There is a part at the end of the book that really has stuck with me. He’s talking about a sculptor and her love hate relationship with her art. How it’s tumultuous, painful, and agonizing. Yet she is so emotionally connected to her work, it is like its a part of her soul.

And when it is all finished, it is the pain that gives it meaning. It is the struggle for the art to come out of the clay that makes it beautiful. That the parts of the art that are tarnished and ruined are the very parts that make it valid and valuable.

It is then that Bell poses the question, “Was this sculptor really talking about art? Or is this life?”

Right in the Middle

This season has been interesting in that it has been painful. Or maybe I need to knock the words “this season” from my vocabulary, because maybe that’s just life. It’s painful. It asks a lot from us. Good lives do anyway. They’re scary. Art is scary. Doing something worthwhile is terrifying.

But I think Im in a moment where Im on the fence between beautiful and painful. I see both. I feel both. And this is one of the few moments in my life where I wouldn’t change the painful hard parts. They are so integral from this view. Taking them out of the picture would render the whole thing meaningless. The beauty has validity because it was painful.

The View from Here

Being here in the space between beautiful and painful, this is what I know.

Art is important. Create it if it kills you. Foster it, take care of it. Go to museums, paint, shut your self in your room and create beautiful music, stay up late and go to Indie shows, and support your local film director. Make friends with people who love it too, do it together and create it for the community.

Adventure is important. We weren’t meant for freeways and concrete jungles. Go to the mountains, the forests, the beaches or the deserts. Carve out a time in those meeting notices to make it important. Feed your soul with fresh air, great hikes, and camping under open skies. Remind yourself that you are just a part of something bigger than yourself by standing at the foot of something natural and majestic.

Love is important. Make a place in your heart to love people who are hard to love. It makes you a better person. Loving those who love you is easy. That doesn’t require vulnerability, just reciprocation. But go first, love first, extend your heart to those who might break it. Remain soft. Don’t let the word jaded enter your vocabulary. Carve out a space in your life for good friends who know your heart well and love them. Make space for memories and wine. Don’t get swept in the dailiness of live, create breathing room to love and be loved.

Risk is important. Do the things that scare you. That’s what life is for. Sure, it’s painful, but as I said before pain is what gives life depth and meaning, so if you’re not in pain your doing something wrong. Make a list, find what scares you, and start checking things off. You’ll be more alive than you were yesterday.

Most of us view God like He’s our personal drill sergeant. Now, initially you might think that sounds a bit too harsh or not quite right, but how often do you hear your friends or yourself saying things like, “God please just tell me where I should go, what is your will in this situation? I’ll follow you wherever you lead me.”

Sounds like a good christian prayer right?  I’ve heard people say things like this more times than I can count. But when you think about what is really being asked we are saying, “God just give me orders, and I will do exactly what you say.“  I.E., we want to be passive participants in our lives, (”Jesus take the wheel”  …thank you Carrie Underwood) and let God do the ordering and thinking. I can’t help but think that methodology is bit off. Or if it was the right approach, I would understand why so many people think religion is a crutch.

But what if God is more like what the bible depicts, what if he is a Father? What if it played out a bit more like this, “Hey Dad, I thinking about going to college to majoring in film and trying to make it in the movie industry. What are your thoughts? Do you think that’s my strength, or should I try something else?‘”

How many of us got to college and called our dads and asked, “Hey dad, should I go to class today? I just want to do what you think I should, so please tell me what to do today.“

Could it be that if God is more like a father, that it makes sense that he gives us choices? So instead of simply saying, “You will go to this college, take these courses, major in this study and become this professional…” I’m beginning to believe that I’m a bit more involved. Maybe God has given us all kinds of strengths and as long as we say within those, we’re in his will.

So, maybe for someone that means they could be a teacher, or a lawyer, or an architect because all of those professions use part of that person’s strengths. And maybe God didn’t whisper in that person’s ear which one to choose.

The notion that I’m an active, responsible participant in my life turns that “lead me I will follow” methodology on it’s head.  Suddenly life is much more exciting, and yes most definitely a whole new level of scary. Making choices, telling God what I want, going after dreams and not expecting God to miraculously land it on my door with a heavenly bow…that’s a life that is bigger, riskier, and more adventurous than God simply bumper bowling me through the choices. And frankly it sounds more like a life crafted by a God I want to spend time with.

As some of you know, I’m coming up on the midst of some really cool life changes. I have options, which are really fun and make me feel like I’m wearing my big-girl pants. But they’re very different. I almost feel like it’s a Choose Your Own Adventure novel. Or, like I told my own dad, “Dad, I feel like God has taken me down the toy aisle and said, ‘You can have roller skates, barbie dolls or a bike, it’s your choice.”

Uhh. Those are all really killer toys. And they are all very different. And all of them end well. Unless, I ask for the barbies and in the midst of playing wedding with Ken, her head pops off…that could be not so fun.

Part of me really hates that God doesn’t lean down and tell me, “Go with the bike. You can go off really cool jumps with it, and it’s the most fun toy out there.” Instead He is standing back and letting me choose. And if I’m being honest, there’s a part in my stomach that feels like I’m about to throw up. This is an instance where I wish Carrie was right, and I could simply say, “Jesus take the wheel!” But I know it doesn’t work like that.

So what do I do? What do we do when we’re faced with big choices, and there is no God to write the answers on the wall? I’m not quite sure, but if you do, I’d like it if you could tell me please.

