In the days of my youth, I really knew how to shovel into that dry, caked over Southern California dirt, and make great castles with mud created from imported ground water.
Little Liz, 4ish, with the prized possession. Aw.
Today, I really know how to shovel into that dirty, heavy, iced over snow. I also know how to dig down into my soul and find the true meaning behind meaningless gibberish. That's why you love this blog.
Shoveling, winter...those are themes I've discussed a lot before (here and here and here and here and here and here)...
This week, I am entering the beginning of the end of my middle to late/middle late-ish twenties. In one more year, I'll be the "big deal" rounded number age. As a little girl, I associated this upcoming age with finally being a "big lady" (digging really big holes, and being allowed to date).
Birthdays are opportunities to ask questions like: Who am I? Where do I come from? How and where is it all going?
Here's a story from which you can answer those questions for me.
Last night, when I was waiting for the bus in the rat-infested train station in the fresh 12 degree air, my smart phone gloves weren't working. I took off part of the glove so at least my thumb could work my phone's touch screen.
And then I followed 2,000 new people on twitter.
It took half an hour of slowly morphing into a quasi fetal position on the bus bench.
I was all like:
This guy has "music" in his twitter name. Follow.
This one's a vegan. Follow.
That person has Garfield as their profile picture. Follow.
My eyes glazed over. It was a true rush.
Did I know any of these people, like apart from the assumption I make from the twitter handle title?
The outpouring of shallowness from my frozen thumb was incredibly liberating. Until suddenly, something happened.
Twitter blocked me.
I had reached a limit, now prohibited from following anyone new until I got more followers to follow me. I sat up and pulled a muscle in my neck, and then returned to the fetal position.
Powerful was I, like Ellen DeGeneres at last year's Academy Awards, or Kim Kardashian, breaking the internet. Or Al Gore, who invented such things.
...I mean, if I'm not getting more attention on twitter, what am I supposed to be doing? Reading a BOOK? Talking to STRANGERS?
So, back to my situation here with twitter. What did I do? Tweeted about it. And then deleted it.
Moral of the story: If you support this, please follow
Now this is what I call marketing.
*
This time o' year, life isn't just about my birthday. In fact, it's really not at all. It's about slathering liquid vitamin D supplement on my pancakes like it's the maple syrup of the apocalypse.
It's about switching on my happy light two inches from my face.
I know what you're thinking.
OF COURSE I put on spf before this.
And then tweeting about it.
When I was just a blossoming young something freshly launched into the new world outside of my southwestern childhood, my life was about reading real books, becoming a great musician, even going hiking once.
Times have changed a lot. Some of those things have of course remained. All of them in fact. But now, life has changed with geography, maturity, and my great attitude.
Your silence is encouraging.
Life is about really feeling the world turning. It's about adjusting.
And realizing that many have lived like this before.
You may be all like:
There's a touch of seasonal affective disorder is involved here.
And I blink at you wordlessly, just to make it awkward.
Here's the perspective in it all. It's the beginning of the last year of my twenties, and I am...who I am.
Life always gives you two options. Negativity vs. Positivity.
If you want to get all analytical about it, here's how:
Negativity:
1. Defining yourself based on twitter followers.
2. Ranting.
3. Brushing significant milestones and numbers under the rug, for the sake of being nonchalant.
Positivity:
1. Do exactly the opposite
2. Do exactly the opposite.
3. Do exactly the opposite.
Moral of the story: Dig it, man. Or else, keep shoveling down, until you see the grass. Then shut up because you're fine.
Seriously, you're fine.
Fine.
Just fine.
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