I joined Facebook in early 2007. It opened to anyone with an email address (as opposed to being limited to educational institutions) in September 2006. So I’ve been on Facebook for most of its public life. That’s quite a long time for an old person. The young whippersnappers are quite gobsmacked when they ask if I’m on Facebook and I tell them “Sonny, I was on Facebook before you were born.”
(Okay, I may be exaggerating a bit. Also, I was lying. Real young whippersnappers aren’t on Facebook anymore.)
Facebook is one of those plus and minus things in your life. I won’t elaborate. Anyone on Facebook knows what I’m talking about. Anyone not on Facebook by now doesn’t want to know the pluses anyway.
I’ve found it useful at times. The year I was training for my first marathon, I would put updates on my page titled “Diary of a Mad Wannabe Marathon Woman”. It made me accountable and got me out training when I didn’t feel like it. And it gave me something to think about as I ran.
I’ve also discovered some pretty cool running opportunities that have popped up in my Facebook newsfeed. (It’s odd. If you post a lot of stuff about running, Facebook puts running ads in your feed. How do they know to do that?? 🙄 )
About a year ago, I deactivated my account. It wasn’t in response to the Cambridge Analytica scandal. Anyone shocked by what came out about all that, clearly doesn’t understand you don’t get something free for nothing.
In my case, I got out after I posted one too many “a trouble shared is a trouble halved” posts in a time of stress which broke a couple of rules and I got in trouble at work. I’m not a fan of getting in trouble. So my response was to deactivate my account.
After two weeks, I reactivated it because I had an attack of FOMO (Fear Of Missing Out). It wasn’t that I was missing what people were eating when they went out for dinner or photographs of their feet at a beach or pool in some exotic location. I had a fear of missing out on photographs and stories of some special little people in my life that I don’t get to see in person very often. Also, some of the wackiest and most exhilarating running events I’ve participated in have come about because an ad about it popped up in my feed. I didn’t want to miss out on the next exciting night run or crazy cosplay race. There were also a couple of pages that were informational and I was worried about missing out on things I wanted to do because I wouldn’t know about them.
I returned to Facebook under new conditions. I reduced my ‘friends’ by about two thirds, narrowed the pages I was following to just the ones from which I really wanted information and ramped up my privacy settings to maximum level. It at least felt a little safer.
However, I’ve just deactivated my account again and this time I mean it. The only reason I’ve chosen deactivation over total deletion is that I need to maintain a Messenger presence for family reasons. I’m also, for now, hanging onto the Facebook page for my blog so in some ways, I still have a presence there but without all the extra….er…stuff.
So why now? And what happened to FOMO?
The thing is, photos of little people I love will never make up for in-person cuddles and giggles. There are other places I can look up running events I might wish to participate in (and maybe missing a few and not cramming my life so full is a good thing.) I’m hoping friends holding music gigs or workshops will keep me in mind and spread the news beyond Facebook.
Life changes and sometimes parts of your life that have been important come to an end either by choice or unexpectedly. Facebook can have an unfortunate tendency to keep those parts of your life in your face. If the ending was not your choice, it can be painful to be reminded of what you have lost. Photos from outings to which you’re no longer invited, glowing posts about events that you know you will never be involved in again. De-friending or un-following is not always the easy answer.
Maybe it’s also a chance to increase opportunities for real world interactions and sharing beyond just a click on Like or leaving a passing comment.
So I’m choosing to care for me, cutting myself some slack and unbinding from the ‘book.
And the big plus side? In my need for human connection, I’ll come looking for it in the blogosphere. Look out, MOSY is back!
What’s your relationship with Facebook? Avid fan, necessary user or full anti-Zuckerberg?
So, it’s the end of January. We’re 1/12th of the way through 2019 already. How are your New Year Resolutions going? Are you living in a world of success, despair or meh who cares?
Me, I’m basking in the light of victory because I have, as I predicted, broken every single one of my resolutions already. Go me.
One month in is a good opportunity to review our goals for the year. Did we make good choices? Are our resolutions SMART?
