The List

So, despite my best efforts to dissuade them there are still people who believe that I "need" a man and that it is their mission to make this happen.  Let me start with this disclaimer - I do not write this blog as a covert cry for help.  I write because I want to give a voice to the thoughts and beliefs that seem to permeate society's view of the single female.  A great friend told me once that people don't want to read about such honesty - this is my movement to change that.

However, because there are still those well-intentioned people in my life, I have created a list.

In order to qualify to be my next potential-ex-boyfriend, a guy must meet (at least) 80% of the following criteria:

• Be single.  I know this seems like it should go without saying, but alas it doesn't.
• Be employed.  There is a reason I don't have children yet.  I have had multiple offers of donations but the truth is I just don't want, at this point in my life, to take care of someone else.  This DOUBLY applies to grown men.
• Be able to make me laugh.  I deal with illness, trauma, and death on a daily basis.  Be my break.
• Be a bottom-of-the-toothpaste-tube-squisher.  I am a middle-of-the-tube squisher, and let me tell you there is nothing sweeter than going to brush your teeth and seeing someone has squished a giant blob just for you.  It's the little things that matter.
• Accept me for who I am, not who he wants me to be.  I once had a boyfriend who decided that, while he "loved" me, there were just a few things that needed improvement - my hair, makeup and clothing.  Guess what?  I like me, and if you don't, you can just shove off.
• Have moments where it's okay to be a big-little kid.  I love jumping in puddles and dancing in the rain.  I do serious only when I have to.  
• Be able to hold an intelligent conversation.  (This only applies to relationships, not flings) I'm a born debater.  There is no bigger turn-off that someone who gives up easily.  Besides, I can't learn anything new if I'm always around people who agree with me.
• Have a passion for helping people, not just making money.  I work in the social service field. Enough said.
• Have larger calf muscles than me.  I know this one seems weird, but it was a piece of advice from my mother.  I only forgot it once and I've regretted that ever since.
• Never make me choose.  I don't do ultimatums.  I've been known to drop everything and take off at the first sight of one.  Don't test me, you'll lose. Every time.  And never, ever, ever use the "If you love me" line.  That one makes me throw up just a little in my mouth.
• Be understanding.

So that's my list.  It's not that I'm picky (okay, maybe just a little), it's that I've gotten to the point in my life where I now refuse to settle.  I've been in too many relationships, too many friendships, too many situations where I honestly believed I needed to change in order to make someone else happy.  I am not half of a whole.

For all of the single women AND the women who are in relationships they shouldn't be in, I encourage you to develop your own list.  And then send it to me so I can add to mine. Stick to your list and never settle. Despite what we see everywhere in today's society - romantic movies, advertisements, every other country song ever released - we do not have to be in some head-over-heels relationship to be happy.  We just need to know who we are, what we want, and how to be authentic to ourselves.  You are perfect, just the way you are.  And in the shrewd words of Lil Wayne, "I just want you to know that you deserve the best.  You're beautiful."

Who Says You Can't Go Home (Part 2)

Like everyone who is or has been on their own personal journey through grief, my life (and my family's life) has been like one long and extremely well-built emotional rollercoaster.  Health issues, loneliness, and miscellaneous life events have taken their toll on different members of my family.  I've kept a pretty close eye on what's going on in the home front, but being so far away I can only detect so much...and while I love my brother and sister, they will never be accused of being "keen observers."  The part that made me worry was the hint of sadness that seems to accompany every single phone call....So I wasn't exactly sure what I was going to be walking into.

Let me first tell you that I don't like to be a grown-up.  While there are times in my life when I put my big girl pants on and act the part of the adult, I usually do so with a whole lot of internal kicking and screaming.  This trip was definitely going to force me into the role of an adult, and I was dreading it.  Emotionally ready? No.  And I was right.

I knew it was coming.  There had been talks of it for months so when I heard the plans, less than 24 hours after landing, I wasn't completely surprised.  My father informed me that we would be spending the next morning touring cemeteries.  Yes, that's what I said.  I suppose the better term for it would be "checking out" cemeteries.  He had done his google research and now wanted me to help him choose where both he and my mother would be buried.  The urgency in the request shook me to the core.  Why now?  I spend my days talking to people about end-of-life and the need to plan, but the need to get this done quickly was too much for even this professional to handle. 

