Getting off the Grid (Sort of...)

Over the past week or so, I deleted my Facebook, Twitter, LinkedIn, and Instagram accounts.

GULP!  AAAGGGHHH!

It's fine.  I'm fine.

The first two, Facebook and Twitter, were relatively easy break-ups for me. Because of the truly scary privacy concerns I have regarding the tech giants who control them, along with all the angry, bitter political back-and-forth that dominates those platforms (at least on my feeds!), it was actually a very freeing feeling to remove them from all of my devices and know that those familiar icons would not be calling out to me anymore, giving me that hard-to-ignore urge to click and "just look for a minute"...which in turn, more often than not, led me to scroll endlessly when I should have been spending my limited time on this earth doing something more meaningful.

I used Instagram stories to announce my departures from FB and Twitter (because I wasn't quite ready to dump Instagram yet!).

LinkedIn was also extremely easy to leave.  I only joined that site a number of years ago to use it as a way to promote my two Catholic novels, Finding Grace (2012) and Erin's Ring (2014); but even at the beginning I rarely posted anything on there, and I never really figured out how to use that social media tool to its maximum benefit.  I wrote my books during the seven-year period that occurred after more than two decades of being a  full-time SAHM to five boys--beginning when the youngest of our sons started high school, and ending when the grandchildren had started to arrive and the rest of our single older boys started to get married in quick succession.  (I mean, really quick: three of them were married in an 11-month period, between Dce. 2013 and Nov. 2014!!) Once I became a grandmother, I moved beyond the novel-writing phase of my life and entered the SAHG (Stay-at-Home-Grammy) era.  (Ha ha--at my age, perhaps I should just call it the "SAG" era?  But I digress.) And the sad truth is that my books are now out of print--although used copies are still sold on Amazon.  (Luckily, I have a personal stash that I purchased from my publisher a while back, so even if I have lots more grandchildren than I already do, I should have enough to give them all a copy of each book.)  Anyway, the bottom line is that I realized I just don't need to be a part of a career networking site anymore, if I ever did, so farewell LinkedIn.

The only site that was painfully hard to leave was Instagram, where I followed some of the most inspiring, talented, funny, faith-filled Catholic writers and "influencers" (most of them former bloggers whom I'd originally discovered through their blogs), along with a number of beloved family members.  I LOVED Instagram, I won't lie.  But Instagram is owned by Facebook, and as a matter of principle, I felt I needed to make a complete break.  That was the one that hurt.  That was the one site that gave me the most joy and the one I'll probably always miss.

HOWEVER, truth be told, Instagram wasn't really all that good for me, no matter how much I tried to convince myself otherwise.  I spent too much time thinking about what picture I could take for my next post. (Never have I taken so many pictures of the food I was cooking or eating!)  I was scrolling through feeds that led me to other feeds, and then to others, and others...and before I'd know it, I had spent over an hour gazing at the lovely pictures of complete strangers...and sometimes, comparing myself negatively with their curated perfection.  Also, like Facebook, Instagram knew what kind of clothes I liked, what kind of books I read, and it was constantly enticing me to buy a cute lace top or a WWII historical novel that looked like it was right up my alley.  In a way, I'll miss those well-targeted IG ads, because they exposed me to some items that I would never have otherwise found on my own.  But then again, isn't it a little creepy that Instagram knew exactly the kind of things I normally purchased?  Isn't it a little concerning that my online activities are being followed, and noted, by some phantom Internet overseer?

So I said my sad good-bye to IG with this post last Sunday:

I thought it was apropos to go out with a photo of a cup of coffee, a good book, a set of Rosary beads, and a picture of Jesus.  This pretty much tells the story of how I'm hoping to spend the extra time I'll have now that I'm not distracted by what's happening on IG.

I guess I'm kind of off the grid--but I'm still here at my String of Pearls (which turns 10 this March!), so that's not quite true.  I've decided that I'd like to get back into blogging (and that right there is a statement that seems almost as old-fashioned as saying, "I think it's time to bring back VHS and cassette tapes").  Hopefully I'll be blogging more, praying more, and reading more good books.  Sewing and drawing more, too.  That's my plan for 2021.

