Portrait of a Woman Becoming

     

   
       This may come as no surprise to some of you if you know my husband, or even me, at all. Two weekends ago I took a motorcycle safety course, which entailed a few hours of classroom teaching and several hours of putting those learned concepts into practice on the riding range (parking lot). The end goal of this course was to acquire my Class M license and therefore enable me to legally ride a motorcycle on the streets, ideally working up to riding with Joseph no longer on the passenger seat behind him but on my own bike beside him.
        While I know these two things aren't the same, I grew up loving to ride my bicycle, and that comfortable balance is probably the most important factor when riding a much, much heavier engine-powered bike, so I figured this would be to my advantage. It was; my instructors told me I took to riding incredibly well, especially considering that weekend was the first time ever in my life I was in the front seat, in addition to the fact that shifting with a clutch is still a new concept, too. All in all, a fantastic weekend in which I had boatloads of fun - along the way, however, there were some things I learned that I never could have anticipated.
        If you have been exposed to my character and personality at all in my life, then you know I work exceptionally hard at striking perfection on the first try. Of what? Well, everything. I am cripplingly averse to making mistakes and do not take failure well. I tend to get easily frustrated and have no problem crying as a result. Then, I am so adept at self-deprecation that I basically deter myself from ever again wanting to attempt whatever it was that frustrated me so badly, either out of fear of failing once more or pure stubbornness in the face of the fact that I already failed and the activity in question is suddenly utterly unappealing.
        Failure -> tears -> self-deprecation [resulting in a]= fuming, quiet, Negative Nancy.

        That Sunday after only 9 hours of riding (although truly most of that was spent sitting on the bike, stationary, waiting for next steps), it was test time. Me and 8 others had practiced everything that would be on this skills test over the course of the weekend, so there would be no surprises. To pass, there were five exercises and a points system to cater to - basically, don't run into anyone, don't drop the bike, and don't put your foot down too many times or go outside the lines and you'll be golden.
        By the time we were at exercise 3 I had done okay; I had accrued some points but was still on track to pass. Next was the quick stop after getting up to 15-18mph. I had done this numerous times in practice without fault, but until the test hadn't been concerned about the speedometer. This variable, tiny as it was, was enough to throw me off. Literally.

        When the instructor waved me on I stared down at the speedometer, which I had not yet grown accustomed to doing, and this misdirected focus banished all the muscle memory foundations I had laid for a safe, quick stop; I did the exact thing a panicked, unprepared amateur would do: I grabbed at the front brake lever, putting the bike into a dive, and tumbled to the asphalt.
        When I picked myself up the instructor asked me if I was all right, asked me to show him my hands; the gloves were chewed at the heels of my palms, but my skin was unperturbed. My right knee twinged where a new hole was torn, blood seeping into the beige fibers of my jeans. A streak of blue paint from the guidelines on the asphalt stained the upper lip of the tear.
        I walked 30 feet to the curb of the parking lot and sat, helmet off and hands between my bent knees. I was not trembling. I was not breathing hard. I wanted so badly to cry in defeat and frustration, but I tempered that easy reaction. Instead, as my fellow students lined up for the next exercise, I called out to them through cupped hands: "hey, just don't follow my example and you'll be fine!" It should have been thickly coated in bitterness, but I actually smiled as I said it.
        Two years ago, maybe even just last year, I would have cried in anger on that curb and tore myself apart as I sat there, jealously observing my colleagues' success. I may have even sworn off riding a motorcycle for a while out of pure spite for the sport entire. If I can't get it right - perfect - the first time, then what's the use of it? Clearly it's just not for me. I'm incapable and shouldn't waste any more of my time.
        Under the beating sun I should have felt the heat of shame creep into my face - historically, that is. As it was, I sat there, knee smarting and mind analyzing, and I was calm. No tears, no alter-ego shredding me down to nothing with weapons of words. I evaluated the scene and came to the conclusion that flying off the bike was not an indication of failure; it was a indication that I needed more practice. Simple and true, considering my exposure to riding solo was confined merely to that weekend.
        On the way inside to do paperwork, one instructor pulled me aside and told me she was impressed by my improvement over the last two days. It was incredibly genuine, especially since a kind word was a rare thing from her - her teaching style tended on the harsh side, which made this positive admission even sweeter. I smiled and said thanks, that I would be back to take my retest in a couple of weeks.

