This week there was a whole spiel on the radio devoted to
whether a parent should let their kids know when they suck at something. The
debate was whether it was better to be honest with a child and crush their
hopes and dreams early on, or to give them an inflated sense of self but avoid
breaking their tiny hearts. I missed the end decision, but lordy do I hope we
decided to be dream crushers.
Personally, I realized very early on in life that my mother
was completely biased and I could not trust her on anything. Heck, until
recently I was convinced she had invented the compliment “doe eyes” and bribed
relatives/friends to say it to me. It’s only been the past few months that I
realized it’s actually a real phrase. To be fair, this is the same mother that
claims I’m a fast runner (I’m not), that both her children are beautiful (and
she maintained this through our super awkward phases, which were super awkward
and unfortunate), and that I’m a good singer (she’s tone deaf, how would she
even know?).
I didn’t think my mother was purposely lying to me, but
rather that she was blinded by love. I looked to my father to be a little more
realistic but didn’t entirely trust him either. I started relying on friends
until I realized that unless they’re pretty much your best friend in the world,
they too will lie to your face about how awesome you are and you’ll end up with
no real sense of your limitations.
It’s a very interesting time of life where on the one hand
we’re plagued by unrealistic images and expectations, and on the other we’re
told to cherish and recognize our uniqueness as being something to celebrate.
But is it really?
Now some of the messaging I can agree with and in fact super
love. It is fabulous to be reminded that no, I’m never going to look like Megan
Fox in a bikini, but that’s okay. It’s good to know no one expects me to sing
like Christina. It’s extra wonderful to find out about problems that great
people had. Not that I want anyone to be depressed or an alcoholic or anything,
but it helps keep their greatness in perspective (#HemingwayWasADrunk).
But I also think we go too far sometimes. We’re told that
because we’re unique, everything we say/do is meaningful. I FINALLY joined the
Twitter world today. I did it mostly so I can keep up on my favorite celebrity
boyfriends, but I’ll probably tweet too. Why not. The whole idea of Twitter
though kind of boggles my mind. From the brief amount of time I’ve spent
scrolling on it, it seems like people took the most superficial parts of
Facebook (selfies, posts about every little thing they do) and just constantly
send that out. I suppose deep life revelations are not always simpatico with 140
character limit. But do people really want to know I’m drinking yet another
frappuccino? Do they want to see my new mani every week? Do they really care
about my thoughts on the #Hercules movie? Is it really meaningful just because
I’m unique and I said it?
If this seems a little hypocritical from a girl that writes
a blog and has totally added frappuccino pictures on Facebook… that’s because
it is. I engage in this exact same behavior all the time. Even before the days
of Twitter, people were doing this to a small extent with texts, and phone
calls, and letter writing way back in the day. We feel the need to share the
details of our life. We feel like people should care. I guess what has changed is
that before, we only made that assumption of our family and close friends. Now,
you use a hashtag and expect the rest of the world to retweet and follow.
What our generation has the most trouble accepting is the
value of uniqueness. Yes, you are unique and that’s all well and good, but what
does it really mean? Does it make your thoughts any more important than mine?
No. The thing is, you’re unique because of the sum of your parts. Someone else
in the world totally has your same mani. Somebody can write better than you.
Someone came up with that inside joke with their friends like a decade earlier.
SOMEONE WAS ALREADY ON THE MOON. There is very little you can do that is well
and truly original against all the people in the world, all the spans of time.
That especially goes for your little 140 character tweets. There are a finite
number of unique tweets. I mean it’s a freaking huge number and we’ll probably
(possibly? Most likely?) never hit it, but nonetheless it exists.
So yeah, celebrate you. Because you are awesome. Just keep
in mind: you’re NO MORE AWESOME THAN ANYBODY ELSE. It is wonderful that some
people find you clever/amusing/super sexy and want to follow you, but don’t
expect everybody to do so, and don’t build your happiness around whether or not
people care about your unique snowflakeness. They’re probably too busy with
their own unique snowflakeness of being awesome.
Now I’m going to go tweet this.