So I'll be back, dear readers.  And if you have a blog that I used to read, before I got so thoroughly entrenched in the IG world, I may be visiting it more often now.  And when I do, I'll most likely be drinking coffee.

(Please note: I am not judging you if you still enjoy all the aforementioned forms of social media; for me personally, the negatives had begun to outweigh the positives, so I did what I felt I had to do for my spiritual and mental well-being.)

Social Media and the Thief of Joy

In my last post, I discussed how dangerous the comparison game can be: how it can rob us of peace and tranquility, making us feel inadequate and unlovable; how it can make us forget that each of us is made in the image and likeness of God, with an immortal soul that is unique and beautiful and worthy of love; how we were all made exactly as we are meant to be, warts and all (yes, we all have them--and that's okay!).  Why do we look at others around us and feel like we don't stack up?  Why do we think, If I was just [prettier, smarter, thinner, more talented, more outgoing--you fill in the blank] than I am, I would be [happier, more successful, more confident, a better mother, more beloved--fill in the blank again]?  Maybe you don't do this, but every now and then I do, and I know it's a terrible habit that I need to break.

I've struggled with this off and on throughout my life.  For instance, in this 1978 photo of my husband and me, taken at a friend's wedding when we were going into our junior year of college, I can remember comparing myself to the other females at the reception and wishing I looked like anyone but me.  I'd gained the freshman 10 and then added another 10 my sophomore year, decided to cut my hair short and regretted the change, and was wearing an extremely unflattering dress.  And there he was, my matinee idol boyfriend, so handsome I could hardly look at him without becoming breathless.  What did he see in me, anyway? I wondered.  I could be so hard on myself!  And why?  This guy loved me!  He could have discarded his high school girlfriend for someone "better" when we went off to college in different parts of the country, but our long-distance relationship was still going strong after two years of mostly being apart.  (We had no Facetime, but wrote lots of letters!)  2020 Laura, 39 years into an extremely happy marriage to the good-looking guy in this picture, wishes she could tell 1978 Laura to lift up her head and smile with confidence, secure in the knowledge that he wanted her just the way she was.

At the end of that last post, I hinted that I would be back to explore the topic of comparison further, focusing on how social media has made the habit of comparing ourselves to others even more of a problem than ever before.  So here it is, another post just days after the last one!  (Is blogging back?!  Maybe not, but I am.  And thanks to all the nice readers who left sweet and encouraging comments for me last time I was here.  I was feeling the love--and I finally got around to replying to all of you wonderful people.)

I don't know about you, but I find that I am sometimes left feeling a bit blue after too much time spent scrolling through Facebook feeds.  It's not just that Facebook has become a popular platform for uncomfortable discussions about politics and countless nasty anti-religion/anti-life memes; it has, but there is also plenty of positive news, daily, about family and friends, some of them long-lost before the advent of social media--not to mention all those wonderful photos of loved ones that you might not otherwise see.  There is so much good to be found there, no doubt about it.  But there is also so much bad.  And some of what is bad comes from looking at all the good and worrying that in comparison to what you're seeing, you or your life is "less than."

Jenny Uebbing, one of my favorite Catholic wordsmiths of all time, touched on this topic in her recent Instagram stories, admitting that sometimes after ingesting too much social media she comes away asking herself questions like Why can't I get up early and work out? or Why aren't my kids X,Y, or Z? or Why doesn't my house look like that?  She went on to talk about the danger in this--how social media is really just two-dimensional, and how it gives us a 40,000-foot view of other people's lives (I'm paraphrasing here, trying to remember exactly how she put things), so we're not really seeing the whole picture. I realize that deep down, everyone probably knows this about social media; they know that people usually only post the good and the beautiful, the uplifting aspects of their lives, not the dark struggles they might be going through at the time. (Because I don't care how blessed you are, let's face it: no life is ever lived without trials and tribulations, without sadness, fear, and loss.)  I mean, there's nothing wrong with wanting to share mostly the best portions of your life with the online world.  But this can also lead people to compare, and then to feel down because their lives don't seem nearly as bright and sparkly as those light-filled images and upbeat captions they see--even though they know in their heart of hearts that these images and captions don't tell the whole story.