        I walked off the range with the bright side on my shoulders. Normally I would have spent the entire ride home glaring off into the distance and internally berating myself for pulling such an amateur stunt. There wasn't even an ounce of shame in my thoughts and I wasn't pretending to be positive. This mode of reaction was brand new to me, and was therefore shocking in the best way. I must say, it feels great not thinking of yourself as a failure, honestly and doubtlessly.
        If for nothing else, falling off the bike gave me a chance to see myself as a portrait of what I've steadily become over the past couple of years. I had long since convinced myself that perfection-focused failure-aversion was an immutable part of my character, but alas, I am so grateful to be proven wrong. After all, what sort of gaunt, sallow character must you have if you get everything perfectly right the first time, with no chance to make mistakes and adjust accordingly? With no chance to become better and do better?
        This weekend I had Joseph ride my bike (see headline photo) to a nearby empty parking lot so I could practice whatever I wanted at my own pace. And guess what? I took the retest this past Sunday and aced it - all my marks were zeroes, which means I didn't put a foot down or go outside the lines - or come close to dropping the bike again. I learned very acutely what not to do, and adjusted for it.

     
        I earned the passing grade this time around, through and through. The first time, even if I hadn't dropped the bike, it wouldn't have felt nearly as satisfying or deserved.
        It takes suffering through trials to see who we really are. If you're consistently taking the easy way out, then you're refusing to look in the mirror. If you're content where you sit, you will remain there in mediocrity and stagnation. Growth takes risk, takes doing and suffering and doing again. Learn from mistakes and continue onward. It is the best we can do for ourselves as well as those we hold closest. Do better, be better, and so on.
        "Hay que seguir adelante." - One must continue onward.

Suddenly Your House is On Fire

     What do you grab?
     Out of every single possession, what's the one thing you would save from the flames? There aren't necessarily any right or wrong answers to this common hypothetical scenario; however, there are some silly ones. Leo Buscaglia's book Love referenced an actual occurrence of this where a woman, the unfortunate owner of the flaming house, found herself running out to the street for safety carrying years and years of personal tax reports. Tax reports! That was the first place of importance her mind went, so she grabbed them and ran!
     This scenario has intrigued me quite a lot in recent weeks. I think I'm more interested in the overall loss of the other possessions rather than hung up on the single thing I would save. As far as what to carry with me to safety, my mind jumps to the most expensive things I own, and therefore the most costly things to replace: my laptop, which is quickly depreciating in value (already four years old), my cell phone (also old - it's an iPhone 4S), and my external hard drive, more for preservation of what's on it rather than how much it would cost to replace. These are boring, expected, and don't honestly boast much value. Even if I couldn't save any of these things, I wouldn't feel too badly about it. They're all just things. 
     Which brings me back to the rest of the hypothetical belongings perishing in the hypothetical fire. Some days I think it would almost be good for me to lose everything I own to something beyond my control. The tenacity with which we hold on to earthly possessions can reach terrifying degrees at times. It's grandma's good china from Germany; it's your children's kindergarten fingerpaintings; it's photo albums of long-dead relatives and friends. There's sentimentality and the desire for preservation. I get it. But you and I will no longer have the conscious of mind to care about all those things when we're packed six feet under. 
     Dark? Maybe. Difficult? Of course.
     Thoughts such as these really convicted me a couple weeks ago, though the seeds had been sown by my good friend Joanna at college just before graduation. Toward the end of this year she's going to India to be an amazing presence there teaching English. One of her first responses to such a calling was to get rid of literally everything she owned, as it would only weigh her down knowing she had so many belongings sitting in storage while she was away indefinitely. She was inviting friends to come raid her room, including her desk, dresser, and in the bins beneath her bed (I was one of those friends, and I took most of her office supplies as well as her perfume collection and some kitchen items). I was gracious in receiving these things without her asking for payment (I'll figure something out, just you wait Jo), but it baffled me how easily it seemed she was letting everything go. She watched numerous people dig through her things and take armloads away. 
     It wasn't necessarily easy, she told me later, but knowing it was the right thing to do was enough to help her remain steadfast in her decision. I knew without a doubt that I needed to maintain this type of attitude the next time I planned to pluck through my things. 
     And that just so happened to be a few weeks ago, when it accumulated into a ball of unnecessary stress, and the only way to alleviate it was to do a cleanse.
     I had too many clothes and too many books occupying the small space of my room - hell, my dresser barely contained only half of my stash of shirts! The rest remained in an unpacked suitcase, neglected since I moved back home after graduation (May 7th - over two months ago now!). I feel I have perpetuated this problem for years. Something had to be done, and with the help of Joanna's example, I had to force myself to get over any attachments that existed. I had to be incredibly frank with myself. My two requirements for this cleanse were 1) if I didn't wear it, I didn't need it, and its new home was the donation bag, and 2) if I had worn it threadbare or stained it, it went into the trash. No exceptions.
      There was a peaceful sense of detachment that happened during this process and I was able to execute it without much pain. It was a cleanse, a much-needed purge - it didn't need to feel like I was stripping myself bare. Those shirts were mere things, and very replaceable. 
     I ended up getting rid of a large, bursting trash bag and two smaller bags worth of stuff. I probably could have pruned back more, but my main goal was to fit it all comfortably in my dresser, and I achieved it, for the first time in years. It is liberating to know such a thing.
     Now, while I certainly hope your house doesn't ever catch on fire, I would encourage you to ponder your earthly possessions and any attachments you may have to them. If we really broke it down to the most primitive level, none of those things are necessary for survival if they don't fall into the categories of food, water, or shelter. I saw for myself through plenty of instances in Peru that the amount of stuff one has does not directly equate to the level of happiness. The true genesis of happiness exudes from within (but that's a post for another time). I am merely asking for your awareness here; what's your focus in life? What's your end goal? And how does stuff fit into that equation?
     V

The Plague of Pragmatism

     On this side of the new year I have been making the attempt of being better about gifts. In the past, my keenness in simply remembering birthdays and sending a nice, personal message is as far as my gift-giving abilities have gone. Pathetic, I know - believe me, it renders me distraught thinking about it now. Thus it comes as a surprise to no one that I possess very little talent in selecting and gifting the much sought after "perfect present." I wish it was an inherent characteristic of mine to somehow glean that what you desperately want most is an ornate birdhouse for your lawn; for those of you who have no trouble with this, I envy you.
     It has been difficult and stressful thus far planning ahead, calculating shipping speeds, and penny pinching, all before I even order a blasted gift, but it has also produced within me good feelings once it's all said and done and the gift is in the hands of the intended recipient. I can't deny that giving gifts feels awesome. However, I have found out very quickly that the talent was not lying dormant and it is not something I can cultivate. Still, I will sally forth.
     The main problem is I never know where to start. My relationship with the individual in question could boast several years of inseparability and enough wacky stories to fill countless journals, and I would still know diddly-squat what to gift them. That is, unless they told me.
     Pragmatism is basically my middle name; in every possible realm of my life I try to be practical. If it's useless, it's not worth keeping around (this principle counts for people, too). Therefore I have come to the conclusion that marrying pragmatism and gift-giving might very well save me armfuls of stress down the road. The only hesitation is that it's a little bizarre in certain cases and it's going to take some getting used to. But this is what it comes down to: when your birthday is approaching and I ask you what you want or need, I do not care if the first thought that jumps to mind is your nearly empty bottle of body wash in the shower or the fact that your printer is almost out of ink. If that is what will help you most, then so be it. I would much rather buy you your favorite body wash or an ink cartridge than a gift that might look pretty but has absolutely no real function, like a pillow with Jensen Ackles's face on it (sorry, Kylie - it was funnier more than anything, and I didn't know what else to do!). BUT I can't achieve this pragmatic-gift marriage if you don't tell me what you need. I'll buy you laundry detergent, brake fluid for your car, notebooks, a new case for your phone, air fresheners, a better welcome mat, a set of screwdrivers - I don't care! 
     SO the next time I ask you what you want or need for your birthday, and I promise I will ask you - rarely will a gift ever just show up on your doorstep out of nowhere - please please please don't hesitate to tell me that it's about time for you to buy your hamster some new food anyway. If there isn't something you want, I almost guarantee there is something you need or could at least use. Dish soap? Alcohol? Fertilizer? As long as it's within a reasonable price range, consider it done. Let me help you in a more fulfilling way and simultaneously satisfy this plague of pragmatism that has infiltrated my life. Help me transform this plague into a cheerful practice. Giving better gifts begins with you.

Addressing Skepticism

     My most recent relationship status has caused quite a buzz. Mostly excited and supportive responses thankfully, but I know there are skeptics among you. I do not blame you for this as a reaction. From the outside looking in, I believe it is warranted. Therefore I decided to give a brief window into what it’s like from the inside looking out. Allow me to jump right in.
     Let me make something clear from the outset: we don’t “complete” each other; it’s insulting to the other person to claim that until now, me without him or him without me we were incomplete, unfinished and the only way to be complete is to invite each other into our lives in an intimate way. That’s silly. The idea of “soul mates” is far from a biblical concept – it’s a romantically pressured one perpetuated by society. To all you single guys and gals, I’m sorry – it’s an impossible standard to achieve, and one many believe in.
     While we don’t endorse the soul mate concept, we do have our ways of describing the rapid depth of our connection. So far the best (and still unworthy) explanation I’ve conjured up is that he and I have recognized pieces of our own souls in each other; we have discovered a divine similarity between us. Personally I think Joseph portrayed it best when he said, “We are almost analogous to male and female permutations of the same soul.”
     These claims have provided the vehicle for us to transcend time itself. This experience has been incomparably ethereal. Between meeting Joseph on the 4th of March and my day trip to Baltimore to see him about a week later felt like a lifetime. It has been three weeks since we met, and from then till now has also felt a lifetime long. We have compacted a larger span of time into a smaller temporal container. Time is, like many things, relative. Our three weeks are nowhere near the same as yours. We understand each other on a level that has never existed before due to its impossibility.
     We transcended time, and continue to. I have never thought so clear or felt my mind so broad and challenged by anything, let alone a single individual. It may seem as if we’ve hurried into things, but there has been absolutely no rush. From the outside looking in, the pace is breakneck, but that’s the nature of our organic timeline. It’s like in algebra – when you know all the rules of the equation you solve it quickly, almost automatically, especially compared to when you were first getting acquainted with how every variable fit together. We’ve learned the rules, and this is the product of our combined equations.
     When I was younger and beginning to grasp the gravity of finding God's best for me, I often asked my parents to describe how it felt for them to get to know each other, and when they decided that they wanted to be together forever. This is a common question with an indescribable answer, and the common clichéd and useless-at-the-time response is typically, “you just know. When you find the right person, you just know it,” or “you feel as if on top of the world!” Being the way that I am, this always frustrated me; I wanted a checklist, or a litmus test or something. Rules to rely on. This feeling of “just knowing” seemed improbable and impossible. What if I didn't realize it? What if I somehow missed it? It all became complicated and worrisome. I was incredibly skeptical of it.
     Until now.
     Now I understand completely what they meant. Because I feel it. The indescribable feeling is in me. I “just know.”
     And I am so achingly certain of it that I would stake my life on it.
     It’s insane, I know. But having previous romantic pursuits to compare to throws this in stark contrast when placed next to all the others. It has far surpassed even the wildest expectations I could imagine.
     Neither of us went to EPA intending to meet anyone in this way, and yet here we are. We were not searching, and yet we found. We are swaddled in God’s divinity, cradled in His palms, and I have never been so certain of something in my life. (Yes, it even rivals my certainty concerning my passions for creative writing.)
     I wrote in my post from 2013 “Infernal Love Triangle Devices” that I was confident when God brought my future husband into the picture, the man He had hand-selected for me, I would know it. To quote the post exactly, “…I’m very particular about the qualities and lifestyle choices of the man I will marry in the future. … I, someone who always tries to have the lowest of expectations, am expecting a lot of the man for me. This makes it very easy for me to believe that once I find him, it won’t be long before I know he’s the one. God knows what I’m looking for and what I need, so once I’ve recognized all that, it will be obvious.” Such confidence!
     I know my expectations, standards, and requirements were tricky for any one mortal to score high on altogether. But I had finally seriously entrusted the worry about my future husband to God, surrendering the last thread I was white-knuckling. It did not need to be my responsibility to hunt for this man. If I truly believed all things were possible, God would have me covered. Obedience and trust were the only things expected of me. So I relinquished my human need to control, folded my hands in my lap, and made peace about waiting patiently for God to move. I had done my part, and He would certainly do His.
     The fruits were almost instant. God is faithful, y’all. His promises are far from empty.
     Earlier in the week leading up to EPA I did a lot of praying and ultimately let go of this obsession with stepping in front of God and arranging my future as if I knew better than him. (I don’t deserve his unflinching forgiveness.) Then, mere days later, enter Lightning Boy (aka Joseph). Unbelievable.
     I’ve always been skeptical of “just knowing.” Now I truly understand. It’s the closest thing to enlightenment, to Heaven, on this side of death.

Crazy Little Thing

For Joseph. The poet in me is no longer starving for inspiration.

Enter Lightning Boy, I

I was running for cover when you struck me.

Unexpected whip crack flashed my retinas, constricting pupils, and rang in the echoless open field. Heart stuttering, knees sloppy, my back kissed damp earth. You opened a door in the churning sky and walked to me on a path of illumination, offering a healing hand that blossomed open to show me forever. No conditions; just a bouquet of love and peace and rationality served on a blessed silver platter.

Enter Lightning Boy, II

I, the toiling
mathematician; you
the chalk dust 
burrowing in fingerprint
ridges – together
we harness genius,
the blackboard
of our calloused hands,
and drive toward
the indecipherable
equation of affection.

After numerous cold years
stinking of sweat 
mingled and hollowed, 
these hallowed 
walls of our minds churned
and finally
the variables click into place,
numbers flash together 
like old friends.

Control

     This week has been all over the place, and not always in a good way. While I try to consistently approach things knowing that I have nothing at all to complain about, there was a moment, a text, Thursday evening that knocked the wind right out of my sails. I was hanging out with a group of friends and it was so noticeable that my best friend pulled me aside and asked if everything was okay. She could read it plainly on my face.
     Yes, everything is honestly fine; some potential fun plans that I had been looking forward to since last Saturday changed drastically, and now my weekend is completely, utterly free. Harry Potter movie marathon, anyone? (No joke. I have them stacked by the TV, ready.)
     This isn’t the end of the world. I know this. Though as a planner, big last minute changes rock my world, leaving me reeling, so it took some time for me to come back to my center of balance. I fell asleep unhappy Thursday eve.
     In waking up yesterday morning, I told myself that it wasn’t the end of the world, truly. I’d had a bad moment, but I would not let that define my week. So I put on my gym clothes and smiled, pouring out those grimy thoughts along with the sweaty exertion of exercise.
     My message today is this: you have the power to determine how you feel. We all have bad days - it’s okay. It’s part of being human. But those bad days have absolutely not control over your mindset. Whenever you get thrown, pick up however many pieces have shattered at your feet, tell yourself it’s okay, and strut through the rest of the day or week like the majestic peacock you are. Your mindset matters, so make it positive.
     I leave you with a poem I wrote on a particularly rough day years ago and serves only as a reminder of how far I’ve come.
   Ta~

I
wish
I could choke
on stars
and implode
until there’s nothing left
just so
someone
could make
a wish.

