances), I have tried to keep myself from looking at notifications. I didn't think this would be major, but guess what! Other People's Opinions are a big part of the "social" in "social media" ;-)

But because I am unfortunately not superhuman, in spite of my absence, I have automatically veered to that little red number indicating who's saying what about my social presence...or lack thereof. And even when it's not what I'd prefer, I definitely have strong feelings about people having fun without me. (Hi, have you met me? I thrive on social instances...for better or for worse. :-P) 

A friend asked just recently what I'd do after Easter...if I'd rather ease back in or jump back in. And I'm honestly not sure. 

Since I don't have to be on 24/7, I may limit myself to once a week. Or, as I've already seen in my intended short intentions to jump back on to check one thing, I could wander and browse for 30 minutes before I realize what I'm doing.

Either way, I have one week left of assured reduced screen time and increased reading efforts. We'll see. ;-)

Choosing Lent.

With a whopping 13 minutes till Lundi Gras, I began seriously thinking last night about what I may give up for Lent this year. (No time like the present, right?)

Around the same time, my multi-tasking mind recalled I hadn't watched a video my daddy had sent about nature. Keeping the parenthetical notation above in mind, I opened it, letting my mind ponder how I'd gone from a curious Baptist interested in her Catholic friends' devout practices to a member of a Presbyterian church where Lenten sacrifices are not only discussed, but encouraged. 

Watching the video, I was reminded of some of the reasons why I think Lent is important, regardless of denomination. 

First, the video: 

Now, a few reasons why Lent is important to me:

1. Sacrifice sharpens us. We never know when we'll need a skill, like being able to run fast, or spot a hole to climb in, or take a deep breath and think clearly. Maybe I've read too much Hunger Games.... Anyway, discipline can't hurt, right?

2. Sacrifice reminds us to be thankful. There may be better ways to learn appreciation than to go without even small things, and even for a short periods of time, but I'm not sure what those ways are.

3. Sacrifice reminds us we're not alone. Do I sometimes feel alone, like the only squirrel being chased down by the mean hawk? Well, naturally. I'm guessing many of us do. But is it possible for there to be one little squirrel in the forest? Doubtful. You and I are one of many, and can share so much. We just have to allow ourselves to. 

4. Sacrifice makes celebration sweeter. This fact, in the land of carnival and king cake known as the deep South, seems like such a no-brainer. But I think sometimes especially in the midst of such excess we need the reminder of why it all exists even more. It's not just a party for tourists. There's a story behind it, and come Easter, the real celebration is more heartfelt and glorious than any masquerade ball or parade could ever hope to present itself.

Baptist or Catholic, atheist or non-denominational, Presbyterian or Methodist, none of us are strangers to the feeling of being a small squirrel that is chased down by a ruthless hawk. Our inboxes fill with stress. Bank accounts remind us of our weaknesses. There are days when rather than blessings, our cups runneth over with relationship problems, health concerns, or repercussions from decisions we made ten years ago. No one is immune to parenting mistakes. No one can escape fears of the future. Hawks come in all shapes and sizes, and whether or not we believe there's a God or Lent is something we should partake in, we can't evade pressure.

We can, however, sharpen ourselves. We can meditate on what is true and just and pure. We can prepare ourselves for what may come our way. We can see what sacrifice feels like and appreciate what others (in my case, Jesus on the cross) have done for us. 

So that's why I choose to keep getting myself into this Lent situation. 

Because I'm far less prepared than any squirrel, and since every day brings a new hawk, it's clear this squirrel of a girl needs to take every opportunity to get busy sharpening skills and counting blessings. 

Wordless Wednesday: Carnival.

Temptation.

First day of carnival season, and I get the baby. That's what I get for caving to the temptation.

The Baby Jesus Cake.

My sister and her family are Yankees.

Ok, not really. They live in the northern part of Alabama. And in all fairness, they're transplants. But compared to the Biloxi, New Orleans, and Baton Rouge areas, it's kind of a stretch.

One of the more significant differences between here and there is the lack of Mardi Gras celebration "up north."

While our conservative Southern Baptist family is Protestant to the T, we still make room in our hearts, religions and tummies for king cake each year, so it was pretty important to us to introduce my nephew to king cake as early as possible.

Caleb is now 7, so I guess it was 4 or so years ago when he had a friend over during the Mardi Gras season after a king cake from home had arrived. It was time for a snack, and Caleb excitedly asked Will, "You wanna piece of baby Jesus cake?"

Caleb's friend reacted the way any Yankee -- ahem, I mean non-coastal person -- would, and firmly said no.

Who wants a piece of cake that sounds like it's made from the baby Jesus? No thank you!

However, Caleb's little-boy-terminology makes me think each time I remember it.

King cakes' inclusion of the plastic baby representing Jesus isn't just random; it's symbolic. While the whole point of Mardi Gras has been wildly exaggerated into a Bourbon Street perspective by the general public, its roots stem from the devout reverence for the many sacrifices that Jesus made for us.

So tasting this delectable pastry is more than just fattening up one particular Tuesday (and maybe every day before then, depending on how many delightful king cakes you're exposed to). Eating king cake and being reminded of the baby Jesus -- sometimes painfully in the tooth area -- are all part of what really is logical about Mardi Gras. We enjoy, we indulge, we celebrate life and all its gifts, and then we take some time to somberly appreciate those gifts, minus the indulgences.

But even still, if I were a Yankee (or something like that), and someone offered me a piece of "baby Jesus cake," especially when I was in pre-school, I probably wouldn't take 'em up on it, either. :-)

Meet Foxy.

I recently moved within Baton Rouge, and Foxy is my 87-year-old neighbor.

I've been itching to blog about Foxy, so if you're not already on my Foxy text list, or if the person who lived here before me is not a mutual friend of ours, this is your official intro.

Just to set the record straight, "Foxy" isn't some name I cheekily came up with on a whim. I don't know Foxy's first name. (And for the record, I don't want to, unless she tells me. Her storytelling is the best.)

Foxy originally hails from Opelousas, "stayed in Lafayette a bit," and has lived near downtown since she retired from the state. She likes to say, "M' momma was a Chachere and m' daddy was a Fox. An' I'm Foxy."

And boy, is she ever.

The picture here is of Foxy and me a couple of years ago -- around the time I first met her -- when my friend still lived here and was her neighbor. It was taken during Mardi Gras, when Foxy (and I quote) "isn't the same as when she was a young Fox, but still likes to pass a good time."

Stay tuned for more tidbits from the Fox den. :-)