Lately a few close friends in my life have gone through some pretty heavy breakups. I’m talking about the two-year-I-thought-we-were-going-to-get-married kind of breakups. The kind where they need to get new music, new friends, and even change their perfume to escape the memories of their ex.
And of course, part of being a girl is sitting around and hashing through their feelings with them, why things didn’t work, and what they should do going forward to help the pain stop. Most of these conversations have involved lying on the couch, stroking their hair, lots of tissues, drinking beers and Yogurtland (hey, I’ve dated a lot and had my heart stomped a few times…I know the tricks of the trade).
Aside from the ways that my friends have been hurting, it has been an interesting process for me as well. Part of working through their heartbreak is to affirm their emotions with similar experiences that I have had in my own dating life, and share stories of my own mistake and heartache. It has been surreal to look back on my early twenties and the kind of men (or arguably boys) that I was attracted to and the kinds of relationships that I had. Part of me looks through those years of my life can’t help but feel awe. Primarily, because I survived. I’ve had some deep cuts to this little heart of mine, and it is constantly surprising to realize that I’m still here, that I’m not jaded, and that I still believe in love.
Last night while standing in my kitchen, my brokenhearted girlfriend says to me, “Dang Jenni, you are so smart about this stuff. How do you freaking know all this?”
I honestly laughed so hard I almost spit out my beer. “If by smart you mean I’ve learned through my own many and painful mistakes, then maybe…” I suppose that dating is something that I’ve done a lot of, and hadn’t realize how much I’ve grown over the years, how much I’d changed, and how much I’d healed until I went back through it in my kitchen last night. It was almost astonishing. Read the rest of this entry »
I just had a weekend that is in the process of wrecking me.
It’s interesting that I spend half my time writing about how God is absent, how He doesn’t provide, and how I’m questioning if He really is who he says He is. Then, I’m proved wrong. He shows up, changes things more quickly than I’m ready for, and I’m frantic, just now it’s about what I’m supposed to do, instead of who God is.
This weekend I cannot help but feel like the gauntlet was thrown. Like the year that stretched out behind me was leading to decisions, and suddenly someone walked into my somewhat suspended life and said, “Jenni, it’s time.”
As in time for me to get up off the chair and start doing what I have been crying to do all year. And you know what my response is? Is it joy, and thanks, and relief? Wouldn’t that make me a nice person? Nope. I’m not nice. Instead, I cling to my chair and stammer, “But wait, this is all happening so fast! I don’t know if I’m ready! I don’t know what this is going to look like! Can’t I have more time?”
Don Miller Packs A Punch
As many of you might know, Miller’s new book A Million Miles in a Thousand Years comes out this week, and he is in the midst of his book tour. I’m a fanatic, so I went to two of their shows. HNB, playing his role as the amazing boyfriend, got me a signed copy of his book. Which, I did start reading last night, and I can tell you it’s going to surpass all of our Miller expectations. And if I can enter one advertisement, if Miller and Susan Isaacs ( I did a book review of her book, Angry Conversations with God: A Snarky but Authentic Spiritual Memoir) if they are coming to your city, please go. They do not disappoint.
At one moment in Miller’s presentation, he is talking about the makings of a good story. When we make movies, there are certain principals that have to be there. One of them is plot line. And he said this phrase that has been stuck in my head since Friday.
He said, “In any movie there is a moment, when the hero looks toward the horizon, and decides that he wants something. He has a goal. And there has to be conflict to get there. He’s going to have to fight for it. It has to be a goal worth the fight.”
Why do those words haunt me? Because for the last year I have been fighting and grappling for my plot line. There have been seasons in my life where the plot and the goal was obvious: I went to college and got two degrees in four years and walked out with honors. Good job Jenni. I recklessly bought a ticket to New Zealand and spent 6 months overseas after college without a blink of an eye. It changed the trajectory of my life.
But this season, dang I can’t shake the feeling that I’ve been floating. I’ve been wrestling for a year. And not just the professionalism part. Not just for a job to make money. For a direction, for a story, for a plot that is worth the fight.