There are local bands.

There are Colors.

There are Chords.

There is feel good music.

Thursday night. Go out. Dinner and shows.

There is soul poetry and making it all count.

In in complete sentences.

Publishers demand a whole thought.

However, at this point and in this day, I just cannot bring myself to give you capitols and periods and semicolons.

It’s a little more free than that.

Free.

It’s words.

And periods.

In places. Where they might not belong.

It’s colors.

It’s chords.

It’s feel good music.

It’s diddies of the late great Michael Jackson.

That bring us no guarantee of a 9 to five.

So you stay, and you order yourself another drink and you clap your hands and give into the soulful noise of letting go, and letting it be ugly.

And smile.

And you put those periods wherever you want.

Because this is the only way it counts.

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.”

A Song for Min Joon by Sacha Penn

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.

Painting by S. Viswakarma

The Heavy Dream

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.”

Bloodwall by Sy parrish

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…

Working Class Hero by Tyla’75

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.

Now I’m sure you all know the premise of the film. But if you live under a rock, I can give you a recap: the film features a bunch of characters who are aspiring comedians and actors. Sandler is an established comedy actor, and finds out that he is dying with cancer. He connects with Rogan and they both go on a little journey learning about fame, fortune, life, disease, love and what is important in life. Horray bro-mance movies.

The reason I talking about this post today is because there is a turn in the story line that puts the audience in an interesting place. The main character is a famous comedy actor, George Simmons (Adam Sandler), and when he finds out he is dying he tries to re-connect with an old love, Laura (Leslie Mann). The thing is, Laura is married. But as the story is painted, you find out that Laur’s husband, Clark (Eric Banna), has been cheating on her for years. And not to mention that there are several scenes where Clark openly disrespects Laura condescendingly. In one scene, Laura teary eyed confesses to George that she loves him more than her husband and wishes that she never would have married Clark.

It’s from this point that the complication begins to weave itself in my mind. As a viewer, I felt incredibly guilty cheering for George in his pursuit of Laura. Part of me wanted him to get her, to love her and have them ride together into the sunset. But the other part of me looked at her beautiful children, her home, her family, and her life and just wanted to scream at George to stop. To leave Laura alone and let her figure out her own life. To not satisfy himself in his need for her, and not destroy her family in the process.

It was an interesting moral split. And the story doesn’t end there – there are 146 minutes of weaving the complicated web, and then leaving you with an adequate sense of closure.

But my question is this: Do you feel bad rooting for the douche bag husband to get cheated on by the beautiful wife? Or do you want the main character to loose so the less popular character wins?

Either way, kudos to the writer, Judd Apatow, for keeping me engaged and divided throughout the course of the film.

What do you think?

You see, this guy that I had been with, I thought he was brave. I thought he was adventurous. I thought he was the greatest adventurer that I had ever known. And in response, I became brave and brazen, and an adventurer. I knew to keep up with this guy, I needed to be a woman who could handle the end of the earth and more.

But then, something happened. It turns out we weren’t in the story I thought we were. No rings would be exchanged, and we wouldn’t have the ending I wanted at that time. The story as I knew it needed me to be brave in a different way than I had imagined. 

But something I learned didn’t go away after the idea of the wedding had passed. The bravery didn’t leave. The brazen woman that I had learned to become didn’t go away. I couldn’t turn off the idea that I was going to be adventurous.

This leads me to a movie. Right, I know. Most people don’t think of their life stories in turns of Disney Movies. Or, if they do, you tend to think that they are pathetic people. But I remember, back in the time when I was thinking that I was going to get married, there was a particular movie that really displayed the kind of woman that I had decided to become.

I had just gone to the midnight showing of The Pirates of the Caribbean, At World’s End.  There was a scene in the movie that literally made me tear with ambition. I remember driving home from the theatre and making an international call. I had been so inspired from the image of bravery and womanhood that I had witnessed, that I felt like an international call was in order, even though it was expensive. I had caught him late at night, but he was willing to listen to my thoughts.

The scene I am talking about is below:

The thing that got me about this clip back then was the idea that the girl wasn’t waiting to be saved. If you notice, she was just as up and prompt with her sword as he was. He would lean on her and hold her for support as he reached to fight his own battles, needing her as much as anything. And like wise, she wasn’t wearing a dress – she wasn’t waiting in distress, she wasn’t literally needing to be saved. Instead she had her own weapon. She knew how to fight. She was just as much apart of the romance and drama as he was.

The funny thing  about that particular relationship is that it didn’t work out. I learned how to be brave, and yet, I’m not married. Which, if you ask me is just fine. But I did learn something that lasted me much longer than the relationship. I learned how to be an Elizabeth Swan. To be brazen. To have my own sword. To take off the dress and engage in the fight of life. To hold my man with as much support and strength as I could muster, knowing that the fight and the adventure were my part as much as they are his.

So, in light of the pirate ways, I toast to Elizabeth Swan. Cheers to the woman who inspired me to be a real woman long before I needed to be one. A woman who showed me feminine strength even before I knew what I was going to be strong for. Women, we are needed with spines of steel -  but yet spines of steel clothed in flesh and softness.

Let us not forget that. In the stories of adventure, we have a key role to play out. Yet, we have to brave and graceful. Not simply brave alone – but brave and beautiful…even while holding a sword and wearing pirate pants.