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materialism

I don’t think shopping is a bad thing. But like everything else, moderation is key.  

I was thinking about materialism the other day. It is generally seen as a negative thing. I know there is a dictionary definition out there, but for me, the first thing that pops into mind is someone shopping a lot and accumulating stuff to make themselves happy. They feel happy when they get something new, but they also feel happy when they can show it off to their friends. But even if they can’t show off their goods to friends, I think they are happy with the sensation of running a credit card through a slot and picking up the bag with the things they can now own as a result of the credit card. It becomes an addictive feeling to the point where it doesn’t even matter what they are buying. They just love the feeling of sliding that credit card through.

Deep down I don’t think the materialistic person doesn’t know this ultimately doesn’t bring happiness. I mean, yes, maybe in the moment, but once the moment passes, the more they look at the things they buy the more the feeling wears off. It’s not brand new anymore! I just think they are avoiding the reality of more things can’t make you more happy. There’s something else going on in their life that needs fixing and shopping is a quick fix. Then come the garage sales.

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What does friend even mean?

Some guys don’t know the first thing about being just friends with a girl. Vice versa as well, but I think in this case this applies to mostly guys. I think when a guy starts out trying to be just friends with a girl, he is always in it for a motive. More girls than guys are capable of being there for someone and hanging out with someone without the complications of “catching feelings” as the kids call it these days. Being just friends with someone of the opposite sex is not impossible, but a lot of times it doesn’t work out because it is hard. Feelings do get in the way.

As for me, I am hard to be friends with, period. Especially now. Life is too short to sugarcoat everything. I am a nice girl, but I can be brutally honest with people I’m close to. Why waste someone’s time making them believe everything is okay when they really need to make changes in their lives to be a better person? I’m not perfect either, but if I am able to make a suggestion to improve the quality of someone’s life, I think I should let them know if I really care about them. I say this, but even as I’m typing this, I know I struggle with being brutally honest when it is necessary. There are times you’ve got to keep your mouth shut and just let your friend fall. It’s not easy, but I don’t want to be the same kind of friend everybody else out there is like.

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OK, so a while ago I said to Stay Tuned…

I’ve been meeting some new people in the city I live in and in general doing a little more exploring than I’ve done before. I also started a new job. I want to share my experiences piece by piece. It’s taken me a while to get started because I’m a perfectionist and I like organizing a “format” for how I want to do these posts. In between I might throw in some fictional pieces, so just check out the categories and tags before assuming anything is a real-life blog.

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Can’t Ctrl + z in real life

I think the bravest thing someone does sometimes is show up. Not go fight in a war. Not stand up to a bully. Not shoot a bow and arrow through some sort of coronation ring. Nope. Not any of those things that is typically considered a brave thing to do.

I’m talking about showing up to an event. People take one look at you and start sizing you up. You haven’t even opened your mouth yet and you are being judged by every eye in the room. At least all the sober ones. (Let’s be honest. The inebriated ones ain’t gonna remember you after it’s all over.)

I was at a party over the weekend and I felt brave for showing up. I knew the host and a couple other people on the guest list, but the majority of the people on the guest list I did not know. Right before going I had this nervous feeling in the pit of my stomach like the kind of feeling you get if you’re a quiet one like me and sitting in class hoping the teacher doesn’t call on you or the kind of nervous feeling you get before having to give an oral presentation to the class.

Showing up to a party where you don’t know most of the people is in a way, going to battle. You don’t know what these people think of you from how you act to what you say to what you’re wearing. You shouldn’t care what these people think, but there’s always a part of you that will no matter how many parties you’ve been to. Once they’ve met you, it’s all over. You can’t change what they first think of you or go back in time and make them not ever know you.

You may walk away without them remembering you, but you now exist in the world to them and there’s no way to make them think you don’t exist. Even if they forget about the party, meeting you will inevitably come back up in their memory, filed away with all the other fuzzy party memories. It just takes a key to unlock that drawer and once Tinker Bell comes flying out of there, ain’t no way of stopping a mixed up memory from surfacing, like trying to tell the difference between a thimble and a hidden kiss.