     V

Time as a Construct

Time as a Construct

     I have never been able to fully grasp time as a concept. It’s the thread that holds everything together, and yet it’s something I can totally forget about for large periods of time. I’ve gone through moments in my life wishing for entire years to pass instantaneously due to some emotional desire, not caring what each individual day might bring - I wanted to fast forward and jump past all the experiences I would have had, only to get to that “ultimate” one. That’s idiotic. How could I be so heedless of time and its wonders? How could I not realize the same sixty seconds, or sixty minutes, could be spent in so many different ways? Perceived differently? Agonized over and forgot about? When I’m doing a plank hold for one whole minute during my workouts, it feels like the longest minute of my entire life. Later in the same day, five or even ten whole minutes could pass in the wink of an eye and feel more like a couple seconds than ten minutes.
     Relativity, I’ve found, is the best way to begin explaining time. Time is very dependent on what’s going on inside and around you at that very moment. If I watch the clock and listen to the tocks, time slows to its normal pace, somewhat reminiscent of the Weeping Angels in Doctor Who - if you look at them, they are frozen as statues, but if you blink or look away, they move freely, and very very quickly. Losing track of time is easy to do, friends, and I urge you to take on the challenge I have presented to myself in these past few months. Take each day as its own separate entity. Don’t be like the me of the past, always counting down to the next weekend, the next break, to summertime fun with family and friends. Look forward to each day, and suck all that you possibly can out of it. Be mindful of your time, as it is limited, though as a younger human being it might not seem like it. Just last spring, I came home from a psychology class dealing with mental illness, and we had just wrapped up the chapter dealing with latent illnesses - ones that surface in later years of existence. I was overcome with this crushing emotion of fear and anxiety about the mortality of my family. I am not afraid of death for myself, and in fact welcome it, but thinking about the eventual decay of my parents and grandparents and aunts and uncles, mentally and physically…well, it was not pretty, and I was torn to pieces.
     I came to terms with it and pasted myself back together, waiting for time to come weave the splintered fragments closed again.
     Time, then, is not merely a construct. Time is many things. It is a healer, a mourner, a comforter, a teacher - more often than not preaching tough love and resilience. Time is willing to be your friend, your guide, an invaluable asset in your life, if only you’d stop and take a moment to say hello and keep it wrapped around your little finger.
     Therefore I leave you with a warning and an encouragement via poetry, though it’s very much unlike my normal style. Enjoy, friends. This coming week we will all be back to the collegiate grindstone.
Chance Execution

Execute yourself beneath thought.
Feel your destruction galvanize
wrongly placid thoughts, shove askew naivety
past the earthquake memory’s afterthought.
Taste reaction boiling everything ivory because of her
over an experience of failed love.
Accept freedom - love ferociously despite her!
rather than pushing yourself down,
launching into her abandoned friends,
opinions she the exquisite nerve
under skin placed alluringly warm
regarding romantic language, during your everything
and nothing.
No surrender. Resistance shouldn’t prove difficult
back against gossip knots whispering down your spine.
Treatment via punishment:
skirting other years
near to days, near to weeks,
time poking among your sidewalk thoughts,
frail theories now keenly harden,
dreamt during the tranquil night.

Fight me with words.
Fight me with belligerent phrases -
upward, worthwhile phrases, tested for
warlike pollution, for warlike shame
beyond rage’s armament inside needles
after goodbye. Pierce the harmony chuckle
behind somebody’s animal eyes, beside somebody’s memory face,
until the poison from operation
spreads, pathetic
despite a stranger’s stride toward sugar song
unless a prison traps the fingers
in silver, below all light.
Cagey within a jealous box
beneath an agonizing name –
charismatically persuasive; offensive and vivacious.
All apologies she’s accepting now,
worming through your blended brain. Relinquish her, until
after her rhythms decompose one another,
all pictures and records
through the regret around accidental versus deliberate.
Walk away. This war is no longer yours to lie down for.

~V

Dear Future Husband

(à la Robert Morgan, Dark Energy) 

Love me like Jesus loves the church.

Affirm your commitment with words;

songs or poems or handwritten

letters. Buy me office supplies:

pens and notebooks and notes that stick.

Curl my belly with your witty

morbidity, and don’t forget

to let the dog in at night. Live

with passionate ambition, tell

me every tiny detail while

I whip up two mugs of fresh brewed

tea. Be a reader, sponsor my

love of language. Activate your

soul’s depth with exercise; please join

my yoga sessions later in

the morning. Don’t make a habit

of spitting, and pay attention

to the sidewalk under your boots,

the drumming patterns of raindrops.

