Big nerd. Big fan of cool open source stuff. Generally queer. (He/him)

  • 0 Posts
  • 79 Comments
Joined 1 year ago
Cake day: August 16th, 2023
  • Cris@lemm.eetoFoodPorn@lemmy.world•*Permanently Deleted*English
    21·
    1 year ago

    I want this community to be full of posts, and when we have a healthy starting point THEN I think it makes sense to be picky about quality standards. For right now I think my standards are that the pictures should be reasonably high fidelity, and some amount of effort should have gone into plating, and thats pretty much it. Frankly I think op put TOO much effort into plating, cause it looks fussy as all hell, but on a small platform like this posts are a good thing, and dissuading people from posting is not. If you want better quality content go post some food stuff you’ve made or eaten that you think is better

  • Cris@lemm.eetoFoodPorn@lemmy.world•*Permanently Deleted*English
    6·
    1 year ago

    This community is small, its not productive to give people shit for posting decent quality pictures of food, regardless of your hangups about what you want the community to be. There’ll be more room for being picky about what posts belong on a given community when lemmy is big enough there are plenty of healthy communities for food related posts.

    I can understand complaints about how eatable the dish is, or about the pretentious plating, but we can communicate those sentiments better than this, and ultimately no one has to like any given post that shows up here. If you want post quality to be better its probably more productive to post content you think is deserving of the community name

  • Cris@lemm.eeto[Outdated, please look at pinned post] Casual Conversation@lemmy.world•Adults who have lost a spouse or SO, how do you cope?
    38·
    1 year ago

    Every time I’m struggling to deal with greif, or someone in my life is, I always come back to this post from many years ago on reddit by a user called gsnow (it was in reply to a redditors friend dying, they were asking how they could cope with the pain of that loss):

    Alright, here goes. I’m old. What that means is that I’ve survived (so far) and a lot of people I’ve known and loved did not. I’ve lost friends, best friends, acquaintances, co-workers, grandparents, mom, relatives, teachers, mentors, students, neighbors, and a host of other folks. I have no children, and I can’t imagine the pain it must be to lose a child. But here’s my two cents.

    I wish I could say you get used to people dying. I never did. I don’t want to. It tears a hole through me whenever somebody I love dies, no matter the circumstances. But I don’t want it to “not matter”. I don’t want it to be something that just passes. My scars are a testament to the love and the relationship that I had for and with that person. And if the scar is deep, so was the love. So be it. Scars are a testament to life. Scars are a testament that I can love deeply and live deeply and be cut, or even gouged, and that I can heal and continue to live and continue to love. And the scar tissue is stronger than the original flesh ever was. Scars are a testament to life. Scars are only ugly to people who can’t see.

    As for grief, you’ll find it comes in waves. When the ship is first wrecked, you’re drowning, with wreckage all around you. Everything floating around you reminds you of the beauty and the magnificence of the ship that was, and is no more. And all you can do is float. You find some piece of the wreckage and you hang on for a while. Maybe it’s some physical thing. Maybe it’s a happy memory or a photograph. Maybe it’s a person who is also floating. For a while, all you can do is float. Stay alive.

    In the beginning, the waves are 100 feet tall and crash over you without mercy. They come 10 seconds apart and don’t even give you time to catch your breath. All you can do is hang on and float. After a while, maybe weeks, maybe months, you’ll find the waves are still 100 feet tall, but they come further apart. When they come, they still crash all over you and wipe you out. But in between, you can breathe, you can function. You never know what’s going to trigger the grief. It might be a song, a picture, a street intersection, the smell of a cup of coffee. It can be just about anything…and the wave comes crashing. But in between waves, there is life.

    Somewhere down the line, and it’s different for everybody, you find that the waves are only 80 feet tall. Or 50 feet tall. And while they still come, they come further apart. You can see them coming. An anniversary, a birthday, or Christmas, or landing at O’Hare. You can see it coming, for the most part, and prepare yourself. And when it washes over you, you know that somehow you will, again, come out the other side. Soaking wet, sputtering, still hanging on to some tiny piece of the wreckage, but you’ll come out.

    Take it from an old guy. The waves never stop coming, and somehow you don’t really want them to. But you learn that you’ll survive them. And other waves will come. And you’ll survive them too. If you’re lucky, you’ll have lots of scars from lots of loves. And lots of shipwrecks.

    (Back to being written by me) aside from making sure you’re using healthy methods to cope (DBT has some really helpful coping skills in its “distress tollerance” section that I’ve used more times than I can count. DBT is a particular school of psychotherapy, like CBT), find yourself a therapist so you have some support with the process. I’m sending love from my corner of the world