Careful with those winky faces: some notes on friendliness

Our era of pervasive (invasive?) technology, constant texting, and social media has changed the way people interact. Don't believe me? Check out articles here, here, and here. Whatever your thoughts on the matter, technology is here to stay (and grow), and the way we communicate is adapting along with it.

For instance, let's take texting. Have you ever tried to explain texting etiquette to your father, a man who could barely be bothered to TURN ON his phone and yet has recently purchased a smartphone?

My text: "Dad, you have to add some more punctuation to your texts...otherwise you sound detached, like a robot ;) "
Dad's text: "Beep"

Thanks, Dad. You're hilarious.

Smiley faces, winky faces, sunglass faces, evil grin faces...they are powerful little emoticons that can help soften your messages, adding color to something that could otherwise be very flat and impersonal. They can also convey things that words simply cannot. Just ask anyone who's ever flirted via text. Ahem, don't ask me; in case this isn't abundantly clear from earlier posts, I'm kind of awkward.

However! Be careful with thy winky faces! For with great power comes great responsibility: you may think you're being friendly, chill, and awesome [Drinks after work? 6? ;) ], but text messaging has an amazing capacity to be misunderstood. It lacks TONE. Maybe someone's response [Sure] is short and curt because you smell and are clingy and they actually don't want to get together for drinks. OR maybe the office is busy and he/she just can't think beyond the next 10 minutes.

Texts can also be misunderstood in the other direction. Say, for instance, you're harmlessly chatting with the cute desk manager at your gym. He happens to have experience in your desired career. You exchange numbers and start texting, arranging a time to meet up and talk about that career further. Then he sends this: "I hope business isn't the only reason you come to the gym. :D"

Oh my.

You don't want to give him the wrong impression. You have a boyfriend after all. (Readers, it should be noted that this is not my story.) So you gulp and, being both sensible and sensitive, send back, "Hey, hate to do this over text, but I actually have a bf. Always interested in meeting a new friend tho!"

He returns, quickly: "lol thats not what i meant but i could see how it would come off that way. i actually have a girl myself."

You: "Oh awesome. I'm gonna go die of embarrassment now."

Take-away lesson here: Be care with thy winky faces, people. Be careful with thy winky faces.


Editor's note: Texts have been changed to reflect some norms of punctuation, in order to make content accessible to those not familiar with texting jargon. Aka, my parents. Love you guys! 

....and neither is staying up all night

I haven’t been sleeping well lately. Usually this isn’t a problem for me – ask any of my college roomies, and they’ll tell you about my astonishing capacity to nap almost anywhere, anytime. (Seriously, my Cultural Anthropology textbook became a second pillow during my sophomore year.)

But these days, I find I have too much rattling around in my brain for me to drift off peacefully. Naturally, these are all issues I should tackle during the day, when I’m actually a functioning adult and can do something productive to work them out. Doesn't seem to work that way, though.

Invariably, I lay down to sleep, curl into my pillow, relax all my muscles and think, Aaaaah, this is the one time when I don’t have to think about *anything*…and then my brain wakes up. Interferes. Meddles.with.my.sleep. What should I think about this? What should I think about that? Does this random and minor comment that so-and-so made actually mean something else? Do I have time to wash my hair tomorrow? Should I take the bus or the metro to work? Look, Aftan, my brain says, it’s 2 am. A perfect time to ask ourselves if we should cook lasagna this week.

Beneath this peppering of banal trivialities lies a whole separate layer of Deeper Issues. What do I want to do with my life? Why am I an intern failure? Why hasn’t my boss talked to me about x event? What should I do about That Friend? Am I making enough money to pay my rent? Why do I live in the city?

And the more I try not to think about these questions, the more I try to find answers for them. Gradually my muscles tense up, my scowl at the ceiling grows more severe, and I feel like I've downed one of those gross Monster energy drinks.  I have become a crazed ping-pong ball, volleyed back and forth between competing thoughts, lacking control or direction.

For original meme, see Hyberbole and a Half

In short, my brain punishes me for all those mornings when I tried to sleep my problems away. Oh, Aftan, you have some down time? That must be nice, cuz ITS NOT LIKE YOU STAYED IN BED FOR 13 HOURS YESTERDAY.