No, I’m not shouting at you. SMART – Specific, Measurable, Achievable, Relevant, Timely.
Because everyone keeps a spreadsheet of data to measure their progress on a New Year Resolution, right?
Ha. I was only joking. But, actually, come to think of it…. be right back.
[2 seconds later]
Yeah….nah. I’m going to need a resolution to create data sheets for my resolutions. That can be 2020’s goal.
So, here’s where my resolutions stand:
Most Forgotten Resolution
Resolution 1: Refuse all requests to take photos of other people
I actually forgot I made this one because so far nobody has asked me to take a photo of them. If this keeps up, I may actually achieve this resolution by doing nothing.
Most Likely To Succeed Resolution
Resolution 5: Go to the gym more regularly
In nine days’ time I have a 10km race, six days after that I fly out to Nepal for three weeks, three weeks after I get back I’ll be walking 100km in 24 hours for Oxfam and six weeks after that I’m running in the Great Ocean Road Marathon (44km). Motivation is a beautiful and useful thing.
Most Broken Resolution
Resolution 4: Limit watching late night talk show monologues to once a week
Who was I kidding? I will continue to break this resolution and I don’t care. It beats curling myself into a ball and whimpering at the state of the world.
Most Unattainable Resolution
Resolution 2: Answer a question with a question and don’t talk about myself
What I failed to realise in setting this goal is that one must first possess the skill of asking spontaneous questions about someone in a conversation. I’ve managed it a few times but only because I’ve predicted the beginning of a conversation and rehearsed the reverse question beforehand. Then the conversation continues and I’m screwed. Are there online courses on “How to conduct a conversation in person” or “How to deflect attention away from oneself in three easy steps”?
Most Worthwhile Resolution
Resolution 3: Limit messages and emails to 25 words or less
The main reason for Resolutions 2 and 3 is that I have grown tired of slapping myself in the head because I said or wrote something stupid, clumsy, inappropriate, unnecessary or untimely. I know. Strange but true. My masochism has boundaries. (Okay, very wide boundaries, being a marathon runner and having signed up for the 100km Oxfam Trailwalker for the third time, but there are definitely boundaries.)
Limiting myself to 25 words won’t eliminate the occurrence of stupidity but it does lessen the likelihood. The three occasions when I have broken this rule in the past month have proven it a worthwhile endeavour to pursue. No more will I cry “That’s not what I meant!” to the heavens.
Obviously there are limitations on this resolution. If I’m organising the next training walk or fundraising effort for my Trailwalker team, limiting myself to 25 words is likely to leave out important details and I will be wondering why they haven’t turned up at the location and time I failed to mention. But for general chitchat, this is a handy guide.
It also reduces the “Gawd, why did I talk so much?” post-messaging head bashing because sometimes when I think I want to say something, I wonder how I can do it in 25 words and then decide I didn’t really need to say it after all. And relief abounds throughout the online land…
Plus, in the end, I love a challenge. And maths. Figuring out how to say something in limited words is good brain work.
And if I get enough practice, I might be able to put it to use in actual competitions and win some cool stuff.
It’s a winning resolution.
So how’s your year going so far?
Type “introvert meme” into a search engine and you’ll find a million and one results. This is good for those of us of the internal variety not only to realise we’re not in there alone but they provide some handy resources to circulate in an effort to help the extrovert world understand our weirdness.
There’s a common misconception that introverts are anti-social. We’re not. It’s just that being social can be exhausting for an introvert. Some people (extroverts) are energised by being around lots of people and talking. Introverts get their energy from spending time in their own heads.
Does this mean we don’t enjoy being with other people? Of course not. Admittedly, we’re not always good conversationalists. We don’t do small talk. And for those of us with the double whammy of introversion and shyness, maintaining a conversation, especially with someone we don’t know well, can be agony. On the plus side, we make great listeners.
Introverts can do social. We can even like it. It’s just that we prefer meaningful conversation with one or two people we know well. In a large social gathering, you’re more likely to find us clearing the table or in the kitchen doing the dishes. We like a large gathering if we have the option of moving in and out of social interaction with a job to do.
