On the Internet

Ever since the Internet popped into existence, humanity has had a whole new world (pardon the Disney lyric) of opportunity open up to us – but also a new complex and thorny maze to navigate.

Now, I love the Internet. I love the way it enables you to connect with people you never would have encountered before. I love the platform it provides for creators of all shapes and forms to share their work with the world. I love the easy access to knowledge I would have struggled to gain before. And whilst I am not quite a child of the Internet in the way that mid-nineties babies are (growing up with WiFi and buttons on their phones that instantly plunge them into the online world), I don’t really remember a time without it – even when it meant waiting patiently for the dial-up connection to go through, and asking Jeeves instead of Google.

Much as I love the Internet, however, I will be the first to admit that it has turned us into a generation of snoopy stalkers. It’s so easy to dig up information now. Do it often enough, and you can become scarily good at it. I – in fact – have become scarily good at it. That’s not a popular thing to admit: that you have partaken in online snooping, much less that you’re actually quite a dab hand at it. I understand why, but this is a safe space and I’m all about honesty. So I hold my hand up as a skilled e-snooper.

Before you rush to judge me, bear in mind that a lot of the skills I have developed, I have actually developed because they serve me well professionally. I’m very good at sourcing footage for mood films, whether that’s “can you find me a shot of some people riding on public transport in Tokyo?” or “we need some footage of a woman looking sad whilst staring wistfully out to sea”. (Yes, my job can be quite niche). It’s also contributed to me being a helpful friend – a few months back, for example, a friend was searching for a particular weekly comic strip that was published in a national paper when he was young. He couldn’t remember the name of the strip, or the artist: he just had a vague recollection of the subject matter. Cue a quick Google, and a few minutes later I could give him full details of the strip and the artist in question.

I try not to abuse these skills too much, but it can be tempting: in the age of online dating, in particular. To give you an example, before I went on my one and only Tinder date experience (ask me for the story one day, if I haven’t told you already: it’s a good’un), I was feeling – I think understandably – quite nervous about meeting someone who could quite possibly have been a mad axe murderer. Mercifully though, I had a first name, a picture, and a profession to go on. It didn’t take long to get a bit more information and validate that this guy was in fact who he said he was, and – paranoid individual that I am – I made sure I gave my flatmate his surname and the lowdown on him before I went out. You know – just in case he did actually murder me with an axe…

Things like Jessie Cave (yes, the other one) and her series of Love Sick doodles reassure me that I’m not wrong to think my behaviour is quite common. But I don’t know whether I should take comfort from this. There’s a fine line between using e-snooping for work, or to safeguard against Tinder crazies…and sliding into the worrying quicksand of becoming a full-blown creeper. Whilst I’ve managed to maintain a safe distance from that behaviour (hopefully to the relief of those I know and love), the fact that it would be so easy to use my powers for evil makes me a bit concerned about the rest of our Internet-enabled society. Can we really trust others to draw the line where we do? Or are we destined to become a world of paranoid, nosey obsessives?

…I feel like it might be time to look at my privacy settings.

On Hanson

Don't worry, this post isn't really about Hanson. Well...it kind of is, but then it also isn't. Hanson just happen to be a prime example of something I want to talk about a little bit.

For anyone not in the know – and if you’re one of my nearest and dearest, how could you possibly not be in the know – Hanson are a group of three mid-Western brothers turned musicians, made most famous in the nineties by their annoyingly catchy (and nonsensical) hit “Mmmbop”. As a child of the nineties, I was a big fan back in their heyday – but I’m actually a far bigger fan now (yes, they’re still going strong). AND I AM PROUD.

You’re probably sighing right now. Shaking your head. I can practically feel it coming across the internet at me. And that – THAT – is exactly what I want to talk about. Because at some point over the last few years, I can’t remember when exactly…I decided to stop caring about the fact that most people thought it was a bit pathetic for a woman in her mid-to-late twenties to like a band made famous for a song containing the infamous lyric “In an mmmbop they’re not there / Until you lose your hair / Oh, but you don’t care”.

Yes, they’re a bit cheesy. Yes, they’re fairly ridiculous, and have about a million children between them now. But you know what? None of that matters. Ultimately, I’ve decided that all that really matters is that Hanson – cheesy, nostalgic, slightly cringe-worthy Hanson – make me happy. I can sing along loudly and with great abandon to their music, and it perks me up without fail. (Unless it’s an Isaac song, but let’s not talk about that).

