Why I Blog

Hi!

I’ve been avoiding blogging for a while because I’m sitting on a series I want to do over the summer that sort of has a schedule to it and so I don’t want to get ahead of myself. Not blogging is so hard. Let me take that back, not writing is so hard. I could write all day and just shove it in my drawer and be fine with it. For all the techie stuff that blogging includes, I am pretty terrible at all of it. I cannot code to save my life and my blog never quite looks like the template (speaking of, check out the new template!) The only thing that keeps me posting is that I create a lot of content because I am a crazy person.

I blog because I can’t shut up.

From a young age, I have been a certified fast talker. My handwriting even mimics this– my brother always puts his finger between my words, Kindergarten style, to remind me that I am not leaving adequate space. One of my favorite people to talk to in the world is my mom because she will let me monologue uninterrupted and then will offer a slightly shorter monologue in return. My ideal conversation is basically a poorly paced play. This means a blog is a great format for me because I talk into the void and the void occasionally comments back.

I blog because I love to laugh.

Close to 90% of the jokes I use on my blog wouldn’t work in a real-life conversation. The setup is too long, the words are too complicated, or I would get too excited about it and stutter. This website is the garbage dump of my jokes.

I blog because I am hugely competitive. 

I started writing for fun at a young age because reading and writing were the first things I was really good at. I struggled to read for a few years before I saw one of my friends reading a Bible and I thought she was actually able to read the whole thing, chapter-book style. I learned to read because I didn’t want anyone else to be better than me at something, which is funny because at that time the only thing really exceptional about me was how tall I was (I have been effectively the same height since the fourth grade). I’ve mellowed out considerably and now I love reading what my friends are working on, but I started writing because I liked the praise.

Speaking of the praise–wow!! I just found out I have over 1,800 email subscribers! Thank you all for reading and believing in my work. Also, I am so sorry that you are going to get another email.

Love (really a lot of love),

Megan

 

How To Choose Your College Best Friends

Fair warning: this is one of my quarterly “blogger-y blogs.” It’s long and a little bit more done than I normally like to do, but I think I maybe said something new or cool here.

…

I think everyone in my generation knows that it can be far too easy to consume in excess– fast fashion and fast food, particularly– but increasingly I’m noticing fast friends, a flavor-of-the-week phenomenon based upon mutual boyfriends or compatible Instagram angles. It can be easy to write these friendships off as adventures or merely being social, but increasingly they are replacing friendships of substance based on shared values.

As I get older, my friends don’t play on the soccer team with me or dance at the same studio. We often aren’t in the same classes and our parents don’t know each other. What holds us together aren’t common interests or obligations, but an understanding that we value the same things. Our majors, hometowns, and personal styles make up who we are, but what is more important is what we are about. 

…

Momento Mori is the motto of the school in A Series of Unfortunate Events. It means “Remember you will die,” which used to freak me out, but now has become one of my personal mottos.

Friend: Dude, you’re wearing a yellow shirt and red shorts…

Me: Everyone dies someday.

This is not as depressing as it seems. Imagine being freed of everything embarrassing you’ve ever done. That time you used the boys’ bathroom in the fourth grade– gone. When you had braces– gone. One day, all these things will disappear, because you– and everyone else who could have witnessed it– will die. Our embarrassments are temporary, our worries are temporary, our bad outfits are very, very temporary. Instagram is on the internet (home of screenshots and databases) and it is still only as lasting as the collective whims and tastes of the youth. Only one thing lasts: your legacy. The values you carried, the morals you lived by, the work you did: these are the things that are lasting, meaningful, and memorable. When you are dead– when everyone who knew you is dead– who you were will not matter, but what you were about will.

…

I learned everything about what I’m about from my father, one of the coolest guys around and a friend I would like to have. These are Dan Anderson’s secrets to good living– the qualities I look for in myself in a friend.