So I woke up that morning, got ready and proceeded to check out local cemeteries (like we were looking for apartments).  We walked the grounds, talked to the staff, observed the monuments.  Some of the conversations bordered on entertaining, some just sad.  Somewhere near the statue of the Pope I found myself shutting down....like when you're in an argument and you don't want to participate anymore so you just give the answer you think will end the fight.  Towards the end, after 3 hours (yes, 3 hours) and a dozen or so "Would your mother like this?" I was near tears.  And that's when it got bad.  My father told the office worker that he needed information about 1 specific plot (a nice one by the tree, on the back side of the statue of the Pope because who the hell would want the Pope staring at them for all eternity?) that he needed the information because I was only in town for a few days and we needed to make decisions.  I quietly excused myself.

I don't sit around every night lamenting the lack of a soulmate.  But there have definitely been moments in my singlehood where I wished more than anything that I was in some type of committed relationship. This was one of those times.  I wished I had someone standing next to me in that cemetery office, someone to wrap their arms around me and hold me together as I fell apart, someone who would face the day with me, someone who could pick me up after life knocked me off my feet.  Someone who would be there....just in case I lost someone else close to me.  I was envious of those around me who had that person and I wasn't a big fan of myself either (because there HAS to be something wrong with me). Yep, this was definitely one of those moments.  The downside of being single.  I guess it's time to start picking up random guys off the street.....

Who Says You Can't Go Home (Part 1)

So it's time.  I feel like the beginning of a UFC cage fight when the announcer stretches that out to about 87 syllables and then...fighting out of the blue corner, standing 5'4" weighing in at (you don't get that info): Jen! And her opponent, fighting out of the red corner: Home!

Okay, I kid - it's not really like a UFC fight.  But lately it did seem like I had to pump myself up to emotionally take on one 6 day "vacation."  Things have definitely been different since my mom died - from the moment when my family couldn't spend more than 5 minutes in the same room with me (and no, that's not an exaggeration) because of how much I looked like her, to now - trying to get me to visit more.  The week prior to leaving was my "pumping up" period.  Hell, I even pumped up my cat.  Let's just say that an entire week of "you can do it"'s can cause a teeny bit of self-inflicted anxiety.  And P.S. It's all about me.

So again, it's time.  I wake up at 2:30 in the morning, get myself all ready to go and head down to the airport parking lot.  There are a lot more people there at 4 in the morning that I've previously seen, and we tend to make "the sun isn't even up yet" small talk as we wait to get in the shuttle.  The guy behind the counter really seems like he needs a nap...Fast forward to the airport where I have enough time to stop at Starbucks - meet a guy in the line (who marveled at my ability to drink a venti caramel frappuccino at 5:00am) AND earn my brand new gold card.  Not a bad 10 minutes.  Turns out I'm in group 3 so Starbucks guy and I have a little more time to chat before heading in separate directions.

They call my group, I exchange info with Starbucks boy, and head on to the plane.  Looking for my seat I find it and decide the universe has been very, very good to me this morning - because, directly next to my window seat is one beautiful Marine.....thank you airplane gods!  I don't talk politics, and I DEFINITELY don't talk about the war, but seriously this man was beautiful.  I believe it may be time to take one for the team.  As we take off from San Diego, I hear a pretty amazing story....

Through a little bit of chit chat, I learn that he is accompanying the honor flag from SD to Dallas, TX to be present at the funeral of a firefighter who was killed in the line of duty.  This flag was in SD for the service of our policeman who was brutally assasinated while sitting at a red light.  The short story had me completely hooked and we spent the next 3 hours talking about the flag, the honor, the idea behind it.  When we landed we were pulled off to the side and greeted by police and a fire engine.  Because the flag was on board our plane, ceremony dictates the fire engine spray down the plane with the water cannons - a paying homage to the fallen firefighter.

Overall, it was a pretty amazing experience.  I had been spending my time stressing out over this trip home when the universe reminded me just how little I am in comparison.  And that is exactly how I needed to start the first leg of this journey....