The other danger about comparing our lives to the Facebook and Instagram feeds of others, Uebbing observed, is that we're not all at the same point in life at the same time, and it's harmful to compare our lives to those of people going through completely different stages than we're going through.  How true is this?!  You might feel like you're drowning right now, with a houseful of crazy toddlers and demanding babies, or a couple of angsty teens, and find yourself worrying about how your children are going to turn out and wondering how things will look 10 or 20 years from now.  Then you'll see a picture of a family you know, showing the kids all grown-up, happy, and successful; and without even knowing you're doing it, you might start to feel like  maybe you're a failure as a parent, even though you're not seeing all the many difficult stages that family went through as they traveled the bumpy road you're currently on to get to where they are now.

You can do this in reverse, too, which is what I sometimes do; I see all the wonderful things young Catholic Instagram mamas are doing with their children, how they're creatively celebrating the different liturgical seasons and the feast days of the saints, and I'll worry that I didn't do enough to help instill the Faith in our boys back when I had the chance. When I do this, I'm comparing a grandmother who is now at a stage decades ahead of these moms, a mother who did her very best at the time and shouldn't waste her time on regrets, and it seriously makes no sense.  Especially because although my husband and I had to deal with our share of challenges and certainly made a lot of mistakes along the way, we somehow managed to raise five terrific sons who are still practicing Catholics, are in sacramental marriages with lovely young women, and have given themselves over to the will of God as far as how many children they will have.  Somewhere along the way, I guess, we must have done a few things right.  (Or maybe we're just incredibly lucky.)  So looking back and wishing to change anything that we did is an exercise in futility.  As my late mother-in-law (who quite successfully raised four sons and four daughters) used to say, "If you change one thing, you change everything."

Who would change this?

Or this?

As a mother, you can't help panicking just a little when your kids grow up and leave the nest for the first time, wondering if you've done all you could to prepare them for life; this certainly happened with me.  Danielle Bean describes those feelings better than I ever could in this Instagram post I stumbled upon recently, written as her daughter was getting ready to leave for college:

"We tend to pause and doubt...Did we say all the things?  Teach all the lessons?  Read all the stories?  Say all the prayers?  Did we do all the stuff?...Was it enough?  I can look back now and see that we did a lot of things, but it was not enough.  It is never enough.   We always fall short.  But God knows what he is about...We all fall short, but the gaps leave room for God.  And he fills them with grace."

I love that!  God fills in the gaps!

It's hard enough to think you're doing a good enough job raising your kids without the added pressure of seeing how everyone else is doing it, all the time, all over social media. I am so, so thankful that there wasn't that kind of added pressure when we were raising our boys!  I think it must be tougher for my daughters-in-law to feel they are "enough" (and believe me, they are MORE than enough!), when everyone is online, over-sharing, presenting a picture that makes it look like they have it all together, all the time.  Some young moms can handle it just fine, taking it for what it is and not letting it affect their confidence and peace of mind; if I was just starting out now in the motherhood game, I'm pretty sure I wouldn't be one of them.

I think this post has gone on long enough, so I'll just wrap it up by saying that even when I catch myself succumbing to the dangerous practice of comparison, I simultaneously feel like the luckiest and most blessed woman on God's green earth and know that I wouldn't trade my life for anyone else's.  So why do I ever waste even a single moment of this precious time allotted to me wishing for even one aspect of it to be different?  My mother-in-law was spot-on: if you change one thing, you change everything.  If I had been a different sort of person, or if even one thing had happened differently along the way, I might not be where I am today.  And that is the LAST thing I would want.

So here is what I'm going to strive to remind myself, whenever I start to compare myself to others and feel "less than": You are God's precious child.  You are perfect as you are--which is not to say that you are perfect, because the only human being for whom that adjective is true is the Blessed Mother; but you are the person God meant you to be, with the looks, talents, and temperament He gave you to use to use wisely and well, in order to make your way back to Him and become a saint in Heaven.

Teddy Roosevelt's famous quote bears repeating: "Comparison is the thief of joy."  Truer words were never spoken.  If checking Facebook or Instagram too often leads you to let that cruel and conniving thief rob you of your joy, take a break from social media for a bit.  Instagram is a mostly positive force in my life; but even so, I'm thinking of doing just that for Lent.

