Spend a little time online and my inferiority complex kicks in.
Full disclosure: I don’t know how to sell anything on Etsy, or solve parenting problems in Top 10 List form, or photograph step-by-step instructions for craft projects, or contribute to Big Conversations with slick infographics.
The two dimensional vision of perfection we present on social media belies the real lives happening behind the filtered photos. Of course I do more than just go on vacation, but I don’t post the photos of me mopping the floor (heck, I don’t even *take* photos of me mopping the floor). Of course my kids can go for weeks without saying anything cute of poignant, but I’m certainly not going to post about it every time they announce “I have to poop” at the dinner table.
The picture we get of other people’s lives online is only what they choose to share, and frankly, I’m ready to talk about the interesting stuff, warts and all.
Plus, I couldn’t write a delicious gluten-free, almond free paleo recipe if my life depended on it.
So I write what I know: being a white First World immigrant in a Third World country; being married to an Irish furniture maker whose exceptional generosity & talent is manifest in my home; struggling to hold my heart open so it can be broken over and over again; living with access to potable water only when delivered by oxen; stumbling along the path of raising up tri national daughters who are at once of this place and apart from it; running an Airbnb guest house with a 3 star cleanliness rating and a 5 star hostess rating; committing to living in Community though most days I fall short of the patience & compassion needed ; enjoying a firm sense of belonging in Nicaragua while recognizing I can never take the Gringolandía out of this girl.