Unfortunately, introverts – along with those ubiquitous memes about us – can sometimes be our own worst enemies. A plethora of memes about how we’d rather stay home or how social occasions cause us anxiety can have unintended consequences. Often it means that other people hesitate to invite introverts out for a social date. Let’s face it, an introvert will never be the life of the party (although personally I kill it with the Under 5 crowd) and rarely tops an invitation list. People think we’d prefer not to go, that we’re happiest at home alone.
Okay, yes, we are.
Just not all the time.
Introverts are people too and people need people (cue Barbara Streisand…). We can do alone but we also do lonely.
So, if you’re not an introvert yourself but you’re lucky enough to be friends with one, don’t forget your homebody friend may be getting too much of a good thing. Ask them out for dinner or a drink or to see a movie. They’ll welcome it. Just don’t bring ten people with you.
This has been a Public Service Announcement.
Actually, given it’s from an introvert, this has been a Privately Expressed Suggestion.
A new one just begun… (almost)
I believe it is customary at this time of year to make resolutions for the year ahead. I’ve never been a fan of New Year Resolutions. It always feels like setting yourself up for failure.
But I’ve been reviewing my resistance to resolutions.
Common areas for improvement have traditionally been based around losing weight, getting fit and giving up some vice or other.
I don’t need to lose weight. Even with a chocolate-laden diet. Lucky me.
I already belong to a gym and have control over my fitness. It’s what allows me to have my chocolate-fuelled diet. It’s all about motivation.
I don’t smoke and I don’t….oh. Well, okay, I could probably make alterations in my imbibing rates at times. I like wine. And beer. And gin. That’s grapes, wholegrains and berries. I’m pretty sure all of those appear in the healthy section of the food pyramid, right? So I’m all good there, then.
So I have been musing about resolutions and their purpose and have concluded that they are about improvement of oneself and benefit to others. In which case, I’ve come up with the following resolutions for 2019:
1. I will politely decline whenever anyone asks me to take a photo of them. I am a shocking photographer. This will reduce disappointment in the world.
2. I will perfect the politician’s skill of answering a question with a question thus avoiding talking about myself. This will reduce eyestrain in the community as people are no longer required to dart their eyes to the side looking for a way out whenever I am speaking, especially after a couple of glasses of wine.
3. I will write all emails and messages based on the competition standard of 25 words or less. Then I will delete them. Only if I can be bothered rewriting them will I send them. This will increase productivity across the land.
4. I will limit my consumption of American late night talk show host monologues to once a week. This is for my own general wellbeing and mental health. It will also reduce boredom in those less obsessed with US politics.
5. I will utilise the gym more regularly but will not talk about it on social media. (Okay, so I lied about having control over my fitness. Seriously, who doesn’t drop the ball over Christmas/New Year?)
In the tradition of New Year Resolutions, I expect to have broken every one of these by the end of January.
Got some New Year Resolutions of your own? How do you think you’ll go?
What’s your relationship with the universe? Is it friend or foe? Or is it more like an annoying parent doing things you don’t like for your own good?
I joke a lot about the universe having a sick sense of humour. Like when I decide the universe is telling me not to do something because nothing is working out and then suddenly everything falls into place.
Today the universe decided to show me kindness.
As I approach the worst day of the year, anxiety is high and tears are close. I’m not sleeping or eating properly and everything feels difficult.
Today the universe chose to tell me I am needed, I am useful, I am loved and I am worthy.
After two failed past attempts and an almost third, I was able to successfully complete a plasma donation and know I have saved lives.
Chance sent me a stranger I could help with a meal and a train ticket.
A friend reached out, unwilling to let me slip away into social solitude.
I won a pair of trail runners because of something I wrote about running.
A day that began with stress ended with peace and happiness.
It’s still a tricky week but I’m grateful for the small things that help me keep going.
How do you explain a grief that never really goes away? How do you explain to those who’ve never experienced the sudden, unexpected death of a loved one why the grief still lingers after decades?
