Death by Comparison

I am better than ___________________________ but not as great as _____________________________.

One of the biggest problems TJ and I have is that I always (don't use absolutes, Lindsey), I mean often compare myself to him.

For any of you that know us both, you might think that is slightly ridiculous. When talking to us both, right away you would notice that we are different and have our own personal awkward quirks. Typically I'm louder and he is more quiet. I talk more and he is content hanging out and observing. Our individual characteristics are both valuable, just different.

How can two people that are so different be compared?

Great question. Thank you for asking.

TJ and I like to do a lot of the same things. We are both creative, pretty hilarious (in my opinion), active, have a love for life and people and adventure. Obviously, this is the short list of how great we are.

A lot of the things that I feel like define me as fun, unique, and even...cool...TJ does too. Some of these things we both happened to do separately before we met. If I have to be honest, there are some things that he introduced to me. But practically everything cool we do can be attributed to me, obviously.

They are very significant things too. Things that really matter in life like surfing, snowboarding, music, random adventures, coffee, cooking, design, throwing a great party, and how to be from Southern California.

As our relationship grows, I find that TJ does everything that I introduced to him better than me. EVERYTHING. (There I go on the absolutes again, but I mean, it's true; it is everything). He snowboards faster, trys bigger jumps, rides switch and beats me down the hill. He can really sing and actually (kind of) plays the guitar. He wants to go out surfing every morning instead of staying in bed for some extra winks. TJ is better than me in the things we do together. Not to mention, he has always been more fashionable and good-looking.

I have lost my identity. No joke. I feel like I can't be defined as the strong, fun, awesome, life-of-the-party woman that I am because next to me is a strong, fun, awesome, life-of-the-party guy that seems to do it better.

When TJ gets excited about something, I don't. I want to be different, and if he beats me to being excited, than I can't be because than people around us will think that I am just doing it to be like him. Only one-person excitement allowed.

When TJ compliments my surfing, I can't accept it because I ride a long board and it is so much easier to surf on a long board than him on his shortboard. He is just trying to be nice and make me feel okay about not actually surfing.

When TJ suggests that we go on a fun day adventure and plans it, I hesitantly go along. I didn't think of it. Clearly, I am not as fun as he is.

Rather than being confident in who I am and recognizing the joy of sharing in these experiences with TJ, I have allowed comparison to literally kill me. I want so badly to be special and unique that being married to someone who actually likes to do almost all of the same things as me becomes a threat instead of something to be celebrated.

My loss.

TJ isn't the only one I compare myself to. I compare myself to you too. You are better at a lot of things. You probably have more stability than me and are better looking. You are aware of your issues and are working through them so well. You have found a career you love or something to work toward that really "makes your heart sing" like my mom always says. You currently are somewhere I am not, doing things that I want to do but can't, with the world at your fingertips. It is all working out for you. I know it is. I can tell because you have the best instagram photos and actually know how to use twitter.

All I want is to be perfect and everyone else in the world is threatening that. By being who you are, I compare myself to you. You remind me of what I am not doing right and how I am missing the mark or that I can't be unique since we are both doing the exact same thing or that my creative party idea is not that creative at all. (Thank you pinterest for giving away every creative idea in the entire world. Ugh.)

I know. It is pathetic. But I also have a hunch that I am not the only one doing the comparing.

The reality is (if you so choose to believe, and it is a choice) that nobody is perfect and every person is unique. Stepping out of the comparison game is liberating. It is the exact step I need to take to actually believing the truth about me. Not defining myself by what I do, but, aw yes, who I am.

Choosing not to compare ourselves to each other takes the focus off of me and places it on you. It gives us permission to see that we are all on this broken journey together, all trying to figure it out. Together we are better versions of ourselves.

