S-Town is Here!

Sound the alarm!! All seven episode of S-Town, the new true crime podcast from the creators of Serial, dropped today. 

This series is set in good ol' Alabama - here's how it's described on the website: 

"S-Town is a new podcast from Serial and This American Life, hosted by Brian Reed, about a man named John who despises his Alabama town and decides to do something about it. He asks Brian to investigate the son of a wealthy family who’s allegedly been bragging that he got away with murder. But then someone else ends up dead, and the search for the truth leads to a nasty feud, a hunt for hidden treasure, and an unearthing of the mysteries of one man’s life.

Brian, a longtime This American Life producer, started reporting this story more than three years ago, when he got an email from John with the subject line “John B McLemore lives in Shittown Alabama.”" 

Available for instant download here. I absolutely can't wait. 

The Myth of Perfection.

This has been ping-ponging around in my head and heart lately. 

Jordan and I are working on redecorating our house. This has meant countless hours on Pinterest, looking at lifestyle blogs, shopping discounts and scrolling through West Elm, Ikea, Pottery Barn, etc. 

Getting sucked in is so easy. 

When our parents were growing up, they had to go buy a magazine if they wanted to get decorating tips from professionals. All we have to do is open Instagram. And, while there's a certain convenience and accessibility to that, it also means we're constantly bombarded with perfection. Everyone's perfect smiles, perfect dog, perfectly decorated houses, perfectly sleeping babies in perfectly styled nurseries. You've probably heard it put this way many times before, but social media tricks us into believing that everyone's highlight reel is also actually their life. 

Let me just get real here for a minute. 

My Instagram is a carefully curated collection of moments I'd like to share. It's a highlight reel, as they say. It's my favorite moments, my most aesthetically pleasing moments, Tom Hanks' cutest moments, Jordan's funniest moments. That's not to say it's not real - it is, but it leaves out 3/4 of the story of our lives. And, even though these moments are actually happening, how many times have I taken more than one picture to get that "perfect," Instagram-worthy shot? LOTS OF TIMES. 

The rest of the story is the cereal for dinner, the little arguments, the perpetually clogged shower drain, the dog peeing in the house because we left him alone too long. It's me forgetting appointments, saying the wrong thing, completing tasks last-minute, eating half a bag of Goldfish, watching too much Netflix. And I'm not saying this in a Jennifer Lawrence-y, relatable, adorable, Brad Paisley song, inscribed-on-an-ironic-tank-top-at-Target kind of way. I'm talkin' about the not cute moments, people. My real, real life. 

The Internet is a tricky, mean girl. She'll show you what you should look like, how your house should be decorated, and then give you one, long up-and-down stare before flashing you a tight-lipped, condescending smile and turning away. She's a fake friend. 

So as I'm thinking about our home, decorating it, and "keeping up," I'm remembering a few things: I am not perfect. I love the people in my life regardless of their "perfection," and that must mean that the people in my life love me whether or not my house/hair/clothes look like they've been professionally handled. It's hard to believe, but it must be true. That whole "unconditional" thing is real! The reason why it's exhausting to achieve the Social Media Standard of Perfection is that it's not actually a real thing. It's like running after a hologram. And it's way more fun to use social media as a fun highlight catalog, but also live with the knowledge that it's exactly that: best moments. It's not everyday moments. Otherwise we'd have already come up with some hellacious 24-hour live video stream. (Whenever that happens, count me out.) 

By the way - if you feel overwhelmed by comparison and falling short, take a break from social media/blogs for a few days. It's amazing how great your life starts to feel once you stop stacking it up against other people's. Comparison is the thief of joy.

In that spirit, here is a photo that is about 1,000% less than perfect. Because I have to believe you love me anyway. 

I was eating an ice cream sandwich the other night and Jordan said, "Don't move. Stay right there." Then he took this picture. Here it is, totally unedited, chins and all.

Happy Friday! 

DNR - JTI: On Behalf of Women Traveling Alone.

I traveled to and from Alabama last week and spent about 14 hours in the car. Because of that, I encountered lots of less-than-savory male behavior as a solo female traveler, all of which I would like to address right now. This kind of stuff happens to women all the time, PS - not just me. So hear me roar! 

As usual, all credit for "DNR - JTI" goes to the fabulous and hilarious Mollie Erickson. Though she is too kind to ever write a nasty post like this one. 

Dear Sketchy Looking Ford Pickup Driver,
Why are you flashing your brights at me? Maybe it was an accident. Nope, you just did it again. And now you've pulled up next to me on the interstate. Ugh, I made the mistake of glancing over at you. Stupid. Why are you tailgating me now? Here come the brights again. And...now you're exiting and waving your arm out the window. 

