In my dreams (part lifelong fantasy/part Pinterest-induced), my family and I live on a 19th Century farmhouse in the Appalachian mountains and we only live by candlelight except for the fact we are somehow able to take the most beautiful Instagram pictures of our pastoral homestead. We make things like beeswax citrus-and-spruce scented candles and indigo-dyed tea towels, and my daughter rides her pet goat named something completely twee (let's just name it Twee) to our hobby farm and gathers the tomatoes and eggs for breakfast. I have a vast array of film cameras including some large formats that allow me to do wet collodion processing so I can make even Miley Cyrus in a furry suit look like she's from the 1860s.
My actual life is a 9-to-5 job and a 1960s cement-block ranch house in the suburbs of Florida. Not a mountain range in sight, the highest point near me are the ant hills in my backyard. My clothes typically come from Target, not an independent clothing line that charges $250 for high-waisted mom jeans that only look good on women who've never had kids (I'm not knocking them, I would totally sport some high-waisters if I could). The only foraging I get to do on a weekly basis is through my pantry as I look for the last can of black beans so my toddler will eat something for dinner. She really loves beans.
My real life is totally wonderful, because it's mine. And by wonderful, I don't mean everything is happy all the time. It's not. I spend an inordinate amount of time stressing over things I don't need to (like - "Do I give the dressing room employee all six of my items back? Is it bad of me for making her put away all those clothes when I'm not buying anything? Maybe I should take half of them and pretend like I want them, and then put them back on the rack myself." -neurotic) , I'm tired 90% of the time, and it probably stems from a cocktail of way too much caffeine, no exercise, and anxiety.
It's wonderful because despite all of daydreaming of my highly-romanticized agrarian parallel life, I couldn't imagine having it any other way. The bad and the good.
The whole long-winded point here being...our own personal story is worth celebrating, no matter how mundane or crazy it may appear on the surface. And although those lucky few living a well-styled life that flood our Pinterest boards aren't any less real, we simply need to remind ourselves that we are just as worthwhile.
So Pinterest fail-ers one and all, let us celebrate our foibles. Especially that awesome melted Cookie Monster one. That one is so much better than the original version.