I’ve written before about losing my sister and niece in a car crash in 1993. (In fact, I can’t believe it’s already been nearly five years since I wrote about it.) It’s an experience that has become woven into the very fabric of who I am and the anniversary of their deaths is a day to be endured even so many years later.
Yesterday would have been my sister’s 60th birthday. I always find her birthday difficult, coming soon after mine, but the significant birthdays are the hardest.
I had to work. I am lucky to work with a very caring colleague and I had wisely already discussed what was coming up. So when I disappeared into the toilets not long after arriving at work and reappeared some time later red-eyed and subdued, she was attentive and protective.
The day was exhausting. While I was teaching, things were fine. I have a lovely class and they fill me with joy every day (okay, yes, also frustration at times but that’s teaching, right?) and they gave me bright moments in my day. It was just the ‘down’ times that were hard. And so, when the music played for the end of recess, I suddenly lost it and had to pull myself together in the kitchen before the kids came in. (To be fair, they’d chosen that day to play “You Are The Reason” by Calum Scott. Seriously. Luckily, for lunchtime, they switched to “Nutbush”.)
I made it through the day but I was pretty exhausted by the end. I was fortunate to have a community singing session that night so even though I was tempted to stay home and go to bed, I went and it lifted my soul as it always does.
Today, I got to work and my colleague asked how I was after yesterday.
“Okay,” I said. “But a bit embarrassed about yesterday.”
Because here’s the thing. There’s a part of you that wonders if others think it’s ludicrous that you’ll still burst into tears at the memory of someone gone for 25 years.
How do you explain?
How do you explain that the years don’t matter?
How do you explain that the pain never goes away?
How do you explain that you never really get over it? You learn to live with it and you learn to find joy and happiness in your life again but you never, ever get over it.
How do you explain that the sudden and unexpected death of someone so young leaves a lasting scar that tears open again at every birthday, every anniversary, every family celebration (births, marriages) that highlight their missing presence?
I’m lucky. I work with someone who is sensitive and understanding and she made it clear that I had nothing to be embarrassed about.
I hope, if you’ve experienced the same devastating loss, that you are also surrounded by people who understand.
The grief never really goes away.
It’s hard to explain.
We have a Magic Kitchen Fairy.
If you spill something on the bench, you can just leave it and the Magic Kitchen Fairy will wipe it up.
If you pull the inner seal off a bottle of milk, just leave it on the bench. The Magic Kitchen Fairy will pop it in the bin for you. The same goes for empty packets and wrappers.
Dirty plate or cup? Just put it down wherever you’re sitting. The Magic Kitchen Fairy will be along soon to collect it for you.
Whenever you make a sandwich, don’t worry about the cutting board, knife and crumbs and stuff. The Magic Kitchen Fairy will clean that up for you.
Oops. Had an overflow in the microwave? Not a problem! Just go about your business and the Magic Kitchen Fairy will wash the tray and make that microwave sparkling clean again.
If you forget to put that box of cereal back in the pantry, not to worry. The Magic Kitchen Fairy put it away for you.
See? She’s amazing!
She hates me.
No, listen, she really hates me. I’ve tried doing those things and she never cleans things up for me.
And I swear when others leave a mess and I’m around, she hides and leaves me to do it.
She hates me.
You don’t think she exists, do you? But she does. I know.
How do I know she exists?
Because I know my husband and children definitely believe in the Magic Kitchen Fairy. They trust her completely to clean things up for them. Surely four people can’t be that badly mistaken, can they?
I mean, if they don’t believe in the Magic Kitchen Fairy, then they must be leaving those messes for me to clean up. And that can’t be right, can it?
We have a Magic Kitchen Fairy.
Have you ever had rock candy? Hey, I’m talking about lollies not some euphemism for crack cocaine. This is a family-friendly blog. You know, that hard sweetie they roll into long tubes of sugary, colourful fun and then slice up like some sweet tooth’s version of kabana.