Besides,

“Perfection is shallow, unreal, and fatally uninteresting.” ―Anne Lamott

You're not perfect and neither am I, so what are we trying to compare? Instead let's be truth-tellers, adventurers and supporters on this journey. Let's together see what each of us has to offer and celebrate it. Let's together see how each of us need to grow and challenge ourselves, and lovingly, gently, graciously do so. Let's together live fully and stop robbing ourselves of missing out on today by comparing what we don't have.

The last thing I want to be is shallow, unreal, and fatally uninteresting.

And as a public apology to TJ: I'm sorry for not letting you be as awesome as you are. I guess I'll just start having to be awesomer...

Costumes + Criticism

I used to blaze my own trail decorated in costumes whistling the song of the week that got my feet a-dancin' and my heart a-singin'. My creative mind would take me everywhere. I would look for any chance to use my imagination to tell stories to others and to myself, inviting my friends and family on the journey.

I don't think I did it to deny reality, but to enhance it. Growing up a pastor's daughter, and only-child, there were quite a few things that I didn't really learn about or have to face or understand until I was older. My friends were almost all informed about dating and popular music and fashion. I'm not saying that my sunflower leggings and matching oversized sweatshirt weren't fashionable, but with that bob haircut, thick plastic glasses and glorious braces I can say I maybe wasn't the coolest kid on the block.

When people around me talked about "the butterfly" and "tootsie roll" I played along like I knew, because I did know. Insects and candy. Duh.

Here's the thing, it wasn't really because I was that sheltered. I wasn't. (Okay maybe I was a little bit, but hear me out). I went to public school my whole life in Long Beach. Snoop Dogg. I mean Snoop Lion. Enough said. Also, my parents did an amazing job teaching me about everything that kids around me talked about. I just didn't care very much so kind of let it go in one ear and out the other.

It was more fun playing and imagining and creating in the beautiful place where dreams come true and you really can do anything.

Then I started to grow up. I started having to pay attention to things I should know about because remaining naïve wasn't an option any longer. I started to have a desire to see the world for what it is: the good, the bad, and the ugly. I found myself hungry for more. So I learned and wrestled and grew and listened and observed. Life and people have a lot to listen to and learn from. I still keep trying to listen better and learn more.

But it has made me critical.

Feeling the brokenness of the world and seeing its injustices can do that.

The little imaginative costumed whistling girl has still always been with me and shown her face as I've grown up. Sadly, not as much as I want. The critical me looks longingly at the playful me desiring for her to show herself once more.

Walking in critical shoes can be very good, recognizing how multifaceted everything in the world is, using wisdom and discernment in each endeavor and relationship. Choosing (or at least attempting) to be a part of the solution rather than the problem. Walking in critical shoes can be very bad, recognizing how multifaceted everything in the world is, carrying a burden far too great for any one person that can end up being a joy-stealer and life-killer.

I have forgotten how to walk in the balance. I have forgotten how to walk.

Critical shoes have stopped my feet from moving. I can always find something wrong with something or someone. When I do, instead of giving something or someone a shot, I just don't.

Being older doesn't have to be an either/or. Although it seems like a lot of people (myself included) prefer to land more closely to either criticism or naïvety. Being older should be and. Criticism and naïvety.

Criticism to continue encouraging learning, listening, and doing with intention.

Naïvety to continue imagining, hoping, seeing, and believing something better.

I think it is time to dust off my costume box once more. It is time to walk and play.

"What good is livin' a life you've been given,

if all you do is stand in one place?" -Lord Huron, Ends of the Earth

Who Cares?

I think everyone cares too much. I know I do. I can pretend like I don't care, but I do. I want you to like me. I want you to think that I am exciting and worth every second of your time. I want to do something with my life that makes you go, "WHOA!"

But then I just don't do anything. Why? Because I care.

I care so much about what you think of me that it inhibits me from letting go and simply living free. It is kind of twisted, I know. The chains of expectations, whether real or assumed, started just on my wrists but have moved to my ankles, wrapped around my entire body, and I'm afraid to say they are starting to grip my heart as well. And all because I care too much.