A Holy Thursday Reflection

I may have two published novels out there, but I don't think of myself as an exceptionally talented writer.  I'm not even the best writer in my family.  I am related to people, by both blood and marriage, who absolutely blow me away with their ability to express the thoughts and feelings that live in the deepest recesses of the human soul--and express them far better than I ever could.

I'm not trying to be self-deprecating here about my writing ability (although self-deprecation is kind of my trademark move); I think I've been able to use a God-given talent for manipulating words to become a decent storyteller.  But a gifted essayist I am not.

This past week, I have been reading some deeply moving commentaries about the recent fire that nearly destroyed Notre Dame Cathedral in Paris.  So many writers whom I admire (people whose accounts I follow on Instagram, mostly) have been eloquently putting into words exactly how that tragedy made me feel, and these words have often brought me to tears.

@simplelifemusings had this to say about the tragic fire: "It is the beginning of Holy Week.  This does not feel like a coincidence.  The week that the world was redeemed through suffering and death.  It is the story that resounds with the most fundamental stirrings of the human soul that there is hope in the darkness, that we should not be afraid.  God's triumphant love wins.  And Our Lady, handmaid of the Lord, Mother of Divine Grace, Seat of Wisdom, Morning Star, Undoer of Knots, Refuge of Sinners has once again shown us the way."

Then there was this from @smallthings.gr8love, along with a picture of the large cross inside the cathedral that survived the conflagration: "Beauty rises from the ashes.  As the cross stands in the midst of fire and destruction, so does our faith."

From @catholicallyear, there was this: "We Americans hear so often that Europe, and especially France, has lost interest in her Catholic heritage and her Cathedrals and relics.  As utterly devastating as it was to see Notre Dame de Paris in flames yesterday, it was a gift to the world to see that story disproven.  It was beautiful to see priests and firefighters risking their lives for the art and relics that are such a part of our shared Catholic faith and history.  The people of France in their grief, being comforted by coming together in prayer and in hymn was a lesson to the world of how relevant our faith is.  I look forward to us coming together to rebuild this landmark of Catholicism for ourselves and our children."

I read so many other tender Instagram reflections on the symbolism of this event and the importance of resurrecting this iconic French cathedral--a beloved monument that is so important to Catholics all over the world--from the ashes.

I gave up Facebook as one of my Lenten sacrifices this year--in part because it makes me waste too much time, time that I should be spending on more important matters; and in part because some of the posts I see on there--shared memes being the usual culprits, especially ones that denigrate the Catholic Church and its faithful--tend to make my blood boil.  Scrolling Facebook, I believe, has become an occasion of sin for me, so I figured it was better to give it up and stick to the much more inspiring offerings on IG.

Well, for some perverse reason, I broke my Lenten Facebook fast for a short time today.  I felt guilty for being so weak...but then I stumbled upon an exchange that made me believe that perhaps I was meant to give in to this sudden urge to see what I'd been missing.

I figured the Facebook friends who aren't exactly fans of religion in general and Catholicism in particular would have some upsetting things to say about the Notre Dame fire, and sure enough, they did.  Here is a tweet that was shared that caused an almost physical reaction when I read it; I mean truly, it made my heart hurt. "Speaking as a Catholic here...please don't donate to help Notre Dame.  The Church is worth $30 billion. Donate to help Puerto Rico recover.  Donate to get the people of Flint clean water.  Donate to get kids out of cages.  Jesus didn't care about stained glass.  He cared about humans."

Blood temperature rising...because all I could think was that this self-proclaimed "Catholic" was probably pro-choice, too, judging by the liberal tone of her tweet, and didn't she wonder if Jesus cared about those little humans growing in their mothers' wombs?  (Unfair, I know; maybe she was a pro-life advocate and I was completely misjudging her.)  Then I thought, why is it assumed that Catholics who appreciate the physical beauty of churches--the houses of God--are not also concerned with helping the poor and suffering throughout the world?  Doesn't this person know that faithful Christians are more generous with their time and money when it comes to giving aid to the needy than any other demographic group on earth?

