Unwritten

Does anyone remember the show  "October Road" ? Well honestly I didn't really keep up with it when it was on, but the initial premise was this: guy goes away to college, guy becomes writer, guy writes a book about his friends, family, and his hometown. He exposes all their secrets and makes critical judgment/portrayals of all his old pals. Then guy goes back home and shockingly enough he's not met with open arms.

That's the danger. The danger is in being entirely, and without bias, honest. The danger is in exposing the ugly truth with no consideration, no sugar coating, for your audience. How do you face them then, once the jig is up, once they know what you've said?  How do you look them in the eye when they realize : "um.. wait a minute...the villain here sounds a lot like me..."

And it works in the first person as well. It makes sense that a writer would use his/her own personal life for material, to influence a character, event, outcome, or perspective in a story, but that's putting a lot on the line. I've never been one easily able to express my inner most thoughts. In fact, I'd venture to say that my inner most thoughts have never been expressed, written, spoken, or otherwise. This creates quite a block. To have a chunk of ideas, thoughts, burning issues swirling around in your head that you have put in a folder in your mind labeled "Do Not Touch" can be quite immobilizing as far as writing goes.

My personal goal for myself is to move beyond that fear, to not consider the repercussions, at least not in the draft phase, to just write, unencumbered, uninhibited. I've been feeling for a while that there is something hiding back there in the recesses of my brain that I am dying to get out, but I can't seem to tap into it. The aforementioned issues seem to be the cause. It's a sticky situation though. How do you not worry what people will think, about the hurt you can cause others as well as yourself? And not even so much for writing negative things, but for mere exploitation or for telling a story that is not yours to tell - good or bad...

I admire the courage some authors must have for overcoming these concerns or for simply facing them, for being willing to live with the consequences, for stumbling through the awkwardness and keep going, for exposing who they are and being comfortable with that. It might not seem like much to others, but, me, I aspire to it.

The Funny Thing about Honesty. Continued.

I got very lucky here, folks. Things went much better than expected. In fact, I think we landed a best case scenario. That little lie, the omission, was rendered moot.  In the end the risk wasn't worth it though. So with the new information, I recommitted myself to the truth - going forward. Besides, apparently I don't listen well and someone needs to be there to actually get the information.  Can anyone tell me what spark plugs have to do with the human heart anyway??? But I digress, I may not have learned first hand with my little game of chicken, whether or not the lie made things better or worse. But I did realize it was unnecessary.  People are usually stronger than you give them credit for, and there's always a better way to deal.

Not Even the Trees

Some days you just get in one of those moods. You know the one I'm talking about, where you just hate everything, and everything seems to suck and will continue to suck, permanently. Then the next day, after you're over your mini pity party and self loathing misery fest you wonder why you couldn't see it the right side up all along.

 I hate those days. The day after I mean. I have a point on the day things seem to suck. I am focused on the details that need to be changed, on the things that aren't so pretty, the truth. And the next day it's like nothing ever happened. I forgot the whole point and I will go back to pretending everything is all hunky dory, fixing nothing, dooming myself to repeat the cycle a couple weeks or months later, over and over again.

Today was fine. The evening was fine. The girls and I actually got a lot accomplished. But on my way home I realized everything sucked. I could have made a list. I was enjoying my drive home, singing away, perfectly alone, no one asking me questions or giving directions, no ringing phone. Just comfortable solitude. I almost hated to see I was nearing home.  Nothing special brought it on, but my mind wandered away from the music in the car,  it all hit me. And I found myself thinking:


What exactly is the problem? What should be different, do I really want that? How can this be fixed? Who can help me fix this? People don't really want to hear your shit when your in this mood. And truth is no one can help you, if you can't help yourself. This is probably the way it just will be... I'm hungry... What a waste. What am I really trying to accomplish? Just need a game changer.  I wonder how that would go... Just go, yea, just go for it... God, this guy cannot drive... Decide already; so you can get to work. I need to put in the time...  no more running around every weeknight... seriously, buddy, you don't need an invitation to turn right. Ahhh, home...


