I’ve had a lot of friends say to me, “What is this Pinterest thing I keep hearing about?” or “Yeah, I’m on Pinterest, but I don’t really understand how to use it.  It’s confusing.”  Pinterest has been around for a little while and other bloggers have already written about it, but I know what it’s like to be a late-comer on some cool new fandango thing, and how annoying it is for everyone to be talking about it like you should already know all about it.  So here’s my little synopsis/tutorial about my latest obsession.

Alright – have you ever cut out pictures from magazines that you like so you could save them for some kind of inspiration?  You know, like pretty homes that give you ideas for your own home, hairstyles you want to try, recipes, craft ideas for the kiddos….the list could go on forever.  Well, Pinterest lets you do ALL of that PAPERLESS.  Anything that’s already on Pinterest, or anything you find on-line, or anything YOU put on-line can be saved, organized and shared in your own personal, virtual “pinboards.”  Unlike using the “bookmark” tool on your computer, you’re able to view others boards, share your boards, and it’s all pictorial.  It’s like the Facebook for personal inspiration.  But it’s not just pictures – the original websites are saved to the pictures so that if you see a picture you want to pin of a yummy recipe, you can also click on the attached website to get the site’s how-to for that dish.

A year ago, I had seven folders that I used to keep all of my clipping organized – DIY projects I wanted to try, holiday inspiration from my Martha Stewart magazines, etc.  I went through a lot of trouble to organize those folders, and now I don’t even need them anymore!  I have 19 boards on Pinterest where I keep everything – one for each room in my house, recipes I want to try out, clothes I like (that hopefully my husband will see and buy for me), and even a board for just random things I see on-line that I want to save.

It’s fun, it’s inspiring, it helps keep you organized without a bunch of scraps of paper lying around.  But it can also be confusing to use if you’re first starting out.  It may not be this way anymore (can anyone correct me on this if I’m wrong?), but you used to have to be “invited” to join Pinterest.

Once invited, you can click on “Add +” and it will give you an option to “Create a Board”. Let’s say you’re wanting to remodel your kitchen, so you might want to create a board that says “Kitchen Inspiration” or something like that.  Once you’ve created the board, you can start searching through things people have already pinned on Pinterest related to kitchens.  When you see something you like, you just hover your arrow over that picture and click “Repin” and choose your kitchen board to add it to. That’s one option.

Another thing you can do is, if you’re just surfing on-line, if you see a picture of something you like from another website that you want to save, there’s a “Pin It” button somewhere on your browser (mine is right under where I type in a web address), you click on “Pin It” and it will help you add that picture to Pinterest and your own board.

Also, if there are friends or other people’s style that you like, you can choose to “follow” them so that whenever they post something onto their boards, it shows up on your screen of “Pinners you Follow”.  It’s fun to share with friends and see what inspires them, what their style is like, and what their talents are.  With some friends, I had no idea they were so proficient at knitting or soap-making until I saw it on Pinterest.  I usually scroll first through what my friends have pinned, then I click on “Everything” and scroll through that until my eyes are burning from staring at a computer too long, or the inspiration has overwhelmed me to the point I can’t take it anymore.  Yes, Pinterest does get addictive.

Here are some of the greatest benefits I’ve found from using Pinterest:

1) All creative people get blocked sometimes, and self-described non-creative people (which I don’t think is true) who still want an outlet need ideas.  I use Pinterest for inspiration when I don’t have any.

2) It keeps me from spending money on subscriptions to a bunch of magazines because it’s basically one, endless visual magazine without all of the ads for MILK and tampons.  Plus, as I’ve already mentioned, it’s easy to organize.

3) It gives me gift ideas – especially if people I’m buying for are on Pinterest too.  My husband is EXTREMELY hard to shop for, but he’s on Pinterest now, and with all of the things he’s pinned, I’ve got a wish list without having to ask him for a wish list.

4) It helps me better define my own likes and dislikes.  For instance, I’ve never had a family portrait done with my kids because I personally am not a fan of studio-done family photos.  There are so many ideas on Pinterest for family portraits, engagement portraits, newborn portraits – all so unique.  I’m able to go through and discern what I like about one photo and what I dislike about another so that I’m better prepared for when I FINALLY have family photos done.

5) It’s fun – but only if you actually DO some of the things you’ve pinned!  So far, I’ve tried four new recipes, a fall craft project with the girls, built a pallet wall, done a pantry make-over and several other ideas I’ve gotten from Pinterest.  And the best part is, once you’ve found a bit of inspiration from others, you start coming up with your own ideas or versions of an idea rather than just copying exactly what other people have done.

So there you have it: the “whys” behind why everyone is talking about Pinterest.  If you’re one of those who’s concerned about adding a computer addiction, yeah, you might wanna watch it because it is addictive.  The best advice I can give is from #5:  Don’t just Pin.  Do!