• Pet all dogs.
• Be an encourager. Dan Anderson (hereby referred to as Danderson) isn’t afraid of a pre-game or post-game talk. He could often be found behind the goalie’s net yelling, “You’ll get ’em next time!” or “Keep your head up!” I never played goalie. This didn’t stop Danderson.
• Hold on. My dad has had the same best friend since third grade. They still talk every week and can be found on a golf trip together or at each other’s milestone birthdays, telling crazy stories from growing up down the street to their college days. My dad doesn’t have a Facebook; in his words, “Anyone I wanted to keep up with, I did.” He’s been married to my mom for over 25 years– that’s holding on.
• Laugh. In church, too. At yourself, too
• Go the extra mile. Whether is was standing in line for an hour to buy out the store of dark chocolate-covered strawberries for Valentine’s Day or waking up every fall and winter Friday to make a pre-game breakfast for me (I was a cheerleader and had no measurable effect on the game), Danderson does not half-ass it. When my family delivers Thanksgiving turkeys to families in need, my dad ups our number each year and often stays to deliver the strays that no one else claimed.
• Work hard. Do your homework first. Do your homework early. You never know when something fun will come up and you need to be ready.
• Do the right thing, and when you mess up, admit it. My dad says sorry. My dad says, “I’m just learning, too.”

Living with permanence, like my dad does, requires selflessness, loyalty, and dedication. It requires self-evaluation, which isn’t comfortable. It requires depth. My dad has never gotten a like on Facebook or Instagram, he doesn’t follow the trends, and he doesn’t understand any music that came out after ’89, but he is someone I would count myself as lucky to have as a friend. We could all use more of them.

…

“Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud.  It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs.  Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth.  It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.

 Love never fails. But where there are prophecies, they will cease; where there are tongues, they will be stilled; where there is knowledge, it will pass away.”

xo,

Megan

The Death of “Basic”

I like the sound of babies crying. Before I get put on some sort of serial killer watch list, let me explain. When tiny newborn babies cry, they are trying with all of their might to make sound– to draw attention to themselves, to stir the sea with a teaspoon. And the result isn’t all that impressive: they hardly make a sound at all. That vulnerability and ambition is rare and honest. It’s our first attempt at individuality and significance, and for that reason, I think the sound of babies crying is endearing. 

In some ways, it’s the way we all live our lives. Increasingly available niche fame dominates the Internet– she’s the Angelina Jolie of highly-filtered coffeehouse Instagram, he’s the Floyd Mayweather of French amateur BMX. As we try to define ourselves– a process once lovingly referred to as coming-of-age– we increasingly focus on branding and re-branding ourselves. But adolescence is not a company in need of advertising and people are not flat. Personalities do not accomodate to the lowest common denominator.

This search for an identifiable and powerful personal brand renders reality clichè: everything has been done before and nothing is memorable, therefore nothing is worthwhile. As we, the generation of special snowflakes, age, we conceal under professional guise the naturally awkward process of self-discovery and so dies the notion of nuance. We see each other in black and white and empathy for the juvenile experiences and struggles of others is lost. Our stories have been told and told and so it is hard to see others as anything more than children playacting at a narrative not of their own wit. 

This is not a new conundrum. When Shakespeare invented thousands of words and several genres, he told in brief or in sketch the general stories of most of our lives. Somewhere out in the world is a story of a child preternaturally obsessed with death who grew tall like a willow tree too early and ran off to see the world, with mixed results. This is the long and the far too short of my story, but it doesn’t rob my of my individuality or my experiences of their validity. I think in one of the Traveling Pants novels— lowbrow entertainment to be sure–  one of the girls goes to Italy (maybe Greece). It’s not a new story; I’m going anyway. We strip ourselves of joy and discovery when we flatten experiences to fit a narrow stereotype and thus devalue them. 

When we call ourselves or others “basic”, “hipster” or any number of other neo-stereotypes, we passively agree to the depreciation of the individual. The multitude of diversity is why we live; without it, we advance in the path of least resistance meaninglessly as nothing more than nameless consumers. Live your life unabashadly and let the story write (and read) itself. 

