In retrospect, drinking a 5 Hour Energy and taking 2 Sudafed D might not have been the best combination at 4am.
In my defense, i was having allergies and exhausted. So, I popped a 5’er and got my butt to the gym. When I say I got my butt to the gym, I got my butt to the gym. I had major ‘fro this morning. I looked like a blonde tornado, but I was there. I’m 99% sure that my tank top was inside out, but I had a strong sports bra and shoes on. I was not like the woman two treadmills away from me in her perfect Lucy work out clothes with her hair styled. No seriously, you could tell she actually worked on her hair. AT 4AM.
Which leads me to the point of this post this morning.
I’m tired of people creating this persona that is just honestly so absolutely not real. If you are at the gym at 4am, LOOK like you are at the gym at 4am. No one gives two shits about what you look like. We are there. We are doing the work. We are pissed because we forgot our phones and have to listen to CC Music Factory at 4am. We do not care that you have slapped on some eyeliner and did some twisty thing to your hair. I promise you. You are cute, you probably spent a lot to look like that, but really, we don’t care.
I’m kinda tired of social media. Seeing careful crafted posts that highlight the best of the best of each persons life. Each post is a “oh, i’m so very special. We only do exceptional things. My life is so special. My job is so special. My kids are so special, they fart glitter.” Come on. Be real. We all have days. Share those days, not just the “oh, my six year old genius just solved 98% of world peace while eating his Stone Cut oatmeal that I prepared for the week in a variety of flavors thanks to Pinterest.” Show me a picture of your kid shoving his face into a pop-tart, and you can be my friend. Express a real emotion. Post the selfie of you doing the work, looking less than Princess Kate.
I promise, people will be much more tolerant.
It seems to me that because of this digital age, we have gotten even more competitive in every message we share. Hell, I’m guilty of it. Yesterday, I went for a sweaty 2M walk. Instead of grabbing a shot of my hair looking like a freakshow, i snapped a picture of the road in front of me. Yes, I took 4 iterations of said picture, to make sure the light is coming through the trees perfectly. Jesus Mary and Nordstrom, that’s not reality. That’s not the truth. The truth is that I literally DID have my Nike tank inside out, my socks were two different colors and I was hot. That’s not the message I wanted to share. I wanted to give a glorious “oh look at me, I’m walking down Southwood with robins on my shoulder and squirrels chirping at me along the way” photo. Not every Pin, Instagram, tweet, or Facebook post needs to be perfect. Or thoughtful. Or hell, even articulate. Sometimes we just need to share a real piece of ourselves to show the world “hey, i’m an asshole too. I have days. I make poor choices in wardrobe.”
(the carefully crafted photo)
I’ve been observing this phenomena for a while. I’ve read articles on moms getting so competitive in their social media postings, they have created an alternate reality family that only exists with the Nashville filter on Instagram. I’ve seen guys, that I know for certain sit and play Battle Field online over the weekends, create this action/adventure lifestyle through specific tweets and checkins. The moms. Oh the moms. I just can’t. I just can’t.
Maybe I overshare. I feel that people are more likely to connect with a person, company and/or brand that is honest and real, as opposed to a Barbie and Ken lifestyle that so many want to share. If you follow me on any social media, you are going to find that I have very deep thoughts about my dogs, my constant war with carbs and the fact that I have many, many bad hair days. I have political beliefs, but I bury them deep inside of me. Except for when Ann Coulter is an idiot. Then I will let it rip. I try not to be a butt head. But somedays, I’m going to let the butthead side show, as well as the nicer side of me. I’m going to be me. If you don’t like me, eh, that’s ok too. At least you will know the real me, not a carefully created Digital Version that will sure as hell disappoint when you meet me in real life.
Bottom line. What you see is mostly what you get. I’ll spare the images of my tornado hair and military style sports bra for now. Join me at the gym and you can see that magic all yourself.