paying attention what it's worth

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This is an opinion post (as are all of them, because this is a blog). If you don't like it, that's okay. The great thing about opinions is that you don't have to give them a second thought. You don't have to react at all. Isn't it great?

Once upon a time not long ago at all, I love(d) Instagram. A little too much. I kept reaching for my phone even when it wasn't there (this is very embarrassing for me to admit). Any time I did some kind of "cool" activity, I thought about what my caption was going to be the entire time I was doing the thing. Sometimes I would get on Instagram to look up somebody specific, start scrolling, get completely distracted, forget why I was on, close it, then remember, open it up again...and the cycle continued.

I couldn't sit through any leisurely activity anymore without "looking something up" on my phone (IMDB--"What else has this actor been in?" Wikipedia--"What true story is this movie based on?" "Oh this totally reminds me of...." -Check Instagram again). I couldn't sit still, I couldn't wait in a doctor's office or at the mechanic's or anywhere for longer than 5 minutes without my phone. The only "safe" place was church, where I didn't open social media apps, but I still caught myself "scrolling" during any in-between-meetings time, looking at my photos, checking the news, the weather.

I was not paying attention to anything anymore.

When you want to become a writer, the first advice you'll get, whether it's from a published author or your second-grade teacher, is to write down everything. You don't have to know everything--you just have to pay attention. Your job is to observe. The words come later.

The first time I committed to this practice was in 10th grade. My journal was a tattered, purple college-ruled notebook full of playlists, angsty sonnets I wrote about the troubles of being 16 (oh what did I know?), and observations. I still remember one day sitting in the car outside Albertson's while my mom went to get milk; a woman sat in her own car adjacent to mine, and she looked distraught. She wasn't having a good day from what I could tell. No tears, but her eyebrows met in the middle like a half-hearted handshake and her hair was just...everywhere. Not on purpose.

She was also eating Tootsie Rolls at an alarming rate. I started to worry she was going to choke because of how fast she was shoveling them in, like she was on a deadline. I wrote about this in my journal and came up with a list of reasons she might be binging on Tootsie Rolls. The reason didn't really matter--I didn't need to know. It was just something out of the ordinary I happened to notice because I was not looking down at a screen.

Now, you could argue that people-watching, eavesdropping, all of that, is invasive.

Yeah, maybe it is. But I have no idea who that woman was. If I had, I wouldn't have written about her (without changing her name, of course). I didn't take a picture of her and send it to anyone saying "OMG LOOK AT HER WHAT IS SHE DOING." I did not post this hypothetical photo on a garbage-forum so that others could pick it apart and analyze why she was doing the unthinkable--EATING TOOTSIE ROLLS HOW DARE SHE (I am not very successfully alluding to Get Off My Internets, or GOMI, one of the worst websites in the known universe).

I felt a kind of empathy that comes when you take the time to look at a person--instead of judging them or comparing yourself to them, you ask yourself how is she/he like me? And then, instead of How can I be more like him/her, you say, How can I help that person? 

Instagram had/has its benefits: you can feel connected to friends you actually never talk to IRL, you can commiserate over similar day-to-day feelings and experiences with people you might not have before the invention of the internet, you can make your life look more interesting than it really is, you can receive validation for doing things you love. Most of those things, if not all, are good.

But man, every time I scrolled I felt like a robot. I felt zero connection to any of the squares on the screen. I pressed "like" not because I actually felt inspired by the person or the photo, but because I felt like I had to, because the person was my "friend."

Here is the real truth that you don't see on my Instagram account:

• I have virtually zero friends in Logan, save for my husband. On the weekends, we stay home and do laundry and watch movies. When we invite people over, they usually can't/don't come. Shoulder shrug emoji.
• My weight is perfectly healthy, but seeing all of those swimsuit pics on Instagram (which I can't seem to annihilate from my explore page no matter how hard I try), I feel kind of bad about it. 
• I cry at least once a week about what I'm doing with my liiiiiife I can't believe I still don't know
• I want to be a more spiritual person but I am not the best at cultivating this every day.
• I want to be able to speak my mind more often, but I usually keep my mouth shut.
• I get really jealous of everybody's else lives, their book collection, their never-ending travels, their wardrobes, their babies, their huge twitter following, their muscles, their drive, their testimonies, their stage of life, their budgeting skills, their houses, their massive skincare collection...and on and on it goes.