I think we waste too much time worrying about what other people will judge us for. Sure, on more important life decisions, it’s wise to listen to the counsel of friends and family. They know you well, so may be able to shed new light on a situation that – without the benefit of being on the outside, looking in – you wouldn’t have spotted yourself. However, even in those situations I think it’s important to listen to those words of advice and then make the final call yourself. Consider the opinions of others, but rely first and foremost on your own gut and your own moral compass to guide you.

Because the reality is – what’s right for someone else isn’t necessarily right for you. We all have different tastes, different opinions, different priorities. And if someone is going to hold you accountable to their own set of standards without considering that you are not in fact them – well what kind of ridiculous behaviour is that, really? I know it sounds a little grandiose to apply this argument to something as small as people making fun of a cheesy 90s band that I listen to…but as I said, they’re just a smaller example of a wider point. The point that we need to stop caring about what people think about us when it’s based on something as superficial as taste in music, the way we dress, or the kind of films we watch. These things are a part of you – sure – but they are the part that you should embrace and enjoy, not worry about whether or not they’re “saying something” about the kind of person you are.

If everyone I met thought I was an awful person, I’d care – of course I would. But if a couple of people want to judge me based on the music I listen to, I think that’s a poorer reflection on them than it is on me. That’s all. 

On editing

This is a confession: I’ve got you all fooled. Not for the first time, a friend recently commented that something I’d written was very “articulate”. I think I give off the impression – in writing certainly, but also sometimes in conversation – that I am an eloquent and articulate person. Anyone who has known me for any reasonable stretch of time, however, must surely know that this isn’t the case.

In person, the reality is that I will always suffer from “slow reaction time” syndrome. You know that feeling when you’re having a conversation with someone, it gets a bit heated, and you just can’t find the words to properly best the other person – even though you know you could? And then, long after the fact - when you’re at work, or having dinner, or doing something completely mundane - the perfect comeback occurs to you? Words that would properly encapsulate the witty, intelligent person that you are? Yes – that. I suffer from that.

As a result, I am anything but articulate in person. I stumble over words, I phrase things the wrong way and get myself into hot water when I don’t mean to…I’m a little bit of a mess, verbally. So why have I managed to convince various people I know otherwise? The answer is quite simple, really: I edit.

There’s a reason I love to write as much as I do – a reason why a lot of my meaningful conversations are carried out over email, text or WhatsApp. It’s because it’s so much easier to edit there. I can take my time to write things out, review them, change my mind and rephrase until I’m comfortable that I have clearly and effectively expressed what I want to say. It’s normal to draft and redraft emails, I think. Perhaps less so with instant messages…but hey. Abnormality suits me.

I can sometimes get away with this in person as well as in writing. Sounds strange? Wait a second, hear me out. If I’ve ever struck you as being particularly good at communicating my thoughts or emotions in person – probably during a “big conversation” – it’s because I’ve edited and rehearsed the hell out of that conversation in my head. This happens with friends on occasion, but is far more frequent when it comes to relationships. I’m not saying I’m not emotionally intelligent – I think I probably am – but being able to succinctly and clearly translate my feelings into words isn’t something that comes quickly (or even that naturally) to me.

Look in the notes app on my phone, and you will find numerous one liners, paragraphs and diatribes that I have jotted down whilst rehearsing conversations in my head. I’ll go back to these time and again, tweaking them here and there until I’m really happy with them. This process cements them so thoroughly in my head that I have them ready to draw on in the heat of the moment. And whilst the conversation will never be exactly as I’ve rehearsed it (as I haven’t written lines for the other person), it helps me to feel more in control of the situation, and more comfortable that I’m not saying completely the wrong thing.

So there you have it. If I’ve ever convinced you that I’ve got it all together – that I’m calm and articulate and can think quickly on my feet – maybe take some comfort from the fact that it couldn’t be further from the truth. I’m just an obsessive compulsive editor, who probably thinks too much.

On coping mechanisms

An upfront apology: what follows is a bit of a meandering mess. But it's the weekend, and I don't quite have the patience to self-edit today.

People are ridiculously complicated creatures. Try to untangle what makes us tick, and you could drive yourself crazy. And never are we more complicated, or more messy, than when we are trying to process something - when all sorts of unexpected or unusual emotions move in and squat in our subconscious, making us behave like strangers.

