Blogging: A Problem?

Nora Ephron has been on my mind lately.  The news of her death last week has occupied quite a bit of mental space.  I liked her.  I still do.  Her writing-style, wit, humor, observations, and willingness to put herself "out there" inspired me, pushed me, and made me want to keep writing.

I spent the weekend reading her essays, books, and watching movies she wrote and directed.  It was my private send-off for her.  Except....

I didn't like the movie "Julie & Julia."  More specifically, I didn't like the Julie character.  Julia Child has always been an inspiration.  Here again was a woman with biting wit, fearless, and willing to try new things.  I like women who reinvent themselves. Wanting to cook like Julia Child, I bought her cookbooks.  I can cook, but realizing I don't have the love of cooking Julia Child was blessed with, I long ago gave up wanting to be her.

Julie, the woman in the movie who blogged about her year of cooking from Mastering the Art of French Cooking, wrote about her trials, experiences, feelings, and frustrations.  This, I found tedious.  I couldn't relate.  Herein lies my latest concern.

Why do I blog?  What does blogging accomplish?  I tell myself I'm sharing news about the tsunami that hit Tohoku last year, that keeping this news on someone's radar screen is my mission.  It's my job. 

But...

Just as I got tired of Julie in less than two hours, I have to assume there are plenty of people in the world who are sick of hearing about Tohoku.  No.  I know there are people sick of hearing about Tohoku.  Immediate family members, good friends, so-so acquaintances have told me as much.

"Your poor husband."
"Japan can take care of itself."
"You're leaving your family behind.  For what?  Why?"

For better or worse, we are dependent upon the media for our news.  News stories, what's considered "Breaking News" changes with each new event.  Sexy stories stay on the front pages a bit longer than the rest.  Since March of last year when the earthquake and tsunami hit Japan, the media reported on Libya, Bin Laden's death, the whole Weiner-gate thing,  Arnold Schwarzenegger's love child, the floods in Thailand, the typhoon and subsequent floods in the Philippines, tornadoes, Olympic atheletes, the upcoming US Presidential election, and the Colorado wildfires.  That's not even a partial list.


I went to Japan because I have an emotional connection to the country.  The only news story from the aforementioned list I have such a connection to (a remote one at that) is the Presidential election.  All the rest are stories that took place somewhere else.  I can't relate to the other stories.  I don't have that "emotional connection" so necessary to be able to continue reading.  How then can I expect people without this attachment to relate to what's going on in Japan?


Before leaving for Japan last March, I sent out a series of e-mails telling people I was going to Japan, and that I was taking donations.  A pastor from a local church wrote saying she was "disappointed" and wished I had given the congregation more time to donate items.  I wrote back saying I would have given the church more time if I myself had known sooner I was going.  When she asked for the two duffel bags she donated to be returned, I said I'd ask someone else for duffel bags.  (I wasn't going to ask people who hadn't worn clean underwear in three weeks to return a donation.)  When she wrote this past February saying she couldn't and wouldn't disseminate my report to the congregation because it sounded like I was asking for money, I gave up.  Sadly, this is a classic example of what happens when people are detached from a story.


While I will keep blogging about Tohoku and Japan in general, I realize putting myself out there to the world, the unknown world at that, comes with a price.  I could be just as tedious to some as Julie was to me today.  While this concerns me, greatly mind you, I hope you are able to think bigger and broader, be less picky and critical, more open-minded and willing to hear just what's needed, what's going on, and why this is important.  For those who do not share my emotional connection to Japan, I realize I'm asking a lot.  I trust your maturity takes you beyond where mine took me today.


I questioned myself today as to whether I should keep blogging.  I really didn't like Julie.  In the end, I decided to trust in the goodness of humankind.  Surely, just as those who read Julie's blog and liked it, there are those who aren't tired of hearing about Tohoku.


So, for now, I will keep blogging, hoping as I write my dislike of Julie is not an accurate barometer of people in general.