As I write this, I cannot help but be struck by the juxtaposition between the blog series I’m working on of “celebration” and the terrifying confession I’m about to make right here:  I struggle with depression – on a regular basis, and even at this very moment.  It would probably be clinical depression except that I don’t see the point in having a doctor repeat back to me as an official diagnosis what I’ve already told him.  Besides, I’m not interested in medication.  I know that it has helped others, but it’s just not for me.

I don’t want to be writing this post.  I would rather write something inspiring and whimsical, and not have such deeply personal issues just “out there” for everyone I know to read.  I would much rather hide behind this computer screen and not have this part of me be exposed.  But what good does that do?  Hiding is sufficient for those who merely want to survive, but it is not enough for those who truly want to live.

I’ve struggled with depression ever since I was about seven years old.  I remember as a child wondering to myself where I had heard certain words, and how I came to understand what they meant.  Like when I was four:  I was reading a book to my mom on the couch and was having difficulty seeing the words.  I thought maybe I had made the word up when I told her that everything looked “blurry”, but the word just seemed to fit, and turned out to be a real word – as well as an accurate diagnosis.  I needed glasses.

But I remember a sunny day in San Bernardino when I was seven.  I was sitting in the backseat of our car and my mom was driving with someone else in the passenger seat.  I don’t know where we were going, but I do remember feeling an unsolicited but profound sadness, and leaning my head against the window, I said to myself, “I’m depressed.”  I didn’t know if it was a real word, and if it was, how I had come to know it.  But again, the word just seemed to fit, and turned out to be a real word – as well as an accurate diagnosis.

I won’t bore you with the details of my story.  Besides, I don’t have the exclusive rights to my story.  But I will say that I’m not convinced that depression is ever simply chemical.  I think there are events, or events that were supposed to happen that didn’t, that cause the chemical reactions leading to depression for most of us who experience it.  I think it would be nice if the cause of depression were merely chemical; then those who struggle with it could confess it with less shame or fear of stigma.  When so much of society is encouraging us all to “leave the past behind you, move forward” (as if progress and strength are all that matters at the expense of honesty and vulnerability) it becomes increasingly difficult to admit, “My past is a part of me.  It has shaped me, for better or for worse.  I am walking around still broken inside.”  Being broken is a sign of weakness in a herd where only the strong will survive.

It seems as though the medical profession is trying to eliminate the fear of the stigma by chocking it up to brain chemicals so that more people with depression will seek help, and pharmaceutical companies are all too eager to back that assertion with advertisements that offer drugs to counteract the chemicals.  But whether for noble or ignoble motives, eliminating the stigma of depression by ignoring the deeper cause only addresses the brain’s reaction when the soul is hemorrhaging.

Depression is a complicated animal.  The things that might “cheer you up” are the last things you want to do, and though you long to feel better, you’re not really looking to be cheered up.  You want to feel better because somehow things have changed, or you have changed, and you can feel better because life actually is better in some sort of measurable way.  Taking a walk, or getting a dog, or getting coffee with friends are only band-aids on a bullet wound.

It’s complicated because you don’t want to talk about it, but you do want to talk about it.  You’re afraid of people knowing, but you’re also afraid of not being known – or worse yet, not being knowable.  You want to be left alone, but you want to be truly loved.

It’s complicated because you can have some really great days mixed in with the pits of hell, and you find yourself not trusting the good or the bad.  You’re afraid that anyone you’ve told that you’re struggling with depression, if they see you having a good time, they won’t take your struggles seriously, or they’ll think you’re faking a smile.  And you’ll question it yourself.

It’s complicated because if someone says that they understand, even though all you want is for someone to understand, you find it hard to believe them.  And even though you want to feel normal, it’s still annoying to find out that others go through similar states, and your issues are not as unique and as special as you had assumed.

It’s complicated because you just want to crawl into a cave and disappear, but at the same time, you want your real life to swoop in and appear.

It’s complicated because it’s chemical, it’s emotional, it’s spiritual.  It’s hormone levels mixed with pain in the heart mixed with choices of what we decide to believe is true.

And it’s different for everyone.

So yeah, I’m aware of the glaring irony of this personal admission standing next to a post on celebration.  I did not choose the topic of celebration because I need cheering up from a bad couple of weeks.  I’m not going to ignore or hide the struggles I’m going through by conjuring up some temporary ebullience.  But see, I think there’s a truth out there, a truth that is truer than what I feel because I have already proven myself to be emotionally unreliable.  I believe there’s a truth that goes deeper than brokenness and is more authentic than brain chemistry.  No matter what I feel, those feelings never seem to be able to fully conquer what I know.  I can’t explain how I know this truth with such certainty, how no matter how I fight against it, it won’t let go of me.