I’m Kim Kardashian and You Are Too

Guys. My blog hit 700 views this week. I want to thank everyone who shared my last post, That’s a Weird Thing to Say to Someone, but I also want y’all to know how strange this is for me. Through all of high school I let my mom read probably less than ten pieces I wrote, and the number is only that high because she begged constantly and I occasionally left them on the counter by accident. It is terrifying to be blogging publicly, but as the saying goes, “If it doesn’t challenge you, it doesn’t change you.”

All this vulnerability, something I generally try to avoid, got me thinking about the changing dynamics of our presence online. It was not so long ago that we were all told to never put our real names or photos on the internet– and that went extraordinarily well and we are all totally anonymous online. JUST KIDDING. Instead, what has arisen is an era of micro-celebrity and total inauthenticity driven by a lack of real human connection. So let’s talk about the internet.

Am I pretty enough to be on Instagram? If you see me at 8 am, studying for an econ test with a pizza in my bed, probably not. This is something I have actually done (multiple times), but if you only follow me on Instagram, it’s probably pretty hard to imagine. Instagram Me (follow me @megan_ali) always wears makeup and goes out EVERY NIGHT and goes on exotic vacations and is not an outfit repeater. Some of those things are half-true, but they’re not even half of the truth. The temptation to be inauthentic on Instagram is strong, because everyone is doing it. No one shares their normal day-to-day lives; I wouldn’t get 200 likes on a picture of me writing this because I look like death. I’m not saying my life isn’t fun, because it’s actually SO much fun, but just know that while I do get to go to some really cool parties, I also cry every time I take a Calc 3 test. Every time. That’s something you would not learn from my Instagram, and here I am sharing it with you. Blogging is cool.

On this flip side, oversharing is really weird and we need to stop doing that, too. I don’t really know how to be anyone but myself, which is a topic for an entire other post, but I’m never going to lie in a post. On the flip side, telling everyone everything about your life is just as unnatural and harmful as pretending your life is ultra-glamorous. Like Our Heroes Beyoncé and Jay-Z, I will never talk about my relationships, past or present, publicly. It’s tacky and it forms a weird relationship between you and people you barely know. Just today, I was thinking, “How can I create quality content for my readers?” But no.  This is not a real blog. As you can see, there are no “Pin it!” buttons or ready-made quote/picture combos. My header is a stock photo of a sunflower– clearly I am the queen of the internet. I am not a professional and this is not a blog; it’s just me talking to myself on the internet. I’m making a commitment to be myself to be authentic, and part of that is not sharing what goes against all boundaries of good taste. Shocker: we can still have boundaries on the internet. That’s real authenticity, and I’m down with that.

At this point, you’re probably like “Okayyyy, but I came here to read about Kim K and all you’ve done is shame my Insta-game” and that’s true, so here’s the wrap up. As millennials, we need to be conscientious that we do not live our lives in a talentless and vapid manner, becoming celebrities for no apparent reason (cough cough). We need to pursue accomplishments that are not linked to an all-time record number of likes. We need to stop being so weird about the internet and go outside and play. This isn’t really an original thought; I’m aware. So just to be a little more specific: stop doing the overshare-y Pinterest-y Stepford wife thing and for everyone’s sake STOP BLURRING YOUR PICTURES AND LEAVING YOUR EYES DEFINED. WE ALL KNOW YOU HAVE A NOSE AND YOU CAN’T HIDE THAT.

MEGAN OUT.

PS Shout out to my one reader in Aruba. You’re my most exotic and mysterious reader.

That’s a Weird Thing to Say to Someone

“I like you, because you’re pretty, but you know– you don’t suck.”