I was angry; my brain was on fire, and if I'd written a comment myself it would not have been calmly thought-out.  Luckily, I saw that one of my sweet daughters-in-law had left a comment on this post that said what needed to be said perfectly.  I thought it was brilliant, and I wanted to share it with you here.  My brave-hearted girl wrote, "There's no reason someone can't do both [donate to rebuild the cathedral and help others in need].  But to be fair, when you behold something as epic and grand as a cathedral, like that of Notre Dame, it ignites a spiritual fire within you.  It reminds you that there is something so much greater than you and that the majesty of God is beyond beautiful.  It's those moments that remind you to see outside yourself and remind you to look to others and help them, and sometimes move you to tears.  Since the fire of Notre Dame, people have been inspired to not just donate to Notre Dame, but to black churches here that were burned from arson.  This woman [who wrote this tweet] is seeing this from a very myopic perspective and fails to realize that by helping to restore a religious masterpiece, Notre Dame will continue, hopefully for centuries to come, to inspire Catholics around the globe to be in awe of God's presence and feel motivated to do more for their fellow man as well."

I could not have said it better--that girl can write!   And I believe God wanted me to see her beautiful comment today, to be reminded that even though the world sometimes appears to be an unsalvageable mess, the younger generation of Catholics who are raising their children right now are the hope of the future.  Their faith will move mountains--and rebuild cathedrals.

Before being burned at the stake for her faith, Joan of Arc famously said, "Hold the cross high so I may see it through the flames."

St. Joan of Arc, pray for us!

May we all continue to see Jesus' Cross and appreciate the enormity of His Sacrifice and His love, no matter how high the flames grow or how hot the fire gets.

Throwback Thursday Comes to String of Pearls

I'm on a roll here, guys.  I'm blogging for the second day in a row...using an old post from my "drafts" folder.  (I'm cheating, I know...)  Here's another one that I left half-finished about four years ago, when I was such a prolific blogger that I not only posted my musings almost daily but actually had extra posts waiting in the wings for a rainy day.  Hard to imagine!

This was originally going to be a "Throwback Thursday" post, and it's Thursday.  So what better rainy day to dust it off, polish it up, and post it than today?

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Are you on Facebook? (It's not a silly question!  Some people very close to me--people lots younger than I am--have managed to keep themselves from getting sucked into that time-sucking vortex, though I have thus far proven to be too weak to stay away--even though I make plans to break up with Facebook on a semi-regular basis.  Drat!  Those Internets!   They are very seductive, are they not?)

Anyway, Facebook has this thing that people do on Thursdays called "Throwback Thursday" or TBT or #TBT, where 'Bookers post old pictures of themselves, their families, and their friends.

Well, I've noticed a trend.  There have been a lot more "likes" for old pictures of my family (we're talking 80's- and early 90's-era) than there ever are for the more recent photos I post.  So I can only conclude that people like the way we looked a long time ago much more than they like the way we look now.

Can't say that I blame them, really...I mean, there was a lot of cuteness going on in our house, back in the day.

Today's #TBT offering on Facebook was this photo of my two oldest sons.

This priceless pic was taken by some talented Sears photographer in 1987--when I guess I was under the misguided delusion that they were twins or something.  Matching clothes, matching haircuts.  I thought they looked totes adorbs,and it never occurred to me that the day would come when they would look back at this picture and think they looked anything other than awesome. (Silly mom...)

While chuckling heartily as he looked at this photo the other day, my #2 son asked, "How could you think those haircuts looked good?  They're ridiculous."  What, wait--is there something wrong with the Lloyd Christmas-inspired bowl cuts we used to give these guys?

And while we're at it, is there anything wrong with dressing two little boys who are 15 months apart in age as if they're identical twins?  (Those striped tank tops--or I suppose "muscle shirts" sounds a bit more manly--were made by yours truly.  Back when I could still sew clothes for my boys and make them wear them, and they really didn't have any say in the matter.)

Not long after they posed for this picture, these two adorable fellas had regulation little boy haircuts, administered by a barber (before we got smart and bought a clipper set, and set up shop at our own house).  It was the end of the bowl-cut era.  It was also nearing the end of the home-sewn shirts era.  I was still dressing them like twins, but now they were wearing store-bought matching button-downs.  [Sigh...]  They grow up so fast, don't they?