For example, when we lose someone (and, full disclosure, I have recently had to part company with someone I loved very much), our brains do very odd things to help us process what has happened. With the benefit of reflection or hindsight, I find those reactions - often erratic and irrational - utterly fascinating. They seem to be different from person to person, and follow no logical pattern that I can fathom.

Some people shut down completely, withdrawing into themselves and taking the burden of their grief onto their shoulders alone. Others lash out, interpreting sadness as anger - perhaps finding that emotion easier to express. Still more will put on a brave face, and throw themselves into distraction to push the feelings down and ignore them. I imagine a lot of people would pick d) all of the above.

Because feelings of loss, in whatever form it comes and they come, are big and scary and overwhelming, we all understandably develop coping mechanisms to get through. And I am left wondering what an individual's coping mechanisms say about that person.

In the past week, I have: sought comfort from close friends and people who love me; distracted myself with trips to the theatre, a country fair, and my favourite coffee shop; thrown myself into work as much as possible; written and discarded several overly personal blog posts before sitting down to write this one; and, today (because it felt necessary), consumed almost an entire tub of Ben & Jerry's ice cream before crawling inside my duvet cover with my laptop and listening to Amy Winehouse songs. That I have crammed all of that into less than a week is unusual behaviour for me, to say the least.

I guess my brain can't quite understand what I've done to it, and seems to be directing me to try anything I can think of to return it to normal. I genuinely have no idea whether my coping mechanisms are any stranger than anyone else's. It does, however, strike me that this messiness is the perfect evidence for the human condition. And by that, I mean the thing that sits somewhere above biology and how we're physically put together to make us all unique - all a bit crazy - and all a sodding mess.

As an atheist who doesn't really buy into an afterlife or a spirit, as such, I can't unscramble in my head what I think this human condition is - how it happens, and why we're all so different. But although it makes us complicated, and difficult, and perplexing...I also think it makes us kind of wonderful. Thank God we're more than just our biology, even if it does make me question my sanity when I'm hiding in a duvet-sheet-nest and experiencing one hell of a sugar crash.

On building walls

It is a very human thing, I think, to build walls. And it is a very difficult thing to acknowledge that we are building them, and make a decision to bring them down.

For many years now, I have walled up my creativity. It sounds odd, I know - but nevertheless I have come to realise that it's the truth. It's why I stopped writing this bloody thing. It's why my laptop is full of beginnings, middles, and ends of stories - but nothing complete, nothing whole. It's why I've picked up and put down art and illustration throughout my life, never quite making a go of it.

Why have I done this? It seems counter-intuitive to deny myself something that does, on balance, make me happy. Something that I think - with enough practice and flexing of the right muscles - I could be good at. It's not like I don't have ideas, either. I am positively brimming with ideas. Seriously, you should see how many beginnings of blog posts I have on here as drafts. How many notebooks filled with doodles, and sketches, and first steps that were never followed by a second. But here's the thing: it's far easier to create a barricade around that part of myself (with excuses like "I don't have time", or "I feel too drained after work", or "I don't have the willpower to keep up with it") than it would be to try, and to fail. God forbid I throw myself into something and not have it work out.

It sounds so self-defeating when I put it into words that I get angry at myself.

I suspect we're all guilty of this in one way or another. Other people build walls to save face, or to seem stronger, or to keep messy emotions inside. I've always been better at letting emotions roam free, but I can understand the impulse. Whether it's because you think people won't understand the more complicated parts of you, or that they'll think you're a bit crazy, or think less of you for showing "weakness"...I understand that fear.

It's hard, I think, to recognise that you are your own worst enemy. That the barrier you're fighting against in order to get where you want to be - to be happy - is a barrier of your own creation. And it would be too simplistic to say that recognising that fact is the answer. That tearing the walls down will bring you happiness, or even that you'll feel strong enough to tear them down in the first place. But it does feel like a first step (for me, at least). It feels like this might be the stick I need to whip myself into shape with. To not be self-defeating. To pour myself into things, even when it would be easier - less messy - to just sit down and watch Netflix instead.

I am making this promise to myself, and I am doing it out loud so that I can't put my head in the sand and pretend that I haven't: I am going to try. If I try and I fail, then so be it. I think I'll be less sad about that than I would about letting that wall get the better of me.

On support

I'm going to be very honest about something: I've had a rough couple of months. A number of things have got the better of me, and it has been a bit of a struggle to keep my head up. What follows is going to be a bit messy, and a bit meandering, but I do feel that I need to get this out somehow. So please bear with me.