Fight, Flight or Live

My entire life I’ve vacillated between fight or flight.  I’ve fought through some pretty intense things - abuse (including one particularly vicious boyfriend, but that’s a story for a different day), an eating disorder, issues with drugs and alcohol, disease, death and one extremely dark moment when I tried to drive my car into a tree.  I’ve fought - and come out on the other side.  But even as I sit and reflect on the stories on my life, the challenges and obstacles I’ve overcome, I can’t help but have certain moments, certain people in my life who make me feel like I just don’t measure up.  I have one that doesn’t even live in the state.  Imagine the irony of someone who can knock you off your feet long-distance.  And it is in those moments, moments when the little voice in your head starts to tell you that you’re just not good enough, that the urge to run begins to rise in the back of my throat.  Someone once told me that they know something is wrong with me when I shut down.  I’ve done it before - I ran 14 years ago, again 2 years later, and again just one short year from today.  And recently, that pesky flight mechanism kicked in again.

What triggered the run, Jen, run? I had a bit of a freak out yesterday with a friend.  It was completely misplaced, and actually had nothing to do with this friend. Crazy party of 1? Your table is ready.  I was feeling vulnerable about a few other things going on in my life, including this trip back to the homeland and instead of dealing with those issues as they arose I stuffed them (I’m a fantastic stuffer).  Suddenly, those vulnerabilities just apparently came ripping out of me. The urge to run was so strong I could taste it.  Thankfully I chose the absolute right person to freak out on (if there is such a thing), someone who listened without judging (or calling me crazy by the way).  I’m grateful for those people in my life - people who accept me for who I am, strengths and faults combined, for those are the people who truly help you quiet your mind and open your heart.

I overanalyze things.  It’s who I am.  And as I calmed down from my “AHHHHH!” moment, not to mention repeated “OMG, did I really just do that?” moments, I had the realization - yes, this IS who I am.  All of my life experiences, everything I’ve done and everything that has been done to me has made me who I am.  I like me, I am proud of me.  I am smart, strong, beautiful and perfect just the way I am. I measure up to the only one person that really counts - me.   The truth is, no one can ever make us feel anything other than how we let them makes us feel.  Life is too short to get sucked in by the little voices in our heads that tell us we’re not good enough.  And if by chance you actually meet someone who finds it necessary to tell you or show you that you aren’t, kindly escort them to the exit door of your world.  People who cannot handle the freakouts in life don’t deserve to share in your bliss.  Breathe in every moment, learn to think less and be more.  Stop running and live, and you will find that the right people have been there all along.

May you each find moments today of hope, happiness, peace and love.

The Dreaded Wedding Invitation

By now you (hopefully) know that I'm single.  I've been single for awhile - and even before I was actually single, I was single (read: very dysfunctional relationship).  Needless to say, I've been able to practice singlehood for quite some time and I believe I've gotten pretty good at it.  I've gone to the theater solo, caught a movie solo, went to dinner solo...I've even gone to the bar solo (I know, I know).  But as comfortable as I am with myself, there is still one thing that evokes sheer terror in this single girl....

The Wedding Invitation.

Inevitably, all wedding invitations come addressed to "Jen and GUEST." There are a few things wrong with this. First, the envelope is mocking me.  Everyone else gets an envelope with two actual names.  But poor single Jen gets the "and GUEST."  Second, I somehow always feel obliged to find myself a "GUEST." The little voice in my head starts screaming frantically about how I absolutely, positively CANNOT show up to a wedding solo.  It's an event meant for couples.  My life is sad! Totally illogical, but still.

So that starts the fun (and in the end, fruitless) search to find a "GUEST."  Here's the issue with that - it's not actually a good idea to pick some random guy up off the street and say "hey wanna go with me to a wedding?"  By the same token, it's probably not smart to take a guy you just met.  There is the possibility of taking a friend, but then you risk the pitying glances, drinking too much to drown those glances and ruining a good friendship (YES, I've seen it happen).  And then there's the "Wedding Date" (you remember the movie) possibility, but being broke seems to eliminate that choice.

End result? Two anxiety-filled weeks later I go solo.  And yes, there were those people staring.  Ah well.  I wonder if men go through this same process when they get invited to something so stereotypically couple-ish?  The wonders of the world......