I remember standing at the window of more than one confectionary establishment watching the candy man or candy woman rolling out the soft and pliable candy dough and wondering what the end product would look like – would it be a rainbow of colours, an interior designer’s dream of colour scheming or, if they were really clever, would there be a word or picture through that sugar rope?
I wonder what you would look like as a piece of rock candy? What runs through the middle of you? (That’s not a literal question. I don’t need to see what a dissection of a human body would look like, thank you very much.)
I’m sure you’ve heard the phrase that someone may have a “streak of madness”. What’s your streak? Maybe you have more than one. Maybe you’d be a rainbow of streakiness if you turned into rock candy.
I’ve spoken before about my inherent streak of stubbornness. It’s what got me through training for and completing my first marathon. Despite the voices telling me I’d never make it, that stubborn streak just wouldn’t let me give up. That streak took over again recently when I put myself through a process I’d sworn I’d never do again because my first experience had crushed my self-confidence. But when the opportunity arose, that stubborn part of me just wouldn’t let it beat me and I felt compelled to give it another shot. That stubborn streak is so hard, I reckon it would rival an Everlasting Gobstopper.
However, if you sliced me up, it wouldn’t just be the word “stubborn” through the middle. I can be pretty streaky.
There’s the Freak Streak for starters. The one that makes middle-aged me go out in public in fluoro orange sneakers and a hoodie saying “I am a Whovian Mum. Just like a normal mum except much cooler.” The one that dresses up in a nerd costume for a trivia night even though it’s not a dress up event.
Then there’s definitely a stereotypical streak of madness. What else would make me take on a marathon at age 50? Or decide I could put together my own she-shed with no building skills whatsoever?
There’s a wobbly and uneven streak we’ll call a combination of over-thinking and lack of self-confidence. Sometimes it’s a thick streak and sometimes you can hardly see it.
A crafty/arty streak definitely flows through me. It’s not a particularly refined one and is probably a bit lumpy with undissolved sugar but it goes through my core.
I’m not sure the MOSY Rock Candy would be a bestseller and it certainly wouldn’t appear in any of your exclusive confectionery establishments. It’s more likely to be in the clearance bin in amongst the other imperfect packages. But it’s definitely a limited edition.
So, what would your rock candy look like?
Postscript: The day after I wrote the first draft of this post, the most famous rock candy manufacturer in Australia, Castlemaine Rock, announced they were closing their doors. Tapping into the zeitgeist…
I ran another marathon.
I know, I know.
Last year’s marathon was supposed to be the once-only, tick-it-off-the-bucket-list means of avoiding a significant birthday party.
And right up until I ran it, I was definitely only doing one. But then I crossed the finish line in a not-embarrassing time and then I got handed a big shiny medal. Ooh. Hard to resist a repeat of that experience.
There’s more to it, though. Unbeknownst to me, I’d signed up to run the 40th Edition of the Melbourne Marathon. You realise what that means? The medal I was handed at that finish line was a medal only those who completed that particular marathon will ever possess because it has “40 Years” on it.
All together now: Ooooh.
So when Facebook, in its infinite wisdom, decided to float into my news stream the news that the Gold Coast Marathon was celebrating 40 Years in 2018, what was a now-marathon-runner supposed to do?
I signed up.
My family sighed.
I sold it to them on the basis that we’d get a family holiday out of it at a warm Northern place in the cold Southern winter.
And I spent the following training months vowing I’d never do another one. I mean, who really has time for all that training?
That training was less than optimal. I pretty much dropped the ball between February and April. I kept finding excuses not to go to the gym to do my strength training or to cut short a difficult interval training run or to swap a run for a gym session because it was cold and dark outside and I didn’t wanna. I “didn’t wanna” quite a bit too much.
Because of this or maybe not because of this, maybe because I’m older or maybe just because life can be like that, I was also battling a bit of knee and hip annoyance in the weeks leading up the marathon. Well, that’s not good.