I chose the discipline of celebration because it would not be a “discipline” if it were easy, which tells me that celebration is made for these difficult moments, and if celebration is made equally for the difficult moments, there must be something to celebrate.  I don’t choose celebration in order to feel better.  I choose it because it’s truth regardless of how I feel about it.  I don’t feel like celebrating, but neither do I feel like staying depressed.  My feelings cancel one another out, leaving me with a choice.  And I choose this:  “Finally, brethren, (as a kid, I was always made to memorize the King James Version), whatsoever things are true, whatsoever things are honest, whatsoever things are just, whatsoever things are pure, whatsoever things are lovely, whatsoever things are of good report; if there be any virtue, and if there be any praise, think on these things.”

Well folks, I’m already behind on my 31 Days of blogging about Play.  But for good reason: Lukus and I are getting ready to GO and play.  Next week is our 10 year anniversary (woot-woot!) and we’re headed for Colorado to go camping!  So for the last couple of days, my version of “play” has been figuring out arrangements for our girls, getting my hair cut so my husband can hike with his cute tomboy wife, and getting some things ready around the house (laundry, dishes, trash, etc.).  Getting to go and play usually means a lot of hard work to make it happen for us grown-ups.

So between loads of laundry over here while watching HGTV (speaking of fun), I’ll just ask you all what it is that you like to do for play?  Do you take a boat out to the lake?  Is it garage sale shopping on Saturdays?  Do  you host poker night at your house?  What’s your regular go-to fun activity?

Read more 31 Days of Play:

31 Days of Rediscovering How to Play

Day 2 – The Authenticity of Play

Day 3 –  Work As Play

Day 4 – Laughter Trumps Dignity

Throughout my childhood, Lucille Ball was my hero.  I had a huge portrait of her hanging above my bed and got intentionally sick whenever I knew there would be an I Love Lucy marathon playing on t.v.  In fact, I’m rather ashamed of myself for not having written of her sooner.  I honestly believe I learned more from watching countless re-runs of I Love Lucy than in all of my schooling.  Lucy taught me that EVERY problem has a solution – no matter how outrageous that solution may be (though Lukus does not always appreciate my education in “Solutionizing”.

In an era where actresses were typically flawless and were either a sultry seductress or the “girl next door” (i.e. there weren’t a whole lotta Tilda Swintons in the biz), Lucy was not only beautiful and classy, she had a secret weapon that few women of that era had: the ability to sacrifice her own dignity so her audience could enjoy the sweet pain of laughter.  And in writing all month on the topic of “Play”, I couldn’t help but remember Lucy and the significance of laughing (including laughing at ourselves) as a form of play.

Maybe I have the genes of my confident mother, maybe some of it was learned behavior from I Love Lucy marathons, but I’ve never been one to embarrass easily and would much rather have a fun story to tell at my own expense in order to make whatever misadventure worth it, than to try to cover it up.  For those who have kept up with me for some time, you can recall the time my undies caught on fire.  Twice.  Or the time my child nearly defiled a display toilet in the middle of Home Depot.  Or that one time when I tried to go running.  Life is funny – even when it’s sad, even when it’s infuriating, Life is just absurdly funny.

In the midst of play, laughter is a beautiful height to which to attain.  The other night, my daughter’s good friend was over very late, and between the late hour, a bit of sugar, and some ridiculous dress-up ensemble, the two of them were reeling from laughter so intense, it bordered on seizures.  I found myself envious of those two in that moment, because it seems rare that you see grown-ups laugh that hard anymore.

My mom was not a big laugher.  She was usually a fairly serious and dignified intellectual – at least to most people.  But to those that happened to be trying to sleep at night down the hall from her, when the stars were aligned just right and if my dad was in a particularly good mood, her laugh peeled out like a banshee released from some deep, inner chamber.  It happened about every 4 to 6 months, and every time, I would leap out of bed, run to my parent’s room, and inquire enthusiastically about “what’s so funny?”  My mom, contorted in blissful pain, could only sputter incoherencies, and my dad usually just shrugged like he’d played no part in getting her so cripplingly tickled.  Those moments were like witnessing a unicorn in flight or an elf shining up your shoes in the night.  I loved my mom, but in those moments of seeing her laugh like only she could, I positively adored her.

Laughter is the sweetest part of life – the double chocolate fudge cookie amidst mostly vegetables and bland chicken.  Laughter is a remedy for even the deepest of pains – as strange as it sounds, I have possibly laughed as much over the death of my mom as I have cried over it.  Laughter is the sledgehammer that breaks through those difficult and awkward moments to greater intimacy – Lukus can tell you many-a-time that he has been in the midst of yelling at me during an argument and I could no longer contain my laughter.  Then we were both laughing, then we were kissing, then…

…then cue the huge black and white heart that comes on screen after Lucy and Ricky kiss and make-up.  So give up a bit of dignity and go laugh at yourself, laugh at life, play and let yourself get all giggly and absurd.  Be Lucy when everyone else is Harriet Nelson.  Who’s Harriet Nelson?  Exactly.