embrace

The Death Of Joy

/ Sloan / 1 Comment

Someone posted a quote on Instagram a while ago about ‘comparison’. It went something like: “Comparison is the death of joy.” These words cannot ring truer to myself and probably most women and I imagine most men too. I guess everyone can probably be included. Comparing ourselves to someone else will kill what joy you have in your life.

I believe that when we compare it’s not only going to lead us to seeing the differences it’s going to lead us to other negative emotions. What do I mean? What do I compare myself to and how does that make me react? I am the queen of comparing myself to others, I, and I’m sure many others, do it unconsciously and therefore it’s really hard to try and stop.

My list of evil comparisons:
-Body type. (I’m not thin enough, strong enough, fit enough. My legs are too short, my boobs too small, my waist isn’t as defined as her waist.)
-Creativity. (SHE’S a way better writer than me.)
-Productivity. (WOW, my roommates get so much more done in a day than I do.)
-Hair. (I wish I could pull off bangs.)
-Teeth. (Better buy me some whitening strips.)
-Style. (Damn, why can’t I dress like THAT.)
-Relationship status. (Being single is only cool for so long… let’s get real, EVERYONE on Facebook is getting engaged.)
-Travel. (Sorry, hiding you from my newsfeed. Pictures of you eating naan and mediating in the desert are making me jealous.)

Jealous. Shit.

For me, that’s what comparison comes down to. Jealousy. And where does jealousy get us in the long run? I can stare at the stylish chick across the street wishing I had her boots, perfect hair and not even notice myself rear ending the 1972 mint condition VW Beetle until I’m whiplashed and hoping the owner didn’t notice… and then I’m jealous of whom ever is driving that car… it’s vicious cycle.

Then my Jealousy wonders… is someone jealous of ME? “Nooooooooo… Don’t be silly”, she says, “your hair is frizzy, your butt is huge and you’re living la vida single… come on…”

Wait.
Isn’t Jealousy’s worst enemy is Confidence? Confidence is big and tall and has shoulders that likes to push negativity out of the way. She doesn’t need to argue with Jealousy because she knows that she’s wrong and knows that comparing is evil and only leads to depressed nights on the couch ‘should-ing’ herself until it’s time to go to bed. Confidence will dance her way around the kitchen eating something that nourishes her body and doesn’t give a second thought to the serving size because she worked hard today and her body is telling her what she needs.

Some how, in a parallel universe I think that Jealousy and Confidence can play together. They can sit at the bar and enjoy each other’s company. Jealousy can bring ideas, wants and needs to the table. She can bring to head the fact that, yeah, maybe something needs to change. Confidence can show her how to make those changes. She can be the movement and motivation to turn what Jealousy is saying and throw a positive twist on it–making Jealousy believe in herself.

Maybe your hair isn’t just frizzy, it’s fun and wild! And girl, that booty is something the boys TALK about. And give us a break, being single is great–at least you’re not lost in some dead end relationship or married unhappily. EMBRACE IT.

So, instead of comparing, let’s embrace. Let’s utilize our differences and build one another up to create a world of Confidnces and Jealousys that can work together to be amazing.

Craved Intimacy

/ Sloan / Leave a comment

I’m not sure what kind of kid I was, if I was affectionate, ‘huggy’, or standoff-ish. Was I the kind of kid that latched onto a new friend’s leg and ‘koala’d’ them until they shook me off? I really have no idea—maybe my Mother or Father could chime in on this one. As I’ve gotten older and my relationships have become closer I like to think of myself as a hugger. I have memories of cuddling with my best friend on the couch, spooning, in the least sexual way possible. Him and I just fit so well, watching a movie and enjoying another body’s warmth.

Living in Chile where a kiss on the cheek is a standard greeting, college where a hug was normal or having a boyfriend to hold my hand, living on the west coast where a hug was the only way to greet—I definitely became accustomed to daily, multi daily embraces. My old roommate can vouch for the fact that I used to knock on her door and just ask for a hug every once and awhile. South East Asia isn’t quite as comforting.

Instead of a kiss on the cheek or a hand shake they/we wai. A simple bow, a smile, sawadee kahhhh. As funny, and as light hearted as this culture is there isn’t much physical affection—I’ve never seen couples holding hands, you won’t see teenagers making out under the stars by the river front, or old couples embracing. It’s such a change from my old norm.

 

I spent the last weekend in Ko Chang, an island South East of Bangkok. I met up with a friend Friday evening and we embraced after not having seen each other since first arriving and meeting in Thailand nearly two months ago. Sitting on the beach, watching the sunset and talking about how this is our real lives, a head on my shoulder an arm around my waist walking home from a crazy night—such little things but it was unexpected because it’s been two months since I was leaned on out of the blue.

While getting a Thai massage and hearing the water lap on the sand my eyes were closed and I listened to different languages be drowned out by the ocean. A woman I never met, a woman who spoke little English was sitting on my butt. She was rubbing the muscles of my back, neck, glutes, calves, feet, fingers, cheeks; such intimate touch was welcomed but again, after two months it was a struggle to relax into the touch.

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I’m finding that I don’t like to be surprised by these little intimacies, I want to have them often enough that they are not a surprise. Never before did I crave an embrace and not know where to turn to get one, (there were days I would text a certain friend and he would come to my work specifically to give me a hug when I asked.) Here, I know I can count on getting latched onto by a child daily. The children have no problem wrapping their arms around my waist or legs and not letting go—sometimes I wonder where this love for embrace disappears. It’s nice, but not the same as what I’ve grown to take for granted in the US.