At the end of December, I began to feel these familiar feelings again, feelings of not having "enough," especially time to do what I really loved, which was create. I wasn't creating anything, except some "ideal persona" on the internet. Who was she? Did I really want to be her? 

I didn't. 

So I signed out, I deleted the app, and I got out my notebook again. The cover simply says "Write." All the inspiration I thought had been completely wiped off the face of Planet McKenzie in some plague of self-indulgence came back, and it was like, Oh yeah! I remember this. I remembered what I had to do. The words came back suddenly, like a flash flood, and I realized they hadn't left. They'd just been dammed up, stored up for later, and as soon as I cracked open the dam of distraction, out they came. 

I still love Instagram. And you should know, since deleting it, I have felt more alone than ever. *Universe whispers IRONY very loudly* 

But I'm taking walks again. I'm starting to see things plainly. And best of all, I see people more clearly now. They're just people. They're human, just like me. And humans deserve the kind of attention that comes from really looking at a person--and you can't do that through a screen.

to watch

I think since marrying Houston my taste in movies has gotten a little more...snobby. Or maybe I just care more about what I consume. There it is! A better way to say that I think my movie taste is "da bayyyst."

Anyway, I watched a movie recently that I think you should, too. And no, it's not on Netflix or I think Amazon, so you'll have to find it somewhere else and *gasp* pay for it. But I think it's worth it. First, the cinematography made me a lil' weepy. Second, the score was composed by Ennio Morricone. I could end there, but third, the plot is really somethin'. Kind of Biblical. Pretty dark. But at the same time, innocent. Did I sell you on it yet?! Duh.

I couldn't decide which movie poster iteration I liked best, so you're getting both.

And if you don't like paying for movies, you can watch these two things on Netflix which had a profound effect on me for different reasons.

First: The Center Will Not Hold (a documentary about Joan Didion)

This might not be interesting to you if you've never read anything by Joan. I just finished reading her most popular book, The Year of Magical Thinking, and while it provided a good contextual background for the documentary, I don't think it was absolutely necessary. 

Disclaimer: this one is kinda for writing nerds. She talks a lot about recording your life, both the good and the bad, so that you don't forget who you are. It made me feel things. It's also about "moving on" after you lose someone you love (spoiler: you don't really move on). The last scene really made me misty-eyed.

And second, PLANET EARTH 2!! I used more than one exclamation point, so you know this is pivotal. You must watch this.

I have never yelled at my TV screen more (maybe if I was a sports fan, this wouldn't be that rare). I think I was more emotionally invested in these animal's lives than I am in my own. Whoops.

Did the swimming sloth ever find a mate?

Did the mama snow leopard ever see her daughter again?

Did the grizzly bears find food?!

Did the baby turtles ever figure out which direction the ocean was? 

Did the albatross and his mate have lots of babies?

Did the lions starve in the drought?

I can't emphasize enough how much you need to watch. My only sadness is that I probably won't get another Planet Earth until I'm almost 40, because it takes them about 10 years to gather six episodes worth of footage. But when you see this footage, you understand why.

can you believe this animal is real??? Look at that RBF.

serenity now

Penguins live the craziest lives-- you would never guess.

The very first scene in the first episode. Whaaaaaaat

I laughed so hard at this scene.

I mean....

*me at the OBGYN* "You know what this place needs? Some honky-tonk country music!!!!!"

Yes, it's what it sounds like.

I was on the table in the "gown" (loose definition for the cloth they make you wear), and suddenly, over the speakers I heard this:

🎵and crack was somethin' you did before you made a joke, and a hoe was just a garden tooooooooool🎵

Suddenly, my grandma was in there with me, telling me about the old days while I got a pap smear.

It wasn't awesome.