Bears, Bags, and Shiseido

I blame my low blood pressure.  Having wished forever I could some day be one of these perky people that, upon hearing the (first) alarm of the morning, stretch, yawn, and jump out of bed ready to hit the day, I long ago resigned myself to the fact I will never be that person.  It's easier to hate them. 
To compensate, I learned how to put make up on in the car, saving precious morning minutes for extra sleep.  Even 10 years ago, I showed up at jobs with two minutes to spare (never be late!).  I had my routine down pat.  Comments like, "Wow, those are some amazing suitcases under your eyes" were met with curt retorts on where the man could shove those words.  Sleep always trumped. 

When Alpha Male (my favorite man in Japan) says to me several weeks ago, "You look better without make up" I am stunned.
"When have you ever seen me without make up?"
"The night I took you to the bus stop."
That was over a year ago, the night of my first trip up to Tohoku.  To show him how agreeable I can be, I arrived at one of our recent lunches without make up.  As I hop in his car, he looks over and says, "Did you just wake up?"  I'm immediately pissed.
"No, I did not just wake up.  This is me without make up.  You said you liked it better this way."  I flip down the sun visor, stare at myself in the mirror, and am amazed at the puffy bags of skin below my lids, surrounded by dark patches.  I almost look like I've been punched.  I curse.  There will be no more leaving the apartment without make up.  Period.

He's silent.  I can just hear the pedals going backwards, his mind spinning with how he's going to get out of that comment.  The next lunch?   I show up with make up, and he knows better than to say anything.

More recent comments from others about how "You looked much younger a year ago" have made me, begrudgingly, accept the fact I don't handle stress very well, and I'm yet again showing it on my face.  Having been blessed with good skin genes from a young age, and having equally been "blessed" with low blood pressure, my morning routine has never been much in the way of an extensive beauty routine.  I have it down to a science.  Lotion, eyeliner, mascara, lipstick.  (If it can be done in a car, even better.)

All of which--age, stress, years of not putting more time into my skincare--is now evidently catching up with me.  I have silently apologized to Nora Ephron for all the snide remarks I made about her (presumed) lack of skin maintenance, obviously causing her to write "I Feel Bad About My Neck" all because my neck now, too, needs extra care.  I get it.  Getting old isn't a lot of fun when the aging process shows up prominently in our faces.

Enter my decision to take action.  I march to the Shiseido counter in a major department store in Tokyo, plop myself down in a chair, and promptly "command" the saleswoman to "Do something about these" pointing to the black circles and bags around my eyes.

"Oh, the kuma" she says.  Kuma?  That's bear in Japanese.  I have bears around my eyes?  Suitcases and bags are bad enough.  Now bears?
"Whatever," I think I snapped back.  "Just fix them."  I'm in no mood to expand my vocabulary today.
I know what's coming.  She will bring out every Shiseido product under the sun, promising me they will make my skin "glow" and "look fresh" and the like.  I'm ready to be convinced.  The bears must go.

Thirty minutes later, with a bunch of lotions, creams, powder, and concealer on my skin, I look back at myself in the mirror and ask myself whether I can actually commit to spending time on this routine.  True, the bags are less visible, and the blackness around my eyes is gone.  But, I can feel the crap on my skin.  It feels foreign.  Is it me, or is my skin itching?

The same saleswoman tries to tell me I should use Shiseido cotton to "maximize its effectiveness" and I stare at her with this, "please tell me you're kidding" look and she stops.  I know buying all this will cost me.  I also know the bags or bears (whatever) bother me.  A lot.  I decide to spend the money.

Blame aging, sun damage, and hormones.  Or, blame the less obvious culprit?  I'm obviously stressed.  What good will it do to spend too much on the promise "if you use it properly, you should see results in two months" when I could just do something about my stress level?  Ah, yes.  My stress level.  Right.  Fix that and my skin will once again glow.  Right?

Until I can find the cure for my stress, you're all welcome to invest in Shiseido stock.  I'll be relying on them for awhile.