So, I shrugged and figured “all I have to do is cross the finish line”. After all, it’s the same medal whether you come 100th or 1000th. Even if I had to walk the last 10kms I’d make it. Damn, I’d crawl if I had to.
The upshot of this approach is that I rather enjoyed the marathon. I didn’t push hard, I took the time to have a proper drink at every station (although, over hydrating at the start meant a 3 minute layover at the 5km mark when I decided a use of facilities might be a good idea before my bladder burst) and I just tried to enjoy the experience and the scenery.
Okay, I didn’t enjoy all of it. I mean, it’s a marathon. Nobody enjoys all of it. There was a 6km section from about the 31km mark when we’d just passed the entrance into the park where the finish line is and we had to keep going before we could loop back for the final leg that seemed interminable. I’ve never known 6km to be so loooooong.
It was also a bit warm for my liking. I’ve mentioned before that I prefer to run in the cold. It wasn’t Commonwealth-Games-collapse-on-the-side-of-the-road level heat but it was too warm for this woman from the Victorian wintry lands.
In the end, I ran a similar time to last year, just a few minutes over my previous time. To have enjoyed the race and finished well (and no trouble with the cramping I had last time) was worth a few extra minutes.
The organisers of the Gold Coast Marathon claim 60% of participants achieve a personal best time in this event. That makes the sneaky voices whisper “if only”s in your ear when you don’t achieve one. But here’s the thing about that statistic. I’ve just filled out a survey about the event and one of the questions was “Did you make a personal best time?” for which you can answer “Yes” or “No”. Here’s what I also know: according to the announcer at the finish line, 30% of participants were running their first marathon. If it’s your first marathon, it’s a given that you’re going to answer “Yes” to that question. Right? Plus, if you ran a shocker and didn’t beat a previous time, perhaps you’d be disinclined to fill out a survey and answer such a question. So it puts that 60% figure in a dodgy light, I reckon.
In the end, all that mattered was crossing that finish line and collecting another big shiny medal. It’s always about the bling for me.
All that glitters is on the Gold Coast.
Postscript: A friend texted today to ask how the marathon went. I told her it went well and I enjoyed it. Then I said:
“Unfortunately, that probably means I’ll do another one. LOL”
She runs alone
with no partner, friend, coach or team
to while away the hours
as the kilometres plod by
Time in her head
her own company she keeps
She sings to herself
to keep the rhythm in her feet
and silently screams at the voices
that tell her to stop
that she can’t do it
that she shouldn’t be there
She revisits past troubles
and reviews ones yet to come
She rewrites past conversations
and rehearses ones that have to come
It has always been thus
and she has met the challenges
she has set for herself
and overcome them
And she has not minded
the time alone
She is alone
but not lonely
Today the loneliness strikes hard
Even the usual fleeting connections
with strangers on the track
a smile, a wave, a breathless ‘Hello’
are rare on this cold and blustery winter day
as sensible people stay indoors
curled up on the couch
watching their footy team play
Perhaps, in these days of reduced social interaction
this introvert has had too much of a good thing
like an overly restrictive diet
As coffee dates and drinks and dinners out
have all but disappeared
perhaps loneliness has put a foot in the door
The loneliness in her life
finds its way onto the track
As the kilometres of bitumen
pass endlessly by
under her pounding feet
she questions this life choice
this pursuit of isolation
And she knows
Because loneliness is hard
but also all too easy
She questions her value as a friend
to all but a tiny few
Reaching out is easy when one feels
one’s value to the other
She knows she is appreciated
for her willingness to help
and her acts of generosity
She knows she is respected
for her tenacity in the face of challenge
and her passion for justice
But she longs to be loved
for her sense of humour
and her addiction to American late night talk shows
for her innate childish silliness
and her ridiculous dance moves
for her love of cosplay
and musicals and themed birthday parties
She wishes her annoying traits
that keep her from friendship
could be softened and understood
couched in an understanding
of her shyness and social awkwardness
her need for order
and her belief that life should be fair and just
As she reaches the end
the thoughts ease for now
and she knows
tomorrow she will lace these shoes again
but not always lonely