So why is it then, that when I get a good hard look at that beautiful horizon line that I simply want to run back to my arm chair? I don’t want to speak the words out? That deciding to pick up the script and have a beautiful role in this story just seems too grandiose? That there is a real possibility of failure and hurt?
I don’t think I could look at myself in the mirror if I stayed in the brown armchair. I know I need to get my cahones about me. But, wow, does that thought wreck me.
What is wrecking you? What does your horizon look like? Are you in the midst of a great story? What are you waiting for?
As my readers know, I have been struggling with some frustrations lately and feeling very stuck. One thing that has helped me feel like I am moving forward is to remember where I am going. In the words of a wise friend of mine, “Jenni, you are a go getter. You just need to know where you’re going and getting.” So, in light of a new found effort to rid myself of my frustration-shell, I am committed to two new things: 1) Setting specific goals, and 2) being vocal about what’s going right in my life. Saying positive things out loud remind me that life is moving, even when it doesn’t feel like it.
So, here’s a first list of why today is a good day:
Today is a good day because:
1) I have smart friends that know how to speak wisdom into my life in context of my strengths and passions. Not to mention that they let me cook authentic Mexican food for them, and then laugh with me over tortillas, conversation, and beer.
2) I’m going to the mountains with friends on Sunday. Something about pine trees and mountain horizons that make my soul free.
3) I’m thinking about starting to paint. I have no idea how to paint. Not a single clue. But I’m convinced it will help with releasing creative juices.
4) I have a growing stack of books on my bedside table. Including “Make Success Measurable” which is a workbook about defining and achieving your life goals.
I can’t help but feel like today the world is my oyster. Between a few bottles of paint, some time in the mountains, and a new perspective on success…I’m ready to go for it.
I recently have discovered that I have a fascination with the word frustrated. Lately I say it a few times a day. Mostly under my breath while saying fleeting prayers, begging God to change the parts of my life that I don’t love. “…God, I’m so frustrated…”
In a flight of curiosity, I typed each letter into dictionary.com. F-R-U-S-T-R-A-T-E-D. As I read the responding entry, I couldn’t help but feel the pit in my stomach growing larger and larger with each line.
frus⋅trate:
[fruhs-treyt]-trat⋅ed, -trat⋅ing,adjective –verb (used with object)
1. to make (plans, efforts, etc.) worthless or of no avail; defeat, nullify
2. disappointed
3. having feelings of or filled with frustration; dissatisfied
I’m trying a new project. I’ve become a book reviewer for Thomas Nelson. It’s a pretty sweet deal – they send me free copies of their books, and I review them and post them here for all of my readers. And then, hopefully, you love some of their books too and go out and buy them. Genius I tell you.
Fearless by Max Lucado is a book about…well, conquering fear (in case you couldn’t tell by the little snorkeler squirrel diving off the dock. He’s being fearless…ahhh, I see what you did there.)
In summary, I am going to give you what Thomas Nelson describes the book to be, because in general, I think they do a pretty good job of covering all the major bases. Read the rest of this entry »
Recently I have been struggling with something that I think is a common fight for most artists. It has been something that has been mostly unspoken for most of my writing career, but it came to a very poignant head a few weeks at ConversantLife’s First Friday (August) event. One of the musical features at the event was John Torres on vocals and guitar with Konstantin Grigorious on rhythm. John has a song called Part of the Plan which I have embedded below in a video because it’s worth a listen.
As I sat there in the full art house, surrounded by people and letting his words penetrate my ears and heart, I was actively fighting to keep from breaking into a full sob. Something about his lyrics struck a chord with me. He was singing words that described a fight that I’d been feeling, yet had been unable to describe up to that point. As an artist, he felt what I felt. He sang and I cried.
And as I sat there, one of my friends caught my eye. She saw me tearing. She knew I had been affected. After the show, she told me “It would mean a lot to John if you told him how his music moved you.”
Which I thought was perfect, because I usually love walking up to people I’ve never met before, covered with snot and tears and introduce myself by saying, “Hi I’m a big baby and I cried at your show.”