Then I got home and watched some TV, laughed my ass off until I forgot all about it. I made no plan to think it through, vent it out. I came up to bed and well, things may suck right now, mostly because I am rehashing it, but I'm sure tomorrow I'll be blissfully unaware of why we ever had this talk. Figures.

Comment

People, it's ok to comment on the blog. In fact, it's strongly encouraged. I like writing for other people, seeing what they think about the blogs.  Actually, to be honest, I am a little disappointed/discouraged at the lack of feedback. It's good to hear whether or not I'm headed in the right direction.  Any constructive criticism on any of the blogs, feedback, thoughts, is much appreciated.

Thanks

Jenny

Walking Off the Buzz

"When I was a child, I talked like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a man, I put childish ways behind me."

I can't believe how long it's taken me to grow up. And I might not be totally done. It actually took a dose of blatant reality to shake me out of my naive fantasy land.  I should have known all along; I should be conditioned from years of the same pattern to realize that amazing things dont just happen. Things don't generally just go the way I'd like them to on their own.

I've wasted too much time laboring under the assumption that things that are "supposed to" happen, just will. That going out there and asking for it is too aggressive, is too self centered. That's the mindset of a weak person, of someone who is ok with being walked all over. A child.

The Funny Thing about Honesty

They always say don't lie. That even not telling the truth - the whole truth- is as good as a lie. What if you lie for a reason? What if you leave them in the dark to spare their feelings? What if it may turn out that your lie was inconsequential, that because of new information the thing you didn't tell turned out not to be true after all.

The fear then is, what if with new information the thing you didn't tell becomes much bigger?  Somethings you just can't hide. It would be like living a double life, it would be like missing in action... There's no way it would go unnoticed. Not that the secret you were hiding would be obvious but there would be suspicion, it would take more lies more secrets a bigger cover story.  The stress of the cover would drive you crazy.  Maybe you won't want to keep the secret anymore, maybe it would become too hard. maybe they have a right to know... Or is it selfish to want to tell?

That's the funny thing about honesty. Who are we honest for? Ourselves or our loved ones. Really, who are we helping by sharing bad news? We are merely taking the burden off ourselves, and unloading it on someone else. They can't help, they can't fix the problem. They only suffer for knowledge of it.

 But what if you had to tell? What if your weakness ate at you until you could contain that secret no more. And after all that time had passed, they knew you hid it, they knew you lied? Does it make the truth worse, does it make it harder to face? How do you take back a lie?

 Do you pray it just doesn't come true? Burying your head in the sand wont make things go away, but maybe there's a chance it will work itself out. Maybe you get all worked up over nothing and not sharing the information will only save them from needless concern. Shouldn't you wait until you have all the facts? Or is it cruel, now that you've said it's safe that it's fine, to blind side them later, when you had the chance to warn them in now...

Life Goes On

I know what you were thinking when you saw the title of this post: "Oh great, this is going to be another one of those life-is-a-journey, what-can-I-analyze-now posts Jenny loves writing so much"  Well you'd be wrong.

I got a letter from Jesse White today. I know it's incredible; it's like we're pen pals.  But seriously, this one I love getting every time I renew my drivers license.  That's right, I am an organ donor, and proud of it. I signed up on the First Person Consent registry - I think it was in 2006. I love getting that letter thanking me for making the choice to sign. I love showing the letter to my family, saying, "Go to this web site and sign up, damn it!" I love the reminder that it was an active, conscious decision to do something good. And for no gratification other than the hope of helping some deserving person in the future, when I'm gone and can't receive recognition for it.

I'm not exactly sure why I am so aggressively adamant about it. Maybe it has something to do with the idea that signing up on the registry, promising a part of yourself to a stranger is one of the most amazing yet basic ways of tying us all together, uniting humanity, being a part of the greater good.