And yeah, I just said "pap smear" on my blog. The end is (probably) nigh.

and now a photo essay to punctuate this strange day:

on my way to the OB/GYN, I found this gem. I feel like he's asking for help.

flavor with with other natural flavors

"The poison for Kusco. Kusco's poison. The poison chosen to kill Kusco."

some clouds tinged in peach

to bae or not to bae

On second thought, I think everyone should stop saying "bae" now. There are so many better ways to refer to your beloved: My Crispy Potato Chip, Swedish Trish (this only works if your significant other is named Trish), "Bless Your Beautiful Hide/Hyde" (this is a play on that song from Seven Brides for Seven Brothers), and lastly, "Did You Take out the Garbage Yet." Such romantic, very affection.

Houston wants to be a prominent figure in society someday and that's why I keep publishing the things he says. 

Houston after 10pm

Can we name our son Just In Me? Then when he runs for president he can say "trust in me..JUST in me." 

"Behold thy SPOUSE" (with arms outstretched)

Okayyy I'm gonna go brush brush brush brush my teeeeefers

What do you call the knight who wants to free all the slaves?

Sir Emancalot

Eddie Bauer is so much better than Eddie Redmayne

(At the mall, music is playing) Do you think the telesrial kingdom will be just like this but without Sweet Home Alabama playing?

Let's make out until we both have gout 

???????????????

I'm gonna make a movie called Parent Trap but it will be about catching parents in bear traps. 

Lots of things are your fault. And lots of things are your birth control's fault.

Tots need ketchup like North Korea needs Netflix.

I wanna get stamps that just say "tramp" on them.

This is called a muggle snuggle cuz there's no magic involved.

*talking in his sleep at an Airbnb*

"Wait, is that an eyeball in the corner?! What are you doing here?"

I wish I could fall asleep to the smell of ham every night. 

Did you know that when Elder Bednar got married in the temple he changed his name tag to say Elder Wednar

I had a dream my poodle got turned into King Kong and shot down from the tower (I lost it when he said this one)

I just named your butt George W Tush!

...And now you're being President Daft.

Me: What's that from?

H: Not every thing is a quote! [pause] And not everything is a quilt.

Me: what are you getting your family for Christmas?

H: a big bucket of steak sauce. I'll call it "mistake sauce." And then with an envelope and card I'll say "atonement." See, it'll be a religious gift. 

Me: only you could make a bucket of steak sauce religious.  

“I sent my DNA results in and I’m one third Son of Perdition”

M: “Apple changed the notes font! Better than the stupid Helvetica.”

H “What the Helvetica!” 

M: “China once had a traffic jam that lasted three days and three nights.”

H: “I think that was after Christ’s death...”

Sometimes I talk to my ex girlfriends. We ex-communicate. 

Did you know that people with download syndrome have one extra google chrome a some? 

m: She has gonohrrea 

H: Where did she go? 

m: Are we getting a movie for Chase?

H: No actually he wants a teenage geisha this year 

*watching Planet Earth*

me: the DAD birds get the food?

h: the mom birds want to watch desperate housewives.

m: desperate houseBIRDS

h: desperate birdhouses

(it was late at night, I am sorry)

Dr. Google is Free and STupid

art by Hiller Goodspeed

I worry too much about healthcare billz (re: that headline I've seen a million times that says "Why Aren't Millennials _____ [insert very expensive life choice here]??).

So sometimes I put off going to the doctor...for...an unhealthy amount of time. In 2012, I had gallbladder attacks for a solid week until my mother forced me to go to the hospital where, when asked my pain scale from 1-10, I answered "12" with some drool running down my face.

NEAT NEAT NEAT

On Sunday night I noticed a weird dent on my forehead. And when I pushed down on it, there was definitely a groove. And when I released pressure, the skin bounced back. So of course I immediately checked myself in to the WebMd Waiting Room (also known as hell).

We know this. We know that the internet giving us medical advice provides the same amount of comfort that Hitler had in the Spring of 1945. We know, but we still click the search button.

I went to bed pretty sure I was dying. The next day I remembered I had smacked my head really hard on a shelf in our kitchen. Oh yeah.

I am not entirely convinced that the head-smacking was completely harmless. At work, I was typing the phrase "high impact" over and over, and it started to wear on my brain:

I might just leave it there.

of candy wrappers and super moons

We drove up the canyon for a few miles. We probably didn't need our headlights, the moon was so bright. It turned the mountains an iridescent green. We talked about President Monson, who died the night before, and the burden about to be placed on Russell M. Nelson. But ya know, that guy has so much energy, you'd hardly know he was older.

