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.

As predicted, today that shift shouts gently in the background. To me it seems almost as if there is a light crispness in the air. I’m still searching for the right words to describe it, but I think it has something to do with the fact that we have officially left Summer and have entered the Fall.

Autumn has always been my favorite season, and every year my mind spins to try to capture why. I’m not sure if it’s the gorgeous reds, yellows, and oranges. I don’t know if it’s the pacifying feeling of pulling pea coats out of the closet, or if it’s the aroma of sweet and spiced coffees in the brisk mornings. It could be the contented excitement that washes over me when I think about how many meals need to be prepared in the next few months. There are spiced loaves, turkey dinners, prime rib Christmases, holiday drinks and parties to be had.

I don’t claim to be a Betty Crocker, but I have been so excited for Fall cooking that I have already started looking up recipes. I’ve been telling HNB for a few weeks now that I’m excited to cook Thanksgiving dinner and to host our friends for an evening of relaxation and eatery.

But the feeling in the air is bigger than excitement to cook. It’s a feeling of change. Maybe even good change. It’s a feeling that laughter is on its way. It’s a feeling that there are memories to be made, friendships to be strengthened, wine bottles to be opened, and champagne bottles to be popped. There are engagements to be had, weddings to go to, and Christmas parties to attend. There are scarves to be worn, fall boots to be purchased, and coats to be wrapped in.

And even more than this, there are thanks to be had. Thanks that the fall is here and the world is about to be stunningly beautiful in crisp colors and scents. Thanks to be given that the darkest parts of the economic crash might be behind us, and that our nation is forging forward. Thanks that in the trying parts of this last year we were able to hold to what was important, to grow with our families, to spend our money on things that mattered, and give our time to things that were noble.

There are stories to be written this fall. There are beautiful stories begging to leap off of the pages and into action within our days. There are daring stores, sacrificial stories, and epic stories. And for me, in my mind, these grand stories and adventures are embodied in the leaves that fall, crisp and brown, reminding us that change has come. Autumn is here.

This January I began something awful.  I began a process of a slow awakening. The more awake I am becoming, the more I hate what I am finding.  But at this point, I don’t know what’s worse – facing the ugliness or deciding to go back to sleep.

In January I was leaving a friend’s house late at night and driving down the 5 Freeway. We had just had a conversation about our friendship. It turns out that even though we’ve been friends for years, we weren’t quite as close as she’d thought we would be. She was disappointed that we hadn’t grown closer over the years, and I was grappling to explain the distance between us.

I couldn’t dodge the fact that while my friend was explaining her disappointment, I compulsively felt the need fix her feelings on the spot. I wanted to differentiate myself from our other friends that had also hurt her feelings, and show her with my actions “I’m not like them. I’m different. See, let’s still be friends.”

The ride home from her house was probably the most difficult car rides that I have had in a long time. I kept thinking, “What is it that makes me want her to like me so badly?” And suddenly there was the truth staring me in the face.

Oh, my God. I am selfish.

“I love her because of how she makes me feel.” I don’t love her for who she is, purely and simply – rather, I love her because she makes me feel good.

With that, images of friends began to scroll through my mind – like Facebook on a ticker tape.  And with each new face that clicked by, I realized that I felt the same way about them as well.  Out of all of the people that I know, friends that I hang out with, sip coffee and cocktails with, I could gather maybe 5 that I just loved because they were who they are.

I literally cried the entire way home. I cried for the black heart I have. I cried because I’m bad at seeing people.  I’m bad at listening. I’m bad at asking questions. I’m bad at caring. I’m bad at appreciating. I’m bad at sharing.

By the time I pulled up to my house, tears streaming down my face, I couldn’t for the life of me understand why someone would want to be my friend. “If they only knew the truth,” I thought, “I would be friendless in a matter of moments.”

Friends with Benefits.

Flash forward a few months later, and the reality of my heart has begun to rear its ugly head again. Just last week, I’ve had two of my friends get into little “talks” with me.

Both of them are women who have loved me, carried me, listened to me, and opened their hearts to me in my times of weakness and hurt. They have thrown parties for me in times of joy, and wiped my tears in times of laughter.

Suddenly, it has been my turn to be the supportive one, to cheer them on, wipe tears and show up with ice cream. I have failed them both. One of them even said to me, “Jenni, I’m kinda going through a lot right now, I’m sorry I just can’t listen to your stories today.”

Ouch. There it is again.

“Jenni you’re selfish. Can you please see beyond your own nose?”

Again, I wept upon seeing it. I wept because I hurt people out of my weakness. It’s one thing to be bad at something that doesn’t matter.  This isn’t something like dieting. If you’re bad at dieting, it doesn’t make your friends or lovers cry when you forgo carrots for fries and beer. This is something more serious. When you have parts of you that are jaded, broken, or weak – it’s awful to know that those failures can hurt people you love.

A good friend of mine has often said, “Friends hold mirrors for one another. We show you what is already there.” Sometimes this can mean seeing that you are stronger than you thought you were – or like this time, it can mean seeing things you hate. Seeing honest parts. Parts so honest, that we are afraid to utter them under our breath even when we know no one is listening.

So in light of all this, I am still a bit of a question mark. I’m not completely sure of how to move forward.

How do we become better people? Is looking in the mirror the first step toward changing? Are we destined to have dark hearts and hope that people still love us anyway?

I’m going to hope so – because of if not,  me and my ugly heart might be a pretty lonely person.