I vented to a friend today about my disdain for social media. (That’s right, folks — my disdain.)
I shared a couple of examples of the posts I have found in my social media feeds that frankly have disturbed me (think “newborn babies in costumes”). And then I asked what has weighed heavily on me lately:
“Why? Why do people think that this will enrich my life?”
But the more I thought about my own questions, the clearer an important truth became: people do not care if what they post enriches my life.
They do not care.
As a Catholic, I believe that dating is for discerning marriage — for discovering the truth about each other. For deciding whether to choose to love each other until death.
Sometimes, dating is fun. You can go to aquariums together and stuff. There are otters at aquariums. Need I say more? Dating is good. If you pay attention, you learn about God and each other and yourself. Sometimes dating is easy — when you’re laughing, or at Adoration, or noticing a new reason to appreciate him or her.
But sometimes, dating is hard, like when there is conflict. Miscommunication. Insecurity. Distance (all the kinds). Inconsiderate decisions. Resistance to vulnerability.
I don’t miss Snapchat. At all. And for lots of reasons. But one of them is the same reason that a Verily editor who recently wrote about Snapchat is sick of the app: some of its filters “Photoshop” your dang face.
In one swipe, my face was transformed to standards that the fashion and beauty industry has been pushing for decades: wide eyes, a petite nose, a thinner face, and a crystal clear complexion. I felt, in a word, ugly.
The filters she decries can be defended as “for fun.” But they are also disguises that reinforce the lies that the shapes of our faces and eyes, the tones and types of our skin, should align with a set of standards that human bodies don’t naturally meet.
I sat at the gate a half hour before I would board the plane and cracked open a copy of Harry Potter. It could quell the urge to pout about how I had to spend the morning: traveling 784 miles away from my boyfriend.
The distance between my city and his is a difficult but worthy hurdle. A molehill that often feels like a mountain. An excuse I use to pout a lot at airports. And doing this — dating at a distance — has required teamwork to make work what wouldn’t work without effort.
3 Lessons and 2 Tips is a series of interviews in which some of my favorite people (and probably some of yours) share three lessons they’ve learned by being married, plus two tips for single people.
This edition features Chris Donatto, who “has dreadlocks and a beard,” said his wife, Erika. “That’s really the most important thing about him.”
Except, she added, “he’s also a husband, a father, youth minister, and Adore missionary. And Batman. Yes, he’s Batman.” And Chris — ahem, Batman — is gracious today to share three lessons and two tips: