NaBloPoMo Day 6: Why I Quit Reddit

Yup, I'm a day late (and probably a dollar short). Yesterday turned into an unexpectedly busy day. I left work at 4pm and didn't get home until 11:30pm at which point I was too tired to write this post. Also, I knew I'd be waking up at 6:30am this morning (to watch this), and I wasn't about to waste precious sleep time!

Yesterday's topic is why I decided to quit Reddit.



I imagine most people know what Reddit is, but if not, it's a massive website of user submitted content. The website is broken down into communities called subreddits, which can cover any topic imaginable. According to one website, there are over 853,000 subreddits (9330 of which are active), and 36 million user accounts.

By far the biggest reason I decided to quit Reddit was because of how much time I wasted on it. I signed up for Reddit in June 2011 and spent at least an hour on it every day, but sometimes upwards 4-6 hours. It's a complete time suck and I'd long been resenting myself for spending so much time on it, yet I felt unable to break away. Starting around the beginning of the year, I decided to start closing my laptop when I felt bored by the Internet, instead of just refreshing Reddit for new content.

Because of how much time I spent looking at Reddit, I was constantly upgrading the data package on my phone. I started with 500MB a few years ago and I now have a 5GB plan. I was basically paying to browse Reddit while not at home. I knew I needed to quit when a few months ago, mid-month, I got a notice that I'd used 75% of my data for the month. And yes, I use wifi at home. Obviously, I was addicted.

The other big reason I quit was because I got tired of reading people's stupid opinions. The comment threads are a big part of Reddit and it is not uncommon to see threads with 10,000+ comments. As for the demographics of Reddit, American males aged 18-29 comprise the largest group of users. It is a very male atmosphere and it started to really irritate me after awhile. Initially I found it interesting to be exposed to the male psyche in a way I'd never before experienced, but after 4 years of it, I needed a break. There is so much rationalized misogyny, petty arguments between users, misinformation, and bigoted, homophobic, and transphobic bullshit, I could stands no more. I would read a dumb comment by somebody about something and I would be annoyed all day that somebody so idiotic could actually exist in the same world as me.



I even started to feel confused about the world and current events. It was hard to have any opinion when I was exposed to so much noise. It's good to re-evaluate your perceptions every now and then, but I felt like my own perceptions were being crowded out by the perceptions of the average American 18-29 year old male. It was making me unhappy and dissatisfied with the world.

Lastly, because I'd used the same user account the entire time, I started to feel concerned about my privacy. If someone wanted to, they could piece together what I look like, where I live, where I work, what my name is, and find me on Facebook. In this day and age, that is way too much information to be floating around. Before quitting, I deleted all my comments that hadn't yet archived. It took hours but I felt a sense of relief when it was all gone.

At the end of September, after finally going through all my Reddit bookmarks and deleting all my content, I deleted my Reddit bookmark, the Reddit app, logged out, and never went back. I decided cold turkey would be the best.

So what is life like post-Reddit? I can say that I am happier. I spend less time on the computer and my phone. I spend more time cooking, baking, and sewing. I don't feel frustrated about stupid crap I read and overall, I feel like I have more space in my brain for my own thoughts.

I thought I would miss Reddit and feel lost without it, but I was pleasantly surprised at how easy it was to just walk away. I still think about Reddit every now and then, but as the weeks go by, I think about it less and less.

Both Anthony and my sister literally gasped when I told them I'd quit Reddit. I'm not sure what specifically was shocking to them; that I could exist without Reddit, or that anyone would want to. I feel a little like Theodore Twombly at the end of Her, when he finally gets to experience the world on his own, without his OS. The sun is rising and finally I'm not too busy staring at my phone to enjoy it.

Gel Pen Reflections

When we were teens exchanging greeting cards, my BFF Tori and I had a sacred tradition. We would gather all of our gel pens and write dozens of little notes on the card as tiny as possible. We would fill the entire card so there was literally no space left to write anything else. It was a great tradition that we have since gotten a little lazy with.



Last week I found a pack of hard copy Some E-cards and the one on the front perfectly described my lifelong friendship with Tori. So I gathered up my now pathetic stash of coloured pens (blue, black, and red) and wrote as tiny as possible (which, by the way, is difficult after years of relying on keyboards).

Maybe it's the beer talking, Tori, but you've got a butt that won't quit (no homo).
In the card, I posed the question to Tori, "what would your younger self think of you now?" After receiving the card, Tori told me she hadn't ever really thought about it, but she supposed she'd be confused by her current haircut and job, but that she'd probably admire her apartment and cat (which I helped her obtain by pretending to be her mom...it's a good story). Tori posed the same question back to me and I decided I'd make a blog entry out it, mostly because I haven't written an introspective entry lately.

Maybe because I'm overly reflective, I often think about what my younger self would think of me now.

As a kid, I think I definitely had some weird ideas about myself. I was fascinated by the idea of having a "real name," IE having a different name on your birth certificate than what you go by. I hadn't seen my birth certificate as a kid, so I didn't know it said plain old "Jaime" on it. I remember always bragging to my friends that my real name was something other than Jaime. For example, I learned that my mom had watched The Bionic Woman in the 70s and decided she liked the name Jaime for a girl. I took this to mean I was named after The Bionic Woman, and this was very exciting to me. I liked the idea of being named after someone; it seemed special and important. She told me the actress who played Jaime was named Lindsay. Thus, I surmised that my REAL NAME must be Lindsay, and I can remember telling a skeptical friend about it.

As I got a bit older and was being teased relentlessly at school, I took much of it to heart. I thought I was smart and funny, but I also thought I was ugly, undesirable to boys, and destined to be a geek forever.

Seriously, did I mention I was a geek?
I actually remember thinking my life goal should be to find a man who would marry me, because I felt like I was going to really have to work to find anyone who would actually like me. Now, looking back, I feel like there is a giant chasm between how I envisioned my future self and who I am now.

As far as boys are concerned, I haven't really spent much time single or at the least, not casually dating. Also, as you may be aware, I was married briefly in my early 20s. So I guess I had to come up with a new life goal.

Younger Jaime would probably be impressed that 2014 Jaime is in decent shape, plays sports, and exercises regularly. I've never been naturally talented in any sport, but I do enjoy the sports I play now (curling, soccer, hockey) and I love running. I always wanted to be a runner so I think Young Jaime would be excited about that.

Younger Jaime would definitely not be impressed at my lack of a diploma or a degree (I do have a certificate); however, Younger Jaime would think it's insane that I chose moving to Nunavut over going to college. Young Jaime would have been ecstatic that not only did I get to see Hudson Bay, I actually lived on it for 2 years.

Younger Jaime would probably also refuse to believe that I now work in a male dominated industry and fit in well with my coworkers. Younger Jaime would probably wonder how the hell I got into law enforcement.

I think my younger self would also be impressed that I've managed to style my wavy, unwieldy hair into something that looks semi-decent, and that Future Jaime dresses so much better.

Truthfully, Younger Jaime would probably not be impressed that I've been living with my dad for 4 years, and she would think it's crazy that I'm engaged to an American and plan to move stateside some day. I think Young Jaime would think Anthony is out of her league, although truthfully, 2014 Jaime still thinks that sometimes (2009 Jaime thought she had just another unrequited crush).

All in all, I do think Younger Jaime would be impressed and surprised and sometimes I fantasize about going back in time and telling my younger self all of this. Of course, that would create some trippy mind fuck and would probably mess everything up. But still.

Jaime and Tori: 2065?
Hopefully this long entry of self-reflection was at least somewhat interesting. If you've just woken up after falling asleep reading it, I'll take a coffee and some French toast, please!

Also, I think this entry perfectly fits into the title of my blog and the whole theme of your life turning into something unexpected, which I think is very true of my life. Kinda cool, huh! Look at me, coming up with these relevant entries, 4 years in...

Weighty Matters

Our weight is a pretty sensitive thing, isn't it? I had 16 years of sweet ignorance before the lifelong, society-induced battle caught up with me.

I have two siblings and fortunately for them, they inherited my dad's "eat anything, never gain weight" metabolism. I was not so lucky, as I inherited my mom's "look at cake, gain weight" metabolism.

When I was a kid, you would have assumed I was going to end up like my siblings. I was tall and slender, with skinny arms and legs. Then the big P hit: puberty. Still, I really didn't think about my weight. I remember being proud every time I stepped on the scale and the number had gone up. At the CNE one year, I played a Guess Your Weight? game thing. I think the guesser thought I was 100lbs but I was actually 114, and I was absurdly proud that I was heavier than I looked.

Me at 14, terrible at accessorizing
In high school, I started gaining about 5+ pounds a year. I still thought I looked pretty good, though. I'd never cared about my weight before.
The year I was 16, I remember having a conversation with one of my friends. I can't remember what we were talking about, but I remember she told me I had "a little extra to pinch" or something like that. I'd never, ever thought of myself as fat before and suddenly, someone was telling me I was, kind of. At the time I was probably 125-130lbs (I'm 5'5½"), so obviously not even "kind of" fat, but I didn't see that at the time. All I saw was hips, thighs, stomach. I started internally freaking out. No longer did I pass over myself in the mirror when dressing, I started scrutinizing everything and deciding I hated my entire midsection, mainly my hips. Before writing this, I went through my journal at that time of my life. I wrote long tangents about how much I hated my body.
That summer, I started an extreme regimen to get skinny. I tried to eat as little as possible, and bike as far as possible every day. I wrote down everything I ate and felt proud when my calories reached only a few hundred that day. I would bike 2+ hours a day as fast as I could handle. A very slippery slope, and I knew it. I must have gotten distracted or bored with it, fortunately, because that was my only foray into disordered eating and exercising. Interestingly, looking at my journal during this time, I talk frequently about how I felt close to having a nervous breakdown. Our family was having huge, loud, mean blow-out fights nearly everyday. My family was always threatening to send me away to a group home. I hated my mom and my brother, and screamed at them constantly. I hated everything going on around me. I will admit, I was a difficult teenager. I never realized until tonight that the disordered weight obsession mirrored dysfunctional family fights (my parents separated a year later, BTW). How I never developed a full-fledged mental illness escapes me, although as a teenager I always felt I wasn't normal. I think my frequent volunteering at the community theatre and my determination to move out fought off what could have been a lot worse for me.
Me, on the far right, at 16. Not a great photo but the only one I can find from when I was 16.

At some point later on when I became a "woman," I realized I needed to learn to love my body, because somebody said so. I don't think I've ever achieved this. I don't think I know how, I don't know if I'm capable of it. I don't even know if I agree it's necessary. I know I feel proud of myself when I lift weights, but love? That's a strong word. I don't hate my body anymore, I guess I just feel ambivalent towards it. I know I love cake, and my feelings about my body don't even come close to how I feel about cake.

In the 12 years since I was 16, my weight has fluctuated about 20lbs up and down. I get serious about being healthy, but then cake. In the past 5 months, I have learned that the way I naturally want to eat leads to weight gain, and it's a long road trying to change that.
Today I stand 123lbs, less than what I weighed at 16, and I do not love my body. In fact, its continued flabbiness and my continued dissatisfaction over it bother me deeply when I look in the mirror. I still hate my hips. Honestly, I thought I would look better at 123lbs. This is a number that 5 short months ago, I would have been fucking ECSTATIC about seeing on the scale. And now that it's here? Meh. Don't get me wrong, I'm happy I'm here, but a switch didn't flip inside me where suddenly I loved my body. I think that's a very popular misconception with weight loss. It's not a magic wand that fixes all your problems. You just become a skinnier you with the same problems. That said, I don't think I have "problems" per se, just a continued dissatisfaction with how I look.

This year, one of my new year's resolutions is to start lifting weights again. It's amazing what feeling physically strong can do for your self-confidence and not to mention, for carrying in the groceries. The weight lifting needs to wait until I have less pain in my jaw, though. In the meantime, I'm going to try and think of something positive about myself whenever I catch myself staring disappointedly in the mirror. Maybe I might even learn to like my body more, I don't know. All I know is I need to do something or I will end up gaining all the weight back and learning nothing.
Anyway, I don't think I even really touched on what I meant to talk about when starting this entry. I meant it to be less about me and more about people in general, but alas, I'm not very good at talking about people in general. I hope this doesn't come off sounding like I'm still 16 years old, and I especially hope you don't think I'm pushing some kind of "omg u gotta love urself!! real women have curves!" agenda, because I'm not. This is simply a history of me and my weight. And before you harass me in the comments, no, I don't think I'm fat. I've actually never thought I was fat, just flabbier than desired.
Me as a toddler, picking my nose and sucking my thumb: exactly zero fucks given.

On Not Wanting Kids

Ever since I was a little kid myself, I've known I don't want to have kids. Not being the norm in our society, I'm often met with resistance to this idea. How could I possibly not feel that maternal instinct? Don't I know it's different when they're my own? How can I not want to leave a legacy after I'm gone?


Courtesy of Anne Taintor

I've never really sat down and discussed my feelings from start to finish, so here goes.

The first time I can remember not wanting kids was winter 1995 (if it matters, I was 9). I received a beautiful doll for Christmas. It was from a line called Baby So Beautiful and I still remember the commercial, with the famous Joe Cocker song, "You Are So Beautiful." Strangely enough given my no-kids personality, I loved playing with dolls. I loved taking care of things and pretending my dolls really were my kids. My grandpa had made a lovely wooden doll crib for me and I happily tucked in "Karina" (what I named the doll) every night and took her out every morning. I loved that freakin' doll. I even had play food that I would pretend to spoon feed her. However, I distinctly remember thinking to myself at least once, "No way I'd want a real baby." I knew even then that babies were a huge responsibility and that I couldn't just shove a baby in a closet and ignore it for as long as I felt like it.

How could I possibly have felt that way at age 9, you wonder? The jury is still out on the whole nature vs. nurture thing when it comes to our personalities, but I'm starting to think the nurture part of my personality plays a bigger role than I originally assumed. It occurred to me earlier this year that my lack of interest in being a mother is probably directly linked to how frequently my parents bitched about being parents. I can't even tell you how many times my mom told me (albeit when I was being a brat) that she wished she'd never had me, she'd wish she'd never had kids, we're such a headache, she'd be so much happier without us. She probably doesn't remember saying such horrid things, but it was imprinted on me like a brandishing iron: having kids makes people unhappy.

Aww, poor Jaime, you must be thinking. You can still change your mind! Don't let your parents' thoughtless words change your mind on something so wonderful! Sure, maybe I could have, if this wasn't the narrative I was hearing my entire childhood. I never really even stood a chance at wanting kids. When I was 12 or 13, my parents each had a friend without kids. The one friend was (and is) unmarried, lives in an expensive part of Canada, takes frequent expensive vacations, and has a bunch of cats. The other friend was happily married, owned a Mercedes convertible, moved from expensive house to expensive house in Sarnia, and had a bunch of cats. I had more interaction with the latter friend and I've long considered him to be one of the strongest influences in my decision not to have kids. I saw his cushy life directly as a result of not having kids. I saw, and I liked. I liked a lot.

So now let's back up and look at the situation. As a kid, I kept hearing about what a pain in the ass kids were. Then I meet adults without kids who live seemingly glamorous, happy lives. Duh, right? 1 + 1 = 2. People with kids: unhappy. People without kids: rich and happy. Impressionable, indeed I was, and can you really blame me for coming to the conclusion that having kids is a bad idea?

Once I realized these driving factors in my choice not to have kids, I considerably relaxed about the whole thing. I have the tendency to over-analyze my personality and the choices I make in life. Whether to have kids has always been at the front of my mind for no other reason than to constantly reassess if I still feel the same. I would hate to get to my late 30s, give it some thought for the first time in a decade, and realize, Hey, maybe I do want kids? Oops, too late. It's something I give constant thought to, but admittedly, the older I get, the less I want kids. Most women my age would say that seeing their friends have kids plants the envy seed in them. For me, it's the opposite feeling. Every time a friend of mine has kids, I almost feel sick. When I inevitably see their first photos of them with the baby, it's like they're a whole different person. It freaks me out. I know it sounds weird or crazy, but the idea that you can never go back after having a baby scares the hell out of me. Despite the fact I have numerous tattoos, making the permanent decision to have a kid makes me feel queasy.

And then of course, people want to argue with me about it. If I feel sick to my stomach when I think about having kids, maybe I'm not such a great candidate for the whole parent thing. If I've lived my entire life not wanting kids, why do you think you're going to change my mind? I've never understood why people push the childfree to reconsider. It's like pushing gay people to be straight. Come on, if only you knew! It's different when it's you! You don't know what you want, you just haven't tried [x]. I'm sure if you tried, you'd love it.

I really hope nothing in this blog post comes across as me saying, "It's stupid to have kids," because I honestly don't think that. Despite how I was raised, I recognize the fact that having kids brings unspeakable happiness and fulfillment to people. Really, I'm glad for people who feel driven to have kids and then do (or adopt). The world should be filled with more parents who want to be parents. The world would not be better off if someone like me had kids. I would not be a good parent. I might not forget about my child for days on end like my frequent nightmares suggest I would, but I would not be happy. I wouldn't do right by the child, I would not be the best parent I could be. And really, why would I have kids if it's not something I've longed for my whole life?

Just for the record, yes, I do realize at some point in time, I might feel differently. That's why I'm not running out and getting my tubes tied. Although I think it's possible I COULD change my mind, I really, honestly don't see it changing. It's been the one constant opinion I've had my whole life. As well, the older I get, the more content and sure about I feel. It's like a comfy chair that just keeps getting more comfy.

On Facing Fears

Hello, world. It's been a few months.

When I started this blog, my hope was not just to be another crafting/sewing blog; I actually wanted to write about my thoughts on things. Even though the lack of entries may make it seem like I've forgotten about this blog -- or worse: have no thoughts, I actually think about this blog on a daily basis. I'm just really crappy about actually sitting down and writing anything.

 For several years now I've felt this push-pull for and against blogging. I want to have an interesting public blog, but I struggle with putting too much information out "there" about myself. But I digress.


 ***

 Last year, I decided I wanted to play house league soccer again. I played for 2 years in 1998/1999 and although I liked it, I suffered such bad anxiety before games that I had to stop playing. I've never been the athletic type, and growing up as a preteen in 1998-1999 when Nike and Adidas were staples of every cool kid's non-gym wardrobe, I was very self-conscious about my lack of athleticism. It didn't help that girls that age (12-13) become unbearably competitive about everything, and being totally non-competitive as a person, I just couldn't handle it anymore, so I happily quit.

 Unfortunately I didn't end up playing last year because I thought I was moving to Windsor. This year when it was decided pretty early on that I'm staying put for the foreseeable future, I immediately signed up again for soccer.

 And then the nerves began. The regret began. The temptation to just not show up to any games, to forfeit my $175, began. It felt like rusty, old feelings in my system were being salvaged from the attic, dusted off and brought back into the light. It felt like 1999 all over again.

I've had problems with anxiety my whole life but now that I'm a bit older and can recognize when I'm being irrational, I've gotten pretty good at talking myself out of anxiety. The soccer nerves were difficult to combat, though. Most of my nervousness was a fear of the unknown. What if I'm really terrible at soccer? What if everyone is really good and resents me being on the team? What if the unbearable female competitive thing is even worse now? These were things I could never know unless I faced them.

I'd like to say I had totally talked myself down off the ledge by the time our first game crept up on the calendar, but I'd be lying. The good old pre-soccer stomach ache even joined me for the drive to the pitch (a soccer term my dad helpfully reminded me of).

Without a long story about my first game, everything turned out fine. What a surprise, huh? Since my league is 27+ up and I just turned 27, I'm the youngest person on the team.  Most of the other girls are in their 30s, some in their 40s. Most have kids. None are professional soccer players. None are particularly competitive. All are super friendly. As soon as I heard everyone bantering about how out of shape they were, I instantly relaxed.

After the game, one of my new teammates said to me, "I hope you're not the super competitive type, because that's not what our team is about." Sweeter words have never been spoken... Well, until they asked me to join them for drinks at the bar after (a regular post-game tradition).

I'm now extremely grateful I didn't play last year, because there's a chance I wouldn't have been put on the team I'm on. Our team is exactly what I was hoping for, I almost want to call up the league coordinator and thank them personally.

As I drove away from my first game, I was actually a little sad I was going to miss the next 2 games while I went to Mexico. In one day, I did a complete 180. And those 1998-1999 nerves are safely tucked back where they belong, in the past.