This is a perfect example of what I mean, and was one ad that caught my attention back in 2007.

http://www.lifegoeson.com/donor_commercials07.html

I remember when I turned 16, the First Person Consent list didn't exist. I was, no doubt about it, signing the back of that very first driver's license. I made sure to check the little box that said "other" instead of "entire body" I was concerned at 16 (how morbid) about having a disfigured body to put in the casket at my wake.  So I checked "Other" and wrote, as best I could on that flimsy lamination, "Internal organs only". Apparently, I thought I'd need my eyes at some point after death ( as if they'd be of use to anyone anyhow, I'm virtually blind as it is)  and I didn't like the idea of someone using my skin because I could only imagine the horrific way in which they must harvest (to be honest to a certain extent I still feel that way about the skin thing, but if someone's eyes are so bad, that mine would be an improvement, by all means...)

But even then, organ donation was something I felt strongly about. I wanted to make sure everyone knew what to do with my body if I died. I told my friends and family very vehemently that they better not hesitate should I go. A few years later I think it was at 18, I didn't sign my license. It was about that time that rumors started going around that doctors let critical patients die in order to harvest their organs. And I,  being the impressionable idiot I can be, actually worried about this enough to keep myself from signing the identification that advertised my donor status. Instead I reminded my family... "Um, only internal organs though. O.K?"..."Yes, Jen, I'll remember. I swear," my mom would tell me, waving me off like I was crazy and perhaps paranoid.

When the registry came out I signed immediately after reading the information. Your status on the list isn't available until after you pass, I believe you can change your mind if you want and remove your name (it's been a while since I read the fine print), and it's legally binding, so should your family feel as though they don't want to/have to respect your wishes (although aside from religious reasons I can't imagine why not be a donor), signing the registry makes sure they are.

I'm sure by now you're wondering if in Jesse White's letter he asks to advertise for him.  But I swear he didn't.  By my best estimation, this all started with me in 8th grade. My sister and I were prater partners with Paige` Wilsek - we went to Catholic School. I will never forget it. She was in third grade and had cancer  that started as Leukemia and spread to her bones. Our church held a donor search to find a bone marrow match for her. The chances of finding one were pretty slim, she had AB blood type. I don't think they ever found a match... Paige` died before she finished 4th grade. I remember how hard it was to go to her wake and funeral, her mother comforting me instead of vice versa, thinking about all the things she would never get to do, the life she should have had...

Ever since then it stuck, and hit closer to home when I was just about 18 and received a donation of my own ("she's fine").  It took a while to sink in, you always think of an organ donation as a whole heart, or a kidney, or something like that. But the reality is that even a piece, one vital healthy piece can save someone's life.

At first I thought of it as some disembodied nameless pulmonary artery sitting in a freezer somewhere. It wasn't until someone asked me if I was going to send a thank you letter to the family that it hit me that I was alive and healthy thanks to someone else's final gift. I never did send a thank you, and still feel a bit guilty about that... But I guess if I think about it, the best way to say thank you, is to pay it forward, make sure I give whatever I can in the end, in hopes that it will give someone the second chance they need.

And I will also make it a point to harp on all of you so more can have that chance too! I don't want to hear that you think it's gross or weird, or that it freaks you out. You won't feel a thing, I promise.

So for all of you that haven't signed the First Person Consent Registry  to become an organ donor, go to http://www.lifegoeson.com/ and sign up.

For a more direct link go to https://www.ilsos.gov/organdonorregister/

Stuck in a Rut

It's not how I imagined it. As a kid you think life will go a certain way. You make plans. You think life works a certain way.  The older you get the more you realize that nothing is as it seems. you realize some things don't work out, sometimes the people you expect to always be around go away. The place you saw yourself going tends to look nothing like you picured, or you wind up in a different place altogether.

I had a plan once. I couldn't really tell you what happend to that plan. I guess it's easy to lose focus; it's esy to get sidetracked. My uncle once told me that people want to be stuck in a rut. They want to be in a place that's comfortable and familiar, and that they avoid change. I think that's an overgenralization, though. At least for me. The idea of knowing what you're doing, where you're heading, and what to expect is comforting. And the fear of the unknown does take some overcoming, but maybe it's the focus part, maybe I've lost it.  Maybe I run away too soon, maybe it's laziness. Maybe that's why people like their ruts. It takes less effort. Maybe it's just that there is too much out there to be settled in one rut forever... I haven't yet been able to find a rut I want to be stuck in.

