#Nofilter

Why do I always talk about the same things? I do it. Every time. 

I'm at a wedding, a shower, a bar, a restaurant, etc., and I start asking those questions... 

"How's the job? What'd you do today? What's new? How's so-and-so? What's new with them? Have you seen that new show? Did you see that new movie?"

Not that these are bad questions and not that they couldn't lead to good conversation, but over the past six months when I have had really complicated answers to those very questions, I've found myself attempting to make up really short answers. Why? Because somewhere deep down I tell myself that the person asking doesn't really care about the complicated stuff going on with me. 

And here's the even stranger part. When there IS nothing going on, I try to come up with a more exciting answer. It's true. The fact that I went home after work, watched an episode of Sherlock, and made tacos/pizza again, just doesn't seem interesting enough. What is this bizarre struggle that echoes through my social interactions? 

Why do I downplay the hard parts of life, and then feel like I have to make those peaceful moments when life isn't a drama-filled episode of Days of Our Lives more interesting? I admit it. Last night, we played cards and watched Freaks and Geeks on a Friday night. It was fun, but probably very boring to an outsider. And then, I proceeded to Instagram a wonderfully filtered picture of my dog lying on the cards. Was it because it made our evening look a little more interesting? Maybe not, but you get my point (PS - Read this too).

When I reflect on this, I wonder, "Why do I feel the need to live a life that is exotically-interesting and perfectly normal all at the same time?" I know this life does not exist. I know that everyone has ups and downs and in the middles. And I expect these ups and downs and middles from others, and yet I try to make my life fit this weird mold when sharing with them. I'm reminding myself of a Wemmick (Never heard of a wemmick? It's from this children's book).

Now, hold that thought for a minute. 

I've started a book club. (Do I get interesting or boring points for this I wonder?) 

I've always wanted to be in a book club, but when I started one I had no clue what to do. I did a little research, got some tips from Oprah, and voila! Book club! We're only reading our second book now, but I realized as we sat through our very first meeting why I wanted to be a part of a book club so very badly. 

Books are really the lives of others clothed in paper and binding, and when we sit around talking about a life that is not our own, suddenly, we are drawn to talking about our own experiences. As we read, we try on other people's stories, like borrowing clothes from a friend, but we still see the world with our personal perspective. 

So, there we were, a group of women who sort of knew each other, friends of friends and such, and we were talking about our book. We laughed and recounted our favorite parts, but what struck me most was that we seamlessly moved between serious and fun conversation. The pretend marriages of a few characters had us openly talking about our own relationships whether we hated or enjoyed the book. That's what I loved. I don't know if it was the book we read or if it was the women in the room, but we moved past the, "How's the job? The job search? The baby? The new house?" and got to laughter and honesty.

So, back to the original thought, or really, the same thought behind the book club. I want to stay there in my daily conversations; a place of honestly sharing stories, a place where there's no pressure to impress or suppress. That's where real friendship grows. I'm not asking people to "get serious" all the time or weep their hearts out. I think I'm just asking for unfiltered. The real question will be whether I can live up to my own challenge.