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I had no idea when I started that just how fast they really do grow up.  Of course, a lot has happened since that photo of those two cutie-pies was taken 31 years ago. 

But in just the four years since I started writing that post and filed the draft away, there have been some enormous changes for sons # 1 and 2: the older one has added two daughters to the twin girls he already had at the time, and the younger one got married and became the father of two wee boys who are about as close in age as he and his older brother.  So much can happen in four years!

Life is such an amazing roller coaster ride--much too fast at times, and much too scary.  And sometimes you wish that for just a minute or two, you could go back in time to simpler days.  You wish you could have your needy little boys back, with their soft little arms and their wonder-filled blue eyes and their blond bowl cuts...just for a minute or two, mind you.  Or maybe a day.

But you wouldn't really want to go back for good.  You'd just want to visit briefly; otherwise you would miss the upstanding young men they've become and the beautiful wives and children they've brought to your family.  You'd miss them unbearably.  Unspeakably.

So thank goodness for photos like the ones above: they keep your precious memories of your children's early years alive forever, and whenever you look at them you are briefly transported back in time.

This Post is All over the Place!

Hi readers!  I thought I'd pop in and let you know I'm still alive and kicking--I've just been busy and distracted lately, as my husband and I work to get our family homestead cleaned out, updated, and ready to sell.  And as we fly hither and yon to house-hunt down south and celebrate the birthdays of our darling far-flung grandchildren.  And as we drive back and forth from NH to Upstate NY, to take care of our "Oyster Haven" VRBO house on the lake...

Well, you get the drift.

Also, I have "homework" to do: there are several books I've received gratis from authors and publishing houses, in exchange for honest reviews, and I'm very behind (I feel like a college student with overdue papers to write!).  Here are two of said books.

And of course, I must--I MUST--write the story of my father's courageous last days on earth.  That is probably the biggest stumbling block I have to getting back in the groove here at the blog.  It's been two months now since he died, and if I don't write it all down soon, I fear the memories are going to start getting hazy.  So write it I must...but for some reason I can't. 

In the meantime, just to give you an idea of how amazing Dad was in the face of his imminent death, here is a conversation we had on Tuesday, November 22.  My brother took out his phone and videotaped us as we talked, and as you'll see, Dad's sense of humor remained intact until the end.  (He passed away in the wee hours of the morning on Friday the 25th.)

Anyway, this kind of writer's block has happened to me before: back when I was writing my first novel Finding Grace (from August 2007 to December 2011), I hit two stretches where I literally couldn't type a word for weeks and weeks: when I was writing about one character's tragic Holocaust survival story; and when I was writing about another character's unplanned pregnancy and (SPOILER ALERT!) abortion.  I was terrified of tackling those two very serious topics.  Even though I'd done tons of research, I had no first-hand experience with either of those life-altering scenarios, so I was worried that I wouldn't be able to handle them properly, with the gravitas, compassion, and truthfulness they deserved.

I feel that way about writing the incredible story of Dad's death, too...

Speaking of Finding Grace (how's that for a segue?), I'm running an ad (or a "boosted post") on Facebook today.  It's such a pro-life novel, and today is the March for Life in Washington, D.C.--so I thought it was a good time to do it.  I would love to get this book in the hands of more young (and not-so-young) readers who might be touched and inspired by it.  If you want to check out my Facebook author's page, you can find it by going to Facebook and typing @laurahpearl in the search box.  If you do head over there, maybe you could "like" or share today's post about Finding Grace.

My middle son is a fan of everything I do.  He's a doll.

I will get back to blogging regularly, I mean it; that is one of my resolutions for 2017.  I have so many things to share, and some of them are so fun!  We've finished a bathroom renovation, for instance, and it looks so spectacular that I think Chip and JoJo would approve.  One of these days, I'm going to share the "Before" and "After" pictures with you.  And I've got Christmas pictures that I never posted, and birthday homages to my two January boys...

So much to do, so little time!  But I'm working on it!

Okay, then, that's enough for today.  Now for a title...okay, I think I've got it!