I'm sorry WERE YOU TRYING TO GET ME TO EXIT WITH YOU?? Did you think we were going to have some sort of romantic tryst in a gas station bathroom?? Dude, I barely use gas station bathrooms for their intended purpose. Also, you are a disgusting creep. DNR - JTI. 

Dear Man Leering at Me While I Fill Up My Car,
I think you think I can't tell that you're staring at me from the other side of the pump. Every time I turn around or lean into my car to grab something to throw away, your little pin-head has appeared from the other side of the gas pump wall. "How ya doin'?" I ask, making unwavering eye contact (and a New Jersey accent, for a reason that is still a mystery to me). I see you. You are not subtle. Get outta here. DNR - JTI. 

Dear Teenage Boy at Sonic,
This has nothing to do with behaving inappropriately and everything to do with the fact that you gave me an M&M Blast with STYROFOAM IN IT. Come on, man!! I mean, yes, I picked the first piece out and gave you the benefit of the doubt. But I was a 1/3 of the way into devouring that bad boy and I had to pull a piece of non-biodegradable, half-chewed styrofoam out of my mouth. I know you can do better than this, my friend. DNR - JTI. 

Dear Man Driving a Budweiser 18-Wheeler,
I'm in this lane. I'm in this lane. HEY I'M IN THIS LANE. I'M IN THIS LANE. STOP GETTING OVER. I'M IN THIS FREAKIN' LANE. I AM HONKING MANIACALLY. I am mad at you. I am FUMING at you. I get off onto the shoulder of the road to avoid being killed. After it's safe, the car around me know that I'm on a mission and allow me to get back up to you on the interstate so I'm driving parallel to the cab of your truck. I roll down my window and honk like an insane person. "You almost killed me!" I shout at you. You look down at me, shrug, and mime sending a text on your air phone. I'M SORRY DID YOU THINK I WAS TEXTING?? It's an audiobook, my friend. I'm tying to listen to Carrie Fisher tell me about her affair with Harrison Ford on the set of Star Wars. Also are you trying to communicate that you were teaching me a lesson by running me off the road because you thought I was texting?! WOW. WOWWW. Yeah, you better exit. I have half a mind to follow you, you paternalistic piece of  -- DNR - JTI. 

Dear Men in General,
Listen. Traveling alone as a woman shouldn't be scary but it is. Do you know why? Because of you guys. Not all of you, of course. But the ones of you that go out of their way to make us uncomfortable. The ones of you who think it's fun to antagonize and frighten women, like some sort of weird game -- in the same way you see little kids torture ants with magnifying glasses. It is mean, it is sexist, and more than anything, it's unkind and disrespectful. Does it make you feel strong? Does it make you feel cool? Let me assure you - if you're doing these things, you are neither. I hope it also makes you feel unemployed, because, while we may not be bigger than you, we sure as hell can take a picture of your license plate and call it in to Budweiser. Ants move in colonies and can lift three times their body weight. So, respectfully,  suck it. 

Do Not Respond. Just Freakin' Take It. 

Small Enough

The Lenten season is usually a period of the liturgical calendar that I enjoy. I love spiritual disciplines - I think, if I'm being honest, because it allows me a box to check. "Did I complete my Lenten fast today? Yes? CHECK!" In the world of faith, which can often feel so amorphous, Lent, to me, feels tangible.

(PS - Lent is a period of time in which many Christians fast from something for 40 days to emulate Jesus' 40 days in the wilderness. It begins with Fat Tuesday [the end of Mardi Gras] and continues for the 40 days leading up to Easter, excepting Sundays.) 

This year, for a myriad of reasons, Lent has been different. I have been taught in new ways that, though Lent is usually a time when I feel most in control of my faith, I'm not in control at all. For this control freak, that's certainly been a tough pill to swallow. Sure, I knew that already, in a far-off sort of way, but to be presented with that reality more concretely has been startling. For one of the (embarrassingly) very first times, I've been forced to trust only God (rather than myself) in a way that has made me feel vulnerable and often lonely. 

I don't believe in the whole "everything happens for a reason" theology, mostly because, if you walk that back to its origin, it means that God causes suffering. I do believe that we can find God in every stage, every phase of life, and that God goes before us on our paths.

This song, "Small Enough," is all about crying out to a God who feels so big. We read about God's mighty acts; the sweeping, epic faiths of the folks who've gone before us. And yet (especially true for me this Lenten season), that same "Great God" shrinks down for each of us to fit into our smallest, most private moments; to sit with us in our grief, our fear, our sadness. 

When I sang this at our church here in Asheville, my grandfather was very ill. His prognosis was not good. (He, miraculously, is doing much better.) Singing these words out loud in the midst of that sadness was one of the most powerful experiences I've had - it felt so personal and vulnerable, like much of this season of life has been. So, in case you need the Small God to speak to you in little ways today, I wanted to share it with you. Because, it turns out, God shows up every time.