The Art of Photography: A Review

So I can't take a picture to save my life.  I just don't have that creative eye and, due to circumstances beyond my control, I shake ever so slightly, making every photo I take a tiny bit skewed.  I tend to tell people that my sister got the brains in the family, my brother got the artistic talent, and I ended up with a hodgepodge.  I did, however, inherit the ability to appreciate subtle beauty.  So when the invitation to attend the opening reception of The Art of Photography Show came about, I jumped at it.  I had 3 main reasons for attending the opening - 1, I was invited.  There aren't many rules I "live by," but this is one hard and fast rule I apply to my life.  If you're ever invited to the opening or premiere of something, go.  I've found that the premiere holds the most powerful and purest artistic rendition of just about anything.  It's also the time you can get the most swag.  Which brings me to #2, Each attendee received the catalog of the photos in the show.  It also included artist notes and inspirations.  We each have our stories - stories that define us, make us the person we are.  But sometimes just reading the stories isn't enough - which is where #3 comes in, The artists were there.  This gave me the opportunity to meet and mingle with those who took their hearts, their lives, their work and put it out there for everyone to see.  They took the chance to stand there and listen to random people critique each flash of light, each point of view.  But the most valuable part was that we get the chance to hear the stories firsthand.

I tend to gravitate toward art that depicts nature.  Take one half-step into my apartment and you'll immediately see my admiration for Ansel Adams - his use of texture and light, and the clarity and depth of each photo.  Most specifically, this one:

I assumed as I walked into this show that I would be drawn toward those photos as well.  That's what I get for assuming...

The opening was hot, crowded and phenomenal.  I love the Lyceum.  No matter what your reason is for being there, you can't help but be energized as you walk through the front doors.  There's a vibe there that is second to none, and it was the perfect location for the art show.  Moving around the opening was tricky because of the number of people attending (and while the Lyceum is amazing, it isn't very big) but the layout of the photographs made it easy to just make big circles once you got used to squishing yourself between random people.

I did the big circle, then came to 3 separate photos by Christopher Capozziello.  I found myself transfixed and not completely certain why.  All 3 were photos of a man in different situations from a series entitled "The Distance Between Us"....not the typical "art" I usually stop at.  I stood in front of these 3 photos for at least 20 minutes.  I knelt to get a better look at the bottom one, almost getting trampled as people didn't see me.  I moved closer to the exhibit and knelt there even longer.  There was something about these 3 photos...they were dark but I was in awe.  I ended up moving away, making a few more large circles around the room and returning to that one particular exhibit.  I couldn't stay away...and when I opened my catalog I finally realized why.  Capozziello's photos in this exhibit depict the journey he's shared with his twin brother who has cerebral palsy.   He attempts (and succeeds brilliantly) in showing the angst and despair that accompany disease.  I was amazed by what he was able to capture in just one quick click.  If you want to see the photos that hooked me, here you go:

Aevum - Capozziello

Long story short - if you have the opportunity between now and October 23 to visit the Lyceum, GO.  You won't be disappointed.  While I definitely didn't agree with the judges' #1 (I don't honestly think people wrapped in shrink wrap constitutes my type of art), there will definitely be something that draws you in.  And who knows - you may even see me there - since I plan to make this a repeated trip.

The Freedom to Feel

I came across an entry by Scott Ginsburg entitled, "7 Things You Never Have to Do" and while I don't know the man I think he is, quite frankly, a genius and rapidly approaching the title of my favorite blogger.  The entry is about our basic cores that should never be hidden or compromised.  While the entire entry made an impact, it was #6 that really struck a chord - Love is never asking people to edit themselves. 

Recently I went through some pretty rough days.  Between the scans, the doctors, the drugs, the fatigue, the pain and all of the other fun stuff life throws at us I was on emotional thin ice.  What I needed was a pint of Ben & Jerry's and 8 straight hours of The Notebook.  What I got were well-intentioned acquaintances doing their own personal version of the "cheer up buttercup" dance.  Everywhere I looked there was someone with the - it's all right, don't worry, everything will be okay. Life is as it should be.

Guess what?  I'm pretty sure I want to give that generalized statement the finger.  There have been moments in my life (as I am assuming in all of yours as well) where I refused to accept the idea that THIS was how life should be.  Moments when it felt like the sky opened up and every single tidbit of poo rained down.   And if by some off-chance I'm actually wrong, that was exactly how life should be, then perhaps the universe needs to rethink some of its plans.

I don't live in the darkness.  While I fully admit that I've lost my way in there a few times, the majority of the time I rail, let go, and move back toward the sunshine. I believe that most people do.  I honor the power of positive thinking.  I've seen its impact on people who are dealing with incredible trauma.  I've witnessed it first-hand when I woke up one morning relatively pain-free after a particularly great evening. 