Generally speaking, I am quite adept at putting on a brave face: I find it very difficult to ask for help. This probably makes me seem like a walking contradiction at times, as I simultaneously wear my heart on my sleeve with the people I trust. When I open up about my feelings though, it tends to be more about a need to vocalise my thought process than it is about openly soliciting or inviting guidance. In fact, when words of wisdom and advice are offered to me, I can sometimes feel myself acting defensively and putting up walls - as though it would be a sign of weakness to admit that I was looking for support.

But support is everything, and I am trying to train myself to shy away from it less. I am extremely lucky in that I have a wonderful network of friends and family around me who try to pick me up when I am down, and accept me and my issues without judgement or comment. Over the last couple of months, when things have unravelled, they have been there to step in and stop me from getting too bleak in my outlook.

For example, my support network rallied around me when I had my heart broken. When I thought that I was building something with someone, and the rug was pulled out from under my feet when they let me down. I don't hold this against the person in question - they had issues of their own to cope with - but it did mean that the bridge I thought I had been building towards a better future for myself had crumbled away, leaving me stranded. This represented, in its own horrible way, the loss of an important source of support. They had been the one I turned to when I needed to talk, when I needed to feel better, or just when I wanted to be distracted from life's stressful minutiae. Losing them was like having a crutch ripped away.

Though I sorely felt the lack of that particular person, the kind words and reassurances I got from my friends made me feel incredibly grateful to have them around me. Just to give you an indication of how phenomenal the people in my life are, here are a few of the messages I got when they rallied around me:

"Just remember that you are Jess, and Jess means wonderful."

"Always respect the Jess. She deserves the respect. She's a wicked and wonderful lady worthy of all good things!"

 "You, on the other hand, are fucking great. Remember this. It is supremely important."

That's just a small smattering of the generous and thoughtful missives I received, and doesn't even touch on the many other ways they - and my wonderful family - stepped in to pick me up.

And when, recently, things got on top of me in a different area of my life, and I felt like it was all becoming a bit too much to cope with, they came through again. They listened to me, they reassured me, and they provided sensible and practical words of wisdom on how to fight my way forwards, towards something better.

Even though I still find it hard to reach out and ask for help (often until things have gone too far and I'm already a bit of a mess), I know that I have people around me to give me strength. When I was told to be strong "like I know you are", I recognised that I can be strong in the face of adversity - but only because I am not going through it alone. I will learn to be better at reaching out for help when I'm struggling, because trying to fix everything by myself - to fix me by myself - is not the answer. It's only through the support of others that I can and will move forwards.

On honesty

Over the course of my 26-odd years, I have come across honesty (and its polar opposite: dishonesty) in various guises. It's always a contentious issue, and I have yet to find two people who have exactly the same opinion on honesty and how best to employ it. Personally, I think this is because there is no simple, one-size-fits-all approach to honesty that can apply to any given situation. Most people I've met that do have a very strict policy on honesty do so because of a particular life experience or set of circumstances they've had to navigate around.

At one end of the spectrum, I spent a lot of my formative years with someone who preached the gospel of "brutal honesty". It served him well - I think it made him feel justified in speaking his mind, and not having to worry too much about the consequences because he claimed it was always better to be honest above all else. I'm sure many of us have had teachers or guardians who have espoused a little of this particular brand of honesty as well: the kind of honesty that is served up "for your own good", and which will probably make you cry or curl up into a ball of self-pity. It can be a pretty harsh philosophy to live your life by, but I do think it serves its purpose on occasion. Sometimes people need to be shaken out of a black hole or funk with a hard truth or two, and only then can you switch to more kindly helping them to move forwards. Everything in moderation though. If one clings to brutal honesty as a kind of code to live your life by, you'll probably find yourself losing friends left, right and centre.

Somewhere in the middle is the kind of honesty that most people are comfortable with. The gentle kind. Telling people the truth because it will benefit them to know it, but shielding them from any unpleasantness that they probably don't need to hear. This level of honesty generally comes hand in hand with "little white lies", which - though not entirely truthful - can help to avoid uncomfortable situations where people get hurt. Was a particular friend's drunken rendition of "Killing me softly" the best thing you've ever heard? Was it heck. But given that they're not pursuing a career as a singer-songwriter, there doesn't seem to be much harm in giving them a warm and fuzzy pat on the back.