This is exactly how bad it has gotten:

Finally I started this blog. For me. I think subconciously I hoped it would be a way for me to break away a little bit from caring what people think by going for it--even if negative comments come my way. (We can't escape criticism or rejection, so this is my first feeble attempt at doing something that will surely receive that and push me to face it).

Back to how bad my caring has become. Last night I had this crazy person conversation with TJ, telling him that I felt a little weird after the fact looking at my facebook status telling people about this blog. My status said:

TJ has told me for a long, long, long, long time to blog. Not a "Teej + Linz" blog, but one where I just write. And so I am. Not really for anyone, but for me.

TJ: Why do you feel weird?

Me: Because I'm worried about coming across as a person who is using facebook as a way to get affirmation or attention since I said, "I am blogging for me" but then publicizing it.

TJ: Are you trying to do that?

Me: No, I don't think so? Maybe? I don't know.

TJ: Well, who cares?

FREEDOM. Even if just for a moment.

Who cares?

So much inside of me wants to burst. I'm struggling within these chains and needing to break free. For too long have I let expectations rule over me and I can't do it anymore. This is my life, no one elses. If I don't do with it what I think God is calling me to, then I am living selfishly.

We are designed to be connected to each other. To be broken together and to be made whole together. If I spend my life caring too much about what you think, it could be the very thing that keeps me from something exciting, new, fun, beautiful, true, and meaningful. If we all spend our lives caring too much what everyone thinks we will find ourselves pretty lonely, and who wants to be lonely? Even the most introverted of people need people.

Today I'm going to try not to care. And of all days, today that is really difficult. I'm sitting at The Mix in Costa Mesa, the Mecca of hipsterdom and coffee (thus my draw here) surrounded by beautiful, cool people. Then I'm going to the offices of Sevenly where one of my dearest friends, Christina (Mia) just landed her dream job. Another place filled with creative minds, skinny jeans, beards on beards on beards, chalkboards, rainbows, unicorns and a fake deer mounted on the wall. I already know as much as I have angst in being in these spaces I am drawn there and want people to think that I belong there too.

I have a big zit above my lip and am wearing a drab colored high school outfit (nothing seemed to be cool enough so I'm trying for the "whatever" look). I have to wear sneakers because my foot is strained and needs support (How old am I?). I think it's getting hot out and I'm in a sweater. Bad idea. Just not my best of days.

But you know what? Confidence speaks louder than all of that. Shattering expectations and living freely is bigger and more impressionable than that.

I've realized that most of the time caring too much about me keeps me from caring about you. And that's not okay.

So, here I come world! Zit and all. At least I left my grandma shoes at home. I'm saving those if my foot gets worse...

(And if you see me today, maybe try not to stare at the zit. The caring thing is a journey and like I said before, I know that I still care a little bit. Okay, a lotta bit.)

YES!

A week and a half ago I attended the Storyline Conference in San Diego. The past year, the past two years, the past three years, the past...okay well, life, has been hard. Not the kind that belongs on an evening special or could solicit donations, but the kind that seems to be made up of a lot of expectations and a lot of loss within them.

Don't get me wrong, of course life has been beautiful as well. The little moments seeing things and being with people have overflowed my heart. In general though, my default is to operate out of pain, disappointment, and criticism. Where has that gotten me? Not very far.

Just because I risk something and am rejected doesn't mean that the experience wasn't worth it. I learn something. I grow. I actually move.

I was reminded of this at the conference. To tell a good story, the main character must endure conflict and overcome it. Not pretend like it never happened, but face it, wrestle with it, work through it, and eventually move beyond it. Not to ignore it or pretend like it never happened, but allow it to be woven into the fabric of the narrative making it richer, more authentic, and truly inspirational.

It is time that I find my rhythm of a meaningful life. I don't know what that looks like, I just know I need to make changes and take steps in a direction. Here I am, taking a risk, and hoping to find that life offers me an enthusiastic, "YES!"