There is so much to try, so many different experiences to have. I've always felt that choosing one meant closing the door to another. Like the idea of moving away, it's something I've always wanted to try. But I knew eventually I would want to come home, where my family is - the familiar I guess. But the familiar is only comfortable when it's not stifling. Trying new things, moving around, studying new topics helps break up the mundane, the tedium. Like going to law school, then art school, traveling through Europe, visiting Egypt, moving a lot finding where I fit, then writing a book about it all... Obviously this mentality is not conducive to having a family, marriage and all that. Maybe God knows better - I'd get bored. I would, by default, be permanantly stuck in that rut. I just have too much to try first.  Now all I have to do is go out and try them.

"They say, 'Be Yourself,' like you know exactly what that is...like you're a toaster or something...like there's only that one way to pop out you. Well maybe being me isn't just one thing. Maybe just searching for me is being me and not being them- being themselves...being toasters. Maybe being me is more like a breakfast cereal variety pack. Maybe that's what I'll be...today. But tomorrow, who knows?...maybe the blue plate special."

No Such Thing as the Real World

You know how they say Disney ruined girls by tricking them into thinking Prince Charming exists? Well books have ruined me, by tricking me into thinking that there's some grandiose plot to life, a meticulously manicured story line all leading to one pivotal moment and definitive ending. I don't know how long I've labored under this illusion, but it's difficult as, as I get older, to come to terms with the fact that it's just not so.

I can remember one specific instance in which the cold splash of reality was thrown in my face. Not in a mean way, but stinging none the less. I had met Gina and Rob at a bar in Elmhurst. Gina had set me up on a blind date (well, blind by today's standards) . No one needs anymore detail than that about the date itself, it was afterward, on the way to eat that my blatant naivete was challenged.

I was telling Gina and Rob why I didn't care for the guy I'd just met and my whining excuses went a little something like: " I don't see myself with someone like that. The guy wouldn't even meet us out, he made us come to his friends birthday party. What does that say about him? We could have picked another night... No, It just doesn't make sense, what kind of story does that make?"

I can't remember any more specifics of what I said, but for the most part I didn't feel like this guy fit into the "grand scheme" I had in mind for how my life should go. I referenced the plot/climax theory to life that I had and well, it didn't go over so well with Rob. (Gina, if you're reading this don't be mad at him, the man makes a good point).

Basically he said that I build the idea of things up to much, that maybe things don't happen like a master plan, they just happen, that I was expecting too much from the situation. He was right, I do tend to do those things, however, in retrospect I still wouldn't want to see that creep again. I mean ultimately I had valid reasons, which I won't go into, but I was still more concerned with trying to fit things into a certain picture I expected to look back at when all was said and done.

I do believe that things happen for a reason, but what I need to learn to do is separate that from the idea that everything is leading into a certain magical direction. Things don't just happen. You have to make them happen, you have to make an effort. It's not as if there is a prewritten ending and we just have to get there; we have to do the footwork, and that ending can change. Or the ending can be nothing more than a silent slipping into non-existence. I still have difficulty accepting that. It makes me angry sometimes thinking, "Well, then what the hell was the point of all that crap I went through, all the progress I made? What was the point of the worrying, the long hours, the heartache? What reason is to be found in all of that if it's not actually getting me anywhere?"

I've been told on more than one occasion that not everything means something. Sometimes they just are what they are, sometimes we place our own meaning on empty things.  I do that, I'm waiting for the plot twist,  for the seemingly meaningless pieces to fall into place. Like the part of the story where the killer tells his secret plan to the heroine , the part where the girl realizes she loves her best friend instead of the jerk she was dating, or when the coach gives the pep talk to inspire his team to go out and beat their bigger, stronger, better opponent.  But waiting won't help, there's no scripted turning point, no last page to read, just to see how it turns out. There's a reason they are called fantasy.  Life isn't always nice and tidy, neatly wrapped up in a binding. It doesn't always make sense.

But it's scary to admit that. Because it means you have to take the risks. It means you have to put yourself out there, take things for what they're worth, and build your own story, all by trial and error. Maybe eventually an experiment or two will work, but even then it's not over. Things in life change. Circumstances change. You've got to roll with the punches and make the best of everything.