Edging towards the spikier end of the scale, we move from honesty to dishonesty. I have experienced plenty of instances where lies being passed off as "sins of omission" have come into play. Generally speaking, people choose to omit sharing critical information with others because they believe they're protecting them. Or - as is more likely to be the case - protecting themselves. The arguments "I didn't want to hurt you" and trusty old "ignorance is bliss" are often dusted off at this point, but I take issue with that line of reasoning. I believe that a short burst of pain in the short term is a lot better than finding out way down the line that you've been deceived - even if it has been with the best of intentions. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: I’d always much rather know where I really stand with someone.

When sins of omission become larger and more insidious, the dishonesty becomes much less about protecting the recipient of the lie, and more about the liar getting away with questionable behaviour. There’s a big difference between, say, not telling someone about a rumour you’ve heard circulating about them, in an effort to protect their feelings…versus not telling them that you’ve betrayed their trust and done something hurtful behind their back. At that point, no matter what you tell yourself you’re doing, you are really only trying to save your own skin. And if you care about the person you’re lying to, you should fess up. They deserve to know the kind of person they’re dealing with, and if it’s something that won’t happen again – and the two of you have a strong enough bond to be worth saving – I would always argue that you come across better if you’re honest and admit the truth than if you leave it to fester.

We’ve all been on both sides of the honesty question. No-one can really claim to be 100% honest, and (hopefully) no-one is wholly dishonest or deceptive. Working out the right balance can be a complete nightmare, and – unfortunately – has to be reassessed for each different situation you find yourself in. But if we’re conscious of what we’re doing, I guess that’s a first step towards a more considerate and thoughtful attitude, at least.

On deserving more

Recently, I’ve been pondering a lot on the notion of anyone “deserving” something from another person. When I was told I “deserved more” by somebody, I rejected the argument out of hand, countering that no-one deserves anything from anyone. However, in musing on this further, I think that was too simplistic a viewpoint.

There are two sides to the coin here. There is an argument about deserving another person to be a certain way for you (“you deserve someone much better…they’re not good enough for you…” etc), and then the argument about deserving another person to act a certain way with you (“you don’t deserve to be treated like that”).

I still maintain that the concept of one person “deserving” certain characteristics in another is narrow-minded and unfair. Whether we’re talking about friends, significant others, or family members – what makes them “them”, and the decision to embrace or to change that, is something that belongs to them alone. Considerations about how those character traits and personality quirks affect the people around them are certainly important when it comes to negotiating how a relationship works, however it is not the responsibility of the person to be a certain way in order to fit in with the lives and expectations of those around them. We should not be outraged if someone doesn’t fit the bill of how we want them to be, and expect them to change because of it. We don’t have the right to ask that. Imagine if I turned to a friend and said “I don’t want to be friends with someone who isn’t confident and outgoing. I deserve better from you. Change.” Seems ridiculous when you put it that way.

However, when it comes to behaviour that is directed towards us – there I think we do deserve certain things from other people. We deserve basic decency. No, I’m not saying we should all tread on eggshells around each other: simply that we should remember that we are not the only person in the world, and not the only person whose life and happiness is impacted by any situation we find ourselves in. We deserve not to be made to feel small or unimportant by those we care about, and who claim to care about us. Once we have created that social contract with someone – where two people have implicitly or explicitly agreed that they care about each other – we deserve to be considerate of that other person, and have them be considerate of us.

All of that being said, there is still a question of responsibility. Just because we deserve a certain amount of human decency from someone else, that doesn’t mean we’ll get it. Sometimes it will be a straightforward and black & white – it will be so obvious that we’re being screwed over that we’ll run screaming in the other direction. Life isn’t generally that easy though. For the most part, we don’t accept that we’re not being treated as we’d like to be treated. Or we’ll look past it, because we’re convinced that things will get better, or that we might be able to influence and change the other person until they treat us more kindly. (Oh, what arrogant and naïve creatures we are).

In the end, you need to take responsibility for your own sanity and happiness. Yes, people who claim to care about you should be treating you with respect and consideration. But when they don’t, you can’t rely on them to make things better or fix the situation. You have to do that. Take a deep breath and realise that - above all else - if you feel like you deserve better, it’s down to you to change things. To borrow a real-life example here: remember to fit your own oxygen mask before you try to sort out anyone else’s.