Maybe people have been thinking this all my life and they just started openly expressing it in college, or maybe this is something new, but I have heard almost this exact phrase uncountable times in the past year. I used to be pretty flattered by it, because people– actually, let’s not beat around the bush, exclusively guys— were noticing my fun, unique personality. But, when you get down into it, it’s actually pretty offensive, because it assumes a dichotomy where girls can only be cool or hot (pun absolutely intended), but never both– and that’s absolutely not true.

It’s not flattering anymore, and I owe this insight to my sisters. I am blessed with nearly 400 smart, funny, and flaming hot sisters. They outshine me regularly on all fronts and I am lucky to know them. My sisters are irreverent, empathetic, strong, silly, ambitious, and kind. But to outsiders, we all probably look like zombie srat-star clones, apathetically sipping Starbucks and waiting for rings by spring. I know that’s the first impression we give; I’m not naive. Still, it’s not difficult to discover that we have much, much more to offer than blank stares and bleached hair. And these are just the women I know; I’m sure there are more great girls at Alabama that I will never meet. Which is why it is so puzzling that the default assumption for many college age men is that pretty girls suck. There seems to be an abundance of evidence that pretty girls do not, in fact, suck. So to all the people who were surprised to find I have a personality: an open letter.

Hey, so I know you were pretty impressed that I didn’t peel the crawfish tail to eat it/ watch “Bob’s Burgers”/ made a Batman joke (FYI I don’t even like Batman, I just got lucky), but you shouldn’t be, because I’m not a Flat Stanley drawing of a girl but rather a living, breathing human being. I’m not mad; I’m just a little surprised that at this point in your life you haven’t made a female friend, because then you would know that girls don’t suck. Also if you think my bad dancing is the weirdest/quirkiest/coolest/bro-est thing you’ve ever seen, then hold on tight because things are about to get a lot weirder. That is not even the funniest thing I do and I’m not even the funniest girl I know. Take a second and let that sink in, because there’s a Big Truth coming your way.

I can think of a lot of things that suck: finals, the Tuscaloosa train, some people’s boring, shallow attitude about women, etc., but pretty girls don’t suck. 

Pile of Wood Chips

I keep a list on my phone of blog topics to write about so I can write when I’m uninspired– like today. These are pretty broad topics: my hometown, bureaucracy, my upcoming trip to Italy, etc., but I also have a list of metaphors or jokes I want to make on each topic. Unfortunately, I did not foresee that I would forget the relationship between the metaphor and the topic, which is why I have a list of metaphors that includes the topic “pile of wood chips” with no footnotes. I can’t ascertain what I was relating to a pile of wood chips unless it was damp, prickly, and an omen of arriving spring? It was probably a reach. The closest link I can draw in my present state is “New Orleans is like a pile of wood chips because it is humid, smelly, and liable to catch fire if left in the sunshine for too long.”

Some days I experience nearly manic productivity, and the levels of output I create, both menial and creative, are astonishing. Other days, like today, I feel uninspired to do anything. I can partially attribute this apathy to being under the weather– a week of Indian Party has left my immune system KO’d– but there’s a natural rhythm to it, too. There’s feast and there’s famine, as I think any creative person attest. Although I have always enjoyed keeping many creative outlets, I would struggle with the uncertainty of dry spells if I depended upon my creativity for my means. The only form of urgency my work currently experiences is the need to put pen to paper before I lose my train of thought, and, as such, the process is deeply enjoyable for me. The stress of being a (sometimes) barren creative would strip the natural ebb and flow of its dignity and would force me to write things that I would find mediocre.

I’m blogging, even now, when I feel like I have nothing to say and no voice to say it with, because I don’t want to grow old and lose my fire. In many ways, some would say I’ve lost it already. I used to be hungry, uncertain, unfounded, and insatiable. I craved greatness over stability–over happiness. I’ve mellowed considerably since. I want to do what I like and be good at what I do, but I no longer feel consumed by my projects and goals. In many ways, I’ve found what I once deeply disparaged: balance. There are things upon which my soul rests and I do not vilify them for existing. This is more radical than it sounds.