Remember to treasure me all

of our lives, for someday, darling,

when dim stars edge the ebbing blush,

I will return to ash and dust.

Journal Entry//Red Flag

April 7, 2015

9:25 pm

The Pit

Braid a rope of I-Love-You's,

fasten it to futility.

The streetlights don't reach down here - 

neither does your hope.

Vicki's Guide to Taking Better Selfies

Vicki’s Guide to Taking Better Selfies

            So you wanna take good selfies, eh? Well you’ve come to the right place. Within this post you will find tips and tricks that I regularly follow when taking my own selfies. Some may be new, others may be obvious; regardless, I feel some guidelines need to be thrown down about this. Selfies have exploded as a medium of expression on the Internet without requiring a professional photoshoot or even another human being to snap the picture. Front-facing cameras on our phones and mirrors in our bedrooms make it incredibly easy to take pictures of ourselves. The following six tips are here to guide you on your personal selfie journey (with creepy/goofy photos of my own to assist comprehension). Shall we begin?
            *Note: clicking on the pictures will make them bigger! I don't know why you'd want to do that, but just so you know.

1.    Good Lighting

X  ~  Too much front light = bad. Your face gets washed out and it looks flat. Or you could be like me, and look like you have no mouth.

X  ~  Too much back light = also bad. There’s an excess of shadows and no feature definition. And you just can't see your face.

O  ~  You want just enough side light to highlight and define your features. Find the angle that works for you

2.    Snap Angle is Key

X   ~  No emo MySpace angled photos. Quit.

X   ~  Want followers to play “how many chins do you have?” Stop.

O   ~  You may find another angle that works better for you, but I prefer to hold the camera at eyelevel and tilt and angle my head accordingly. Either that, or slightly elevating the camera also works, but don’t go too crazy (refer to the first bullet point). Angled more from the above tends to create a slimming effect.

3.    Look At Me When I’m Talking to You

X  ~  Don’t look at the screen of your phone where your face is. This close of a picture makes it obvious you're not looking at the camera.

X  ~  Also don't look at yourself in the mirror.

O  ~  Whether taking a picture with the front or back camera on your phone, look directly into the lens. This creates the effect that you’re looking at the person viewing your photo later, and creates more of a connection.*

*If you’re deliberately trying to look away and that’s the aim of the photo, that’s fine – totally acceptable. Just don’t look at your phone screen.

4.    Face Muscles

X  ~  Now that we’ve talked about eyes, let’s cover the rest of the face. The expression you make is up to you, and of course it’s okay to be goofy if that’s your aim. But NO DUCKFACE EVER. Go hangout at the duck pond where you belong if you’re going to do that crap.

O  ~  Whatever you decide to do, be relaxed, and as natural as possible. Obviously different expressions will vary with this one; just don’t force it too much.

5.    Background

X  ~  Before taking a selfie, consider your surroundings. Is your bedroom dirty? Are there toilets reflected in the mirror? Bras and/or underwear hanging off gaping dresser drawers? All of these things are terribly distracting, as well as way too much information.

                                             Don't be that person.

O  ~  If your face/body don’t take up most of the framed shot, either clean up your room first or choose a better background. Something as neutral and uncluttered as possible is ideal, because, after all, we want to see you, not the mound of laundry you have yet to tackle.

6.    Censorship

X  ~  Lastly, be wise about the types of photos you post on the Internet. Suggestive and/or vulgar pics have no place on the world wide web, for it is a vast, highly accessible place.

O  ~  Be classy, guys and gals. When taking a selfie, think of why you’re taking it and all of the people who might see it (whether you know it or not). Please be wise in dividing public and private affairs. There’s no real need to “show off” cleavage, tummies, or muscles to the public like that. Showing more skin may get you more likes on Facebook, but that should not be your primary source of measuring your self-worth. You’re a beautiful human, and as God’s creation you need not rate yourself on likes or comments. You belong to Him – you’ll find no greater source of self-worth than that.

Just a couple last comments: Keep in mind that vanity is not attractive. Keep the selfies posted to the Internet to a minimum.

And, as always, there tend to be exceptions to every rule. Use these tips as guidelines and figure out what works for you. Be creative!

Now go take a great selfie!