Your holiday photos suck. Now tell me the real story (or there’s beauty in the breakdown).



Venice? Meh. Stonehenge? Check it out on google images. The pyramids? Blocks of rock. The Daintree? You can see trees anywhere.

Have you noticed the ‘sanitised’ version of life we show others is really quite identical to the sanitised life others show us? Happy family holidays. Kids playing nicely. A good breakfast. Work is good. Home is good. You’re healthy. The trip away was fine.

Have you noticed that you could be in the most boring work meeting, but as soon as the presenter’s facade drops just slightly, you become interested in their story?

Have you ever looked at someone older than you and seen their perfect complexion, or have you checked their folds and studied their lines?

Life isn’t about the picture perfect moments. Yeah, it’s nice, but we’ve all seemed to have seen it all before. 

The cookie-cutter experience? It’s okay if you like cookies, but sometimes you crave much more than that. You don’t want to hear about others cookie-cutter experience of packaged holidays, well behaved children and rooms that are turned down every morning at 10am sharp. 

You want something real. You want to hear how they lost their train tickets in Berlin and ended up being arrested. You want to hear how they got mistaken for celebrities in Mozambique. You want to hear about the personable yet smelly bus driver in Athens. You want to hear the real story.

We all crave what’s real.

It’s the breakdown that makes things beautiful. The best stories come from when things go wrong. The best memories come from those unique experiences.It’s those serendipitous moments – unexpected joy that make us smile years after the event.

When you look back at the blotches on your life, what do you see? That oil stain on your driveway  -an unsightly mess, or a reminder of the first time you filled up your new mower with oil for the first mow of your new lawn? That chip in the corner of your tooth – an expensive repair job waiting to happen or a reminder of when you had to jump the fence, escaping a territorial bull? That stinging feeling whenever they mention that persons name – a painful reminder that they arn’t around anymore, or an opportunity to reminisce about the joy they brought to your life, even if it was just for a short time.

 The beauty of life does not come in it’s perfection. It comes in the breakdown. It comes in those moments of sheer terror, sheer joy, sheer, excitement and sheer sorrow. It comes from those moments you can’t plan for, but just happen.

Tell me about some of the beautiful breakdowns that have happened in your life. That’s what I’m really interested in!

Image from



  1. lynwilderdean

    Not all breakdowns are beautiful. I have more than once been hospitalized for madness. Its touch has changed my life forever. And the details are so painful that I usually only let them out in bits and pieces, when they are necessary for context. To get the whole story as a chronological narrative requires that I really trust my audience. No offense, Vidin, but we’ve never met and probably never will meet. I don’t have the evidence I feel necessary to award you that level of trust. I hope you understand. I leave this comment as a warning – when you open yourself up to life’s pain, you may get more than you think you are asking for. You may not always be able to handle what is out there. Tragedy is REAL.

    • Pete Vidins Blog

      Hi Lyn,
      Thank you for your comment. I agree, not all tragedy or breakdowns are beautiful. Some are horrible.
      I totally agree, you need to trust those who you are talking to as well. It’s a huge issue.

      I’m sorry to hear about your heartache and hospitalisation. It sounds like you’ve had a really rough trot.

      I agree that opening yourself up to pain (or joy, or any range of experiences of the human condition) can bring many unintended consequences and results.

      I like to think that people who might comment do so out of their own free will, knowing the implications of sharing or not sharing.

      Thanks for popping by, I appreciate your thoughts.



      • lynwilderdean

        I think that there are very limited circumstances under which someone would comment on your blog other than of their own free will. I mean, no one’s going to stick a gun to someone’s head and say “COMMENT ON PETE VIDIN’S BLOG OR ELSE!!!!” The point that I was trying to make is that if you open your door up to the world’s pain – like you do in this entry – you can’t assume that what’s going to show up on your doorstep is going to fit in a neat, tidy little box, or that if you decide “this thing on my doorstep is a monster and I don’t want to deal with it” and try to shut the door again, you won’t find that it’s wedged a foot in the door and is now trying to eat you and your loved ones. It would have been very easy for a person in my position to interpret the invitation you extended in this entry as an opportunity to pour out a life story that could tug at your heartstrings, frighten you, alienate you, or at the very least weird you out. Is that something you are equipped to deal with? Especially given some of the other things I have read in this blog that lead me to think you don’t deal with lives that deviate from the norm very well (I’m thinking specifically of your other entry that I have commented on, the one about your feelings toward tattooed people). What I’m saying here is, be careful what you want. It might want you more.

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