But then she said something that caught my attention. “Come on Jenni, you’re an artist too, so you know how it is. It’s important for people to tell you how they are affected by you. Isn’t it the same with your writing? You like knowing how your expression affects people? I know it will mean a lot to him. ”
Ah, stabbed. She was totally right. From the perspective that John was a “stranger,” I didn’t like the idea of walking up to someone and blabbing my heart. But from the perspective that John was a fellow “artist,” I knew that verbalizing my appreciation for his contribution was priceless. Standing in front of people and being vulnerable is at the core of being creative, and I can recognize that this is what a musician does every time he really plays from his heart. My friend had nailed it, it is important for people to give feedback about the results of art and vulnerability amongst an audience.
Miss Elema, Borana tribe and Samburu tribe woman by Eric Lafforgue
So, I dried my snot nose, and decided to find John. I told him that I cried, and that it was hard for me to admit that I cried. And, as predicted by my friend John was warm, open, and glad to hear it. I explained to him that I’d initially hesitated to tell him because I didn’t want him to think I was baby – but I am a writer, and in a way I understand what he is going through when he stands on stage and displays his heart through his songs. I have to admit, it was nice to hear that his thoughts were similar to mine: vulnerable art is a struggle, and that sometimes there is a significant need for validation from your audience. Not necessarily in an egotistical sort of way, but it helps to know that you were at least in the ballpark. I don’t think either of us found it comfortable to admit that we could be so fragile.
I think the part that has been really hard for me lately in my own writing is that I have begun to feel the weight of the dream. There are days when the very inside of me screams to know that the writing matters. That it isn’t just a hobby. That it’s legitimate and that I’m professional in what I do, even if it’s on a very small scale. I don’t say this with ego involved, please know that. I don’t mean that I get an emotional plug knowing that people like what I write. Instead I mean that if the writing was simply a puff pastry of crap (”today I went to the grocery store…wow it was fun….”), I would be happy to keep the thoughts in some sort of private journal. I would simply write for myself because I love it. But, on the other hand, if what I am writing and thinking and asking does matter, even to one person, then I share it because bringing value to the world through my creativity feels like a beautiful thing.
And that notion seems to get very complicated sometimes. And it gets very heavy. I think this is an issue that that all artists go through, but there are moments where the dreams feel too heavy to carry anymore. I nearly tell God, “God this dream hurts too much. I don’t know what would be worse…letting it go or to hold on to it and fight for it. God, can you take this passion back? My hands are tired and my heart hurts.”
That part is a very real and hard part. There are parts of this dream that feel like I am just chasing unicorns and pink clouds. The realistic and logical part of my head says, “This is fluff. And it’s not real. Thanks for the passion God, but you can have it back.”
So in light of those struggles, you might understand why John’s words cut to the core of me sometimes. I’ve listened to this song about 100 times. I think the lyrics that paint in my soul are these:
What you do doesn’t have to be big
Its ok if you just want to live
So pull back the covers my dear if you want to sleep in.
It’s like that present tucked under the tree,
It was always there but you just couldn’t see.
And just ’cause you want it doesn’t mean that it’s a sin…
Just take a moment and drink it all in – don’t stop dreaming
This is the part where the magic begins – don’t stop dreaming…
These lyrics have literally taken the breath out of me like a deep sorrow. I have only had that feeling a few other times in my life, and most have them have involved death or trauma. I think it hits the part of my artist heart that begs the question “Does my art really matter? Does anyone care? Am I resonating with anyone else out there? Is this significant, or am I alone in this?” And I understand that this has the potential to sound very narcissistic, but I think as an artist it hits a chord deeper than that.
experiences that I have had in my own dating life, and share stories of my own mistake and heartache. It has been surreal to look back on my early twenties and the kind of men (or arguably boys) that I was attracted to and the kinds of relationships that I had. Part of me looks through those years of my life can’t help but feel awe. Primarily, because I survived. I’ve had some deep cuts to this little heart of mine, and it is constantly surprising to realize that I’m still here, that I’m not jaded, and that I still believe in love.
) if they are coming to your city, please go. They do not disappoint.
I’m trying a new project. I’ve become a book reviewer for Thomas Nelson. It’s a pretty sweet deal – they send me free copies of their books, and I review them and post them here for all of my readers. And then, hopefully, you love some of their books too and go out and buy them. Genius I tell you.