You ate cold McDonald's fries. I scratched an itch on my leg, the same itch in the same spot that's always there, and there's no bump or rash to accompany it. So maybe I'm just imagining things.

And now, a photo essay of the candy wrapper trail I found in the living room that led from the candy jar to your feet. You said, "I think I was rage-eating them."

Sorry the lighting sucks cuz we live in a basement with hardly any natural light, and it's winter, and I don't have fancy camera equipment. I am not a true Utah blogger, so I guess I have to turn in my VASA membership and Roolee coat now. 

he was definitely rage eating, because otherwise those strawberry candies never would've gotten eaten

notice the other tell-tale signs of our living here: a ginger ale can, Kleenex, a conservative magazine, Smiths' rewards card, Micron pens, and a gadget Houston bought on the Oregon Coast

this blurry shot will probably be considered modern art someday

and last but not least, THE WALL. Much more ominous than the Berlin Wall, it stands in our living room, separating us from sophisticated 20-somethings whose parents bought them a brand new house with white walls and mid-century modern furniture.... and just ordinary newlyweds tryn'a make it through school and mediocre desk jobs.

I've been told to enjoy this time and for once I am doing what I'm told. It's nice to be ordinary. It's nice to not have all this brand new *stuff* to worry about. To just be. And if a drive up the canyon while eating cold fries is considered a date, it's one of the most memorable I've ever had.

this walk made possible by wool socks

My journaling took a sad turn in 2017. Uh, and 2016. Before grad school, I was a very diligent record-keeper. Which is a little regrettable now since I wrote in painstaking detail about every little injustice life dealt to me (getting your period on Christmas is unfortunate, but not really apocalyptic, sorry for the tear stains on the pages, and no I'm not joking about those).

So in an attempt to resurrect my memories I am leaving my mark here. I am more motivated to write when I don't care who's reading. That's the freedom of not giving a CARP about what anyone thinks of you (except your mom, hi mom!).

The other day I was waiting for the bus after work when I decided to just walk home (wow, that sentence was a ride!). It was above 30 degrees and my phone's battery was fully charged, so.

By the end of the walk I was getting choked up at the beautiful sunset. I had realized once again how small and insignificant I am in this big universe, but how little that matters to a God that loves me.

i want the internet to stop

It's 2018, and almost everything I want for myself is the same. There's just one thing I want, but can't control.

I want the internet to stop.

I restarted (re-signed up? What is a good word for this?) a Twitter account because I was bored at my library job. I know that every good story has to have some element of tension or it won’t last, it won’t hold up. And nothing on the internet is inspiring me anymore because it's lost its tension for me, unless it’s old poems someone that’s already dead has written and left behind. Or old photographs. Things that are no longer with us. The present offerings are too weak to sustain me. Consuming time on the internet is the equivalent of Quaker Rice Cakes. I don’t care if you think the chocolate chip ones are good. They’re just rice bits puffed with air and a side of chocolate air.

Last time I had Twitter, it was 2015 and I was gettin' a little tired of every single tweet making fun of another person or their lifestyle, all for the sake of likes. Like, can you get a new hobby? Would you say that kind of crud to the person if they were standing in front of you? Probably not. The worst are people re-tweeting quotes about kindness and then in the next tweet they're posting a picture of a blogger they hate and commenting on how much they hate it and AH

RICE CAKES, I TELL YOU.

This is not to say that I'm any better at this than those I'm calling out. I've probably rolled my eyes at 75% of every Instagram/Facebook post that's come across my way, but it's starting to have an effect on me. And maybe it doesn't bother anyone else and THAT IS COOL good for you, but I have become familiar with that twisty snake feeling in my stomach that says "You could be doing something better with your life."

Because how you spend your time is how you spend your life.

And so I'm gonna write on this dang blog even if nobody reads it. I'm going to stop comparing myself to every silly post I see on the internet and I'm going to take more walks to remind myself that what internet strangers think of me is utterly pointless.