My M.O.

My mind really does wander to some strange places. But I don't share them. Mostly I think people don't want to hear it. What do my opinions matter after all. Besides no one likes to be preached to, no one appreciates unsolicited lectures. So I keep it light, I keep it mildly boring, rather than psycho over analytic.

In doing this, lately, I realize how much I filter. Not just my words (mostly, not all), but my actions. And I can't remember a time a time in my life when I didn't do such a thing. I'm not here trying to figure out why. After 30 years of it, there's no more mystery, and I am not going to sit here and say "oh woe is me I have to change, how can I change?" I went down that melancholy road before. In fact, open any journal from 1996 to 2003 and they all pretty much started with that exact line. And clearly an empty book doesn't respond. So I can't help but ask myself instead what purpose reflection or introspection serves at all. It doesn't provide any new information, and refraining from simply sharing one's thoughts inside rather than sharing them with the outside world leaves no chance, what so ever, for them to be acted upon.

It's like how they say the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again, expecting different results. New ideas are great, but if all one does is write about them, they will not change a darn thing. Writing the same complaint, about the same discontent, will not make that discontent go away. It will not ease one's mind to dwell on things that can't be changed, or worry over judgement or fear. I have always admired those people that can just live in the moment and be exactly who they are, approach those they want to meet,  initiate the action plan without the insecurity that the idea won't be met well.

So I guess my point in this little blurb is to clarify another goal for myself.  A little less talk, and a lot more action. There are many things I say I want to do, and I may have very good intentions, but I am also an excellent procrastinator. And sometimes even a lazy ass chicken. Other times I think so much about what I want, that I wind up talking myself out it.  I think my general rule for 2012 is to be out there, not just waiting,  make it happen, whatever "IT" may be.

2011 : Mini Time Capsule

When December rolls around, and people start thinking about the start of the new year, we usually can't help but reflect on the year we will be leaving behind.

Personally I had mixed feelings about the whole thing, and I suspect that I am not alone in that. Great things came in 2011, some disappointment, but if nothing else, it was a year of progress.

At the beginning, January of 2011, I began the last year of my 20's, something I think most people dread. But like my mom would say, getting older beats the alternative...

The end of the month led to an argument with one of my oldest friends, February brought a trip to Philly, in March I got my first massage when we took my mom on a spa weekend for her 60th birthday, April I went to Kentucky and tasted the amazing deep fried Oreo, in May I began vacation preparation, dieting and shopping, June brought to a close my cohabitation with Julie and Jess- a good and bad decision, July - had some fun in the sun in Mexico, which left a little something to be desired - August I won't speak of, it lead to one of those disappointments, yet while irritating still informative , in September headed to New Orleans and started my new job, which again was a mixed bag, but fun over all, in October we saw the effect of ending our Halloween tradition, but I avoided the drunk texts that go along with it ( I managed the same on NYE) November brought Mack into our lives, and December, well, it's nice to spend the holidays with family, baking cookies, spreading good cheer, just simply being nicer, and well it helped that it was the most mild  December I can recall.

So I can't really complain. When I look at it, I definitely see more positive. Yet hope remains with each New Year that the next will be even better, that it is actually a fresh start. But the past doesn't magically go away, and time doesn't stop. My mixed emotion about the end of 2011 comes mostly from the fact that it means I am getting older. I have less than 20 days now until I reach 30. And, well, that's no fun.  And it seems as I get older, the faster time moves and the more I say "Where did this year go?" I hope with 2012 I can slow it down. Find a way to take each day at a time and savor it, remember more, appreciate more, make more memories, take more control over what I write about next January.

2011 taught me a lot, it sometimes takes others to point that out to me, while I may not be exactly where I want to be, I have taken steps, I have made changes in order to get there.  I remember reading on some poster on the wall of a grammar school, cheesy I know, but it said:  "It's about the journey, not the destination".

I'm going to make it my goal this year, to keep that in mind, in all that I do. With any failure, with any success, a sadness or  joy, there is something to learn, a part of us changes, bringing us closer to the people we are meant to be.  So here's to 2012 being one amazing leg of my journey.