There is this blog I follow. Regularly, almost obsessively. The blogger is a stay-at-home mother of two who makes a living out of sharing her life on social media. She is not a master of words, nor does she write prodigious prose. She mostly recounts her day and posts pretty, filtered pictures.
She lives in a far off land and she is everything I’m not. Pretty, fancy, put-together; with princess and sailor themed baby rooms and Mickey themed parties. With five- star play dates and Maseratis with double car- seats. They are an adorable family of four and she seems to be a great mum and homemaker.
Every night (almost) I sneak my iPad under my blanket and read blogs and watch vlogs of people that I have almost nothing in common with. It eats up some of my precious sleep time, but it’s become a nightly ritual now. It gives me a strange sense of pleasure and instills a weird happy glow within. I imagine my scenarios in their lives and theirs in mine. It is embarrassing to admit publicly but I’m not ashamed of it.
Do you folks ever live vicariously through others?
Would it be fun to be be someone else for a while and deal with their s*&#, even if we have ‘almost-perfect’ lives ourselves?
Till next time..