We are all free to feel any emotions - good, bad or ugly - without the fear of being criticized for a lack of positivity.  How can we possibly enjoy the incredible warmth of the sunshine if we never allow ourselves to experience the bitter cold of darkness?  How can we possibly understand true happiness without understanding its rival - complete despair? The good news about dark moments is that they eventually end....giving way to a new day, a new dawn.  But we can't hide away from the nights and pretend they don't exist.  That's the emotional equivalent of putting our hands over our ears and chanting, "nah nah nah I can't hear you!!"  It didn't work when we were younger, it isn't going to work today.

Love is never asking people to edit themselves....and never feeling like you need to edit.  In one particularly rough moment right after my mom died I had the greatest best friend walk up to me, put her arms out and say, "I know."  That was it.  That one moment in my life helped me heal more than any other words ever could.  She didn't try to edit me, she listened and carried a bit of the pain for me.  The "cheer up buttercup" dance, as well-intentioned as it is, destroys open and honest communication.  We take our dark moments and hide them away (picture the nah nah nah thing here).  When we truly love someone - the kind of love that has no conditions, no limits - we allow them to feel the good, the bad and the ugly.  We stand there next to them in the darkness, hold their hand and wait for the sun to shine again.

So the next time you're standing there in the darkness, know that it will eventually end.  But also know that it is that much less scary being there with someone who loves you.  And when someone tries the whole "it'll be okay" thing with you, know that it's just fine to say that while it WILL be okay eventually, it isn't right now.  And even that is okay.



http://www.openforum.com/articles/7-things-you-never-have-to-do?extlink=em-openf-SBdaily

How Technology is Ruining the World...

Technology is ruining the world.  Or, more specifically, how we use technology is contributing to the decline of humanness.  Here's why I think so:

I was in a meeting the other day with a man who works closely with seniors who may need to leave their homes soon.  He was telling me a story about an elderly gentleman who just wanted to sell his house and move to a senior community so he could be surrounded by people.  See, this man had seen his share of loss - death of friends, family members, everyone that was close to him.  He lived alone in a house much too large for one person, and wanted more than anything to be with the joys of others.  His children thought otherwise, that he should keep the house and live the rest of his life there.  This is what this man said to me, "He doesn't have anyone and rarely leaves his house.  But....he has email!"

I'm sorry, what?  Suddenly we were speaking as if the notion of email could somehow cure this man's intense loneliness.  Apparently, have access to sending virtual notes every day could fill his void.

We all have them - relationships that don't exist outside the sphere of text messaging, email and social networking sites.  With the advent of smartphones we're able to log in and in real time post our status updates, check in to our favorite places, view the photos of our friends, see where our friends have been and be jealous of their so-much-cooler lives.  But what do we miss out on?

We miss the quick glances that say more than any conversation ever could.  We miss the smiles.  We miss the pauses, the breaths we take before opening our hearts.  We miss the electricity that takes your breath away when eyes meet.  We miss the pure innocence of the supportive touch.  We miss the calming peace of hearing the voice of someone you love.  We miss the joy of human contact.

As technology develops, we spend more and more time behind a laptop, holding a smartphone.  We disregard all the important pieces of humanness.  Texting is faster than a conversation, but honestly - what can really ever be said?

I told a friend once that virtual hugs are better than nothing.  In and of itself, that statement is entirely true.  But what could possibly be better than sitting with quietly with someone, breathing the same air, laughing the same laugh, feeling the same soft touch?

Yes, I see and fully grasp the irony of criticizing technology in a blog posting.  I don't really believe in pure black and white, pure good and bad.  Some forms of technology have improved relationships - Skype has allowed my father to see my niece grow up in the absence of frequent out of state trips.  And I use all of the aforementioned forms.  I post random updates, but mostly because my mind works in a pretty random fashion and that seems to be the only place one sentence thoughts aren't ridiculously out of context.

I'm headed home in a few short weeks.  While there are a number of reasons for this out-of-the-ordinary trip, my heart has been aching for home for months.  Some time ago the best friend a girl could ever ask for went through a difficult time.  Being so far away, I was initially relegated to technology to provide comfort, when what really needed to be done was a larger than life hug and the sharing of tears.  I don't want to be that girl.  I don't want to live my life through text messaging.  I don't want to spend every minute surfing through the 3 million different social networking sites.

I just want to give someone a hug.