I was really going to try to bring this full circle, but my current philosophy on creative output and writing is not like a pile of wood chips. It’s just not; there’s no work around for it. I guess, if anything, some days you’re a majestic tree: inspiring, beloved by all, and some days you’re a– well, you get it.

Not Another Buzzfeed Article

So, I just got back from Maui, which was fabulous: remote, relaxing and totally different from my usual scene. I’m rocking a deep Jersey Shore tan and it was an awesome experience that I would do over again in a heartbeat. But between that and living in Tuscaloosa full time, I’ve come to realize there are a few traits I really miss about home.

****** If you go to Bama, you are probably aware that my hometown is a hellhole. I have personally told you that. Still, it does have a few redeeming qualities and I’m going to summarize them here (with some fondness). It’s gonna be a little bit of a weird ride. ******

I’m not going to do a list because I feel like that’s really click-bait-y and we all know that Tad’s and Bobo’s are local treasures. You don’t need me to tell you that. The things you actually miss when you live 13 hours away are a little more subtle (though if someone wants to mail me some Tuptim Thai I won’t stop you).

The thing I miss most about my little hometown (Topeka, Kansas if you’re unaware) is its total humility. Topekans have never described anything in Topeka as “the best ever.” Topekans like to use the phrases “pretty good”, “alright”, and “not bad”. The crowning achievement for an establishment in Topeka is for people to describe it as “very nice” and then follow up with  “I’m surprised it’s in Topeka.” If the Taj Mahal was built there, people would call it tacky. There is an overwhelming belief that something can’t actually be that nice if it is located in Topeka and the pervasive pessimism eliminates any element of competition. It’s really hard to get too big for your own shoes; remember, you’re from Topeka. It’s an inside joke everyone knows, said with a shrug and a grin, because what are you going to do? Leave? Fat chance, because:

If you live in Kansas, it’s pretty much a guarantee your entire family does, too.  Topeka has roots. I know every single one of my close friends’ extended families.  I know who’s uncle is getting married for the third time and I know who’s grandma hates her retirement home (surprise: all of them). I go to family dinners and sisters’ dance recitals and these are not even my actual relatives. I am a huge weirdo because my extended family lives one state over. It runs deeper than that, though. I also know who’s a fourth-generation KU student and who’s family is actually from Junction City. It sounds like small town gossip, and some of it is, but it results in an unmistakable genuineness in almost everyone you meet. It’s really hard to pretend you’re someone you’re not, because everyone knows where you’re from and who your people are, or knows someone who does . There aren’t six degrees of seperation in Topeka: there’s two, at best. It keeps you grounded.

You’ll know your friends inside and out, and you’ll like them, for real.  There are people in this world who knew me when I wore a retainer and had to dress as Ferdinand Magellan (false beard included) and these people are still my friends (WHY). I grew up with them, shopped at Aeropostale with them, and went to prom with them. I have killed a lot of time with them, because there’s not a lot else to do. Sometimes Friday night’s entertainment was just laying on the couch, watching YouTube videos and making small talk. We spent a disgusting amount of time at Sonic. (Tangent: Sonic is only popular in Topeka, I’m convinced. Why? Sonic’s principle use is killing time. There is no other reason for a slow, gas-wasting fast food restaurant that PRIMARILY SERVES DRINKS to have become so popular. It’s not as overwhelmingly popular elsewhere.) I have done things that can in no way be misconstrued as “fun”– bell jingling for the Salvation Army, being president of science club– because it’s not like I really had anything better to do and I could con a friend into doing it with me. Having friends you’re sort of indifferent isn’t going to be a good time because there’s nothing to distract you from your mutual incompatibility. I was lucky to find friends where were sassy, silly, and incredibly loyal. I should call them more often.

I haven’t quenched my thirst to see the world– I’ll be going to Italy in May and I couldn’t be more excited– but I’m coming to terms with the fact that it’s ok to like your hometown, even if it’s sort of a (read as: my most frequently made) joke.