Thus when I do finally find sleep, it’s short and broken up by my feelings of guilt and continued stress. Which leaves me more tired the next day. Which leaves me less capable of dealing with my problems like an adult. Which makes me feel more guilty. Which makes me want to hide under the covers again.

It’s a vicious cycle.

I have found, however, that a few glasses of wine (or an entire bottle) tend to help with the whole "not sleepy" thing. Take that, brain.

Staying in bed all day is not an effective way to deal with stress

I don’t think I could ever be a druggie. It seems like people often use drugs (or alcohol) as an escape from their problems. While I do see the benefits of occasionally drowning my sorrows with some rum, drugs have too many crazy side-effects. I prefer to simply fall asleep and let my brain create an alternate reality, one where my only problem is how to kill all these bad guys with my sweet spy skillz. I don’t have to worry about getting a job, paying my rent, cooking my meals, dealing with boys or finding time for friends.

Sleep is the best escape. Ever.

When I wake up, my bed becomes this special sacred place where my problems can’t touch me. I mean, I definitely DO think about them, but in a detached kind of way. Hmm, I should probably deal with x issue. Later.

As soon as my toes touch the floor, though, “x issue” becomes “X ISSUE” – and I freak out. Wow, I need to deal with this *now*!

Obviously, this reaction does not drive me to leap out of bed in the morning. Which is why I spent far too long yesterday curled up with my down comforter. Sadly, like any method of procrastination, hiding from my problems does not actually solve them. Eventually, my toes will touch the floor and I’ll have to accept that I need to grow up.

Aw, crap. I hate being an adult.

Note: I’ve touched on this before, but “being an adult” does not mean you can NEVER hide under a blanket. 

Panache and a Pokerface, OR "How discouragement is actually like a card game"

This past week has been a Discouraged Week. That in itself isn’t particularly noteworthy – anyone trying to break into a career is going to ride an inevitable rollercoaster of highs and lows, and discouragement is a regular emotion that we’ll all experience. I’m just a little bummed because this Discouraged Week feels a little different than the others; this time, I’m just so weary.

I’m weary of working 60-hour weeks. I’m weary of giving up my Saturdays. I’m weary of the constant pressure to search for jobs, the constant need to write cover letters and tweak resumes, the cruel cycle of the interview process. I’m weary of being patient. Of waiting for “the right thing to come along.”  Everything happens for a reason and blah de blah de blah, but you know what? I’m weary of feeling like a failure. 

I know, I have a fancy diploma and a resume and even a brain that tell me otherwise, but this doesn’t stop me from wanting to hang my hat up and become a professional waitress. At least waitresses get paid!

The biggest threat from discouragement is that we slowly start selling ourselves short.  We slowly convince ourselves that we’re no good. That we’re not smart. Not qualified. Not deserving. We can only do “administrative support” or conduct “miscellaneous tasks”, and all I’ll ever be is That Intern On The 6^th Floor.

This is such a lie, and it’s so dangerous. For one, it makes us feel like shit. For another, it traps us in a box of our own making. This lie wants to keep me from applying for that editor position at Politico, hinder me from emailing my CEO for career advice. It makes me think ridiculous things like, Well, that would be an awesome job, but I’m clearly not qualified because all I know how to do is make copies and fetch donuts, or, I’m not gonna apply for this because I’m actually stupid, and the intern who sits next to me used to work for the UN in Jakarta – I bet someone like him has already applied.

Sometimes, it’s very important that we not listen to the things we tell ourselves.

Instead, we need to trust in our abilities. We need to trust in our potential. We need to bet on ourselves, and showcase our qualities in the best possible way, even if privately we doubt ourselves.  I think this could boil down to two words: panache and pokerface. Represent yourself with flair, individuality, and strength. That’s the panache part. And do it unflinchingly, even if the player next to you appears to have a full house.  That's the pokerface part. It’s up to you – er, up to me, since I guess I’m talking about myself here – up to me to sell my hand. After all, if I don’t demonstrate confidence in myself, why should I expect employers to?

Wow, who knew I would have such a great metaphor. I’m not even that much of a card player.

I’ll end this with a quote from a very wise woman.  It’s become something of a refrain of mine, so I hope it helps you, too, when you feel discouraged:

“You is smart. You is kind. You is important.”