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.

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

thwart:

–verb (used with object)

1. to oppose successfully; prevent

2. to baffle ( a plan or purpose).

From a 10,00 foot level the specifics that have been causing my frustration are a moot point; I think I’m in a season where life isn’t coming easily. I push and try, and my plans are worthless and to no avail. I have decided to not try, and I am still disappointed and successfully opposed.

Things don’t turn out the way that I want them to be. My professional life just hasn’t come together in the way that it should. There are moments where I look at my family and say, “I never asked for this God. This is not what I wanted.” There are even places in the writing when I feel like it’s a silly pursuit and easily thwarted.

The frustrations come and go in waves. There are days like yesterday when the frustration gets to me and makes me furiously angry.  My prayers sound much like, “God where are you? Have you left me to fend for myself? Do you even care? They call you the God who provides, but to me that is just hearsay.”

Then there are days where I feel at peace even though the tension is still there. On those days the prayers sound more like this, “God I know you are there. I don’t  feel you or see you, but they say you provide, so I am going to sit knowing that you are bigger than my frustrations.”

The feeling of frustration never leaves, it’s just that some days bothers me a lot more than others.

I imagine that this flux between being frustrated and ok  is just what life is like. School doesn’t work the way it should, there’s surprise classes that you didn’t know that you were missing right before graduation, there are cars that breakdown when you are late, there are husbands that pick fights with you when you don’t have a shred of patience to give.  At least thinking these things happen to other people makes me feel like God isn’t singling me out. Like he isn’t starving me of my plans or progress simply because He’s mean or wants to teach me some sort of lesson.  I hate it when people tell you that.

I was having this conversation with HNB last night, where he says to me, “Jenni, I don’t know why these things haven’t settled. Maybe God wants to make you learn something.” The problem that I have with this idea is that it makes God seem like the parent that starves their child so that they can learn to appreciate vegetables. Not feeding a child, and simply giving them snacks for several months might keep them alive, but I certainly don’t feel like it’s loving. And if God is not loving, then I don’t know that I want to do this anymore. “Thanks God, I really wish we could have stayed friends. But I can’t continue to trust someone who is so mean sometimes. Frustrating people isn’t nice. Friends just don’t do that for no reason.“

Pragmatism and Dreams.

The other theme that has been coming up this week is the idea of dreams. Unmet dreams. Impossible dreams. Dreams that burn your insides. Dreams that you look at and say, “Yeah, that would never happen.“

See, the problem is that I am a true pragmatist. When someone gives me an idea or dream my knee jerk reaction is to say, “yeah, but HOW?” I want to know how much money it’s going to take, and where is that going to come from, how much time do we need, and how many people do we need to get on board. What are the areas of expertise and how do I get those people on my team. I want to chart it, plan it, schedule it, budget it, and put it on a spreadsheet.

VS.

The problem is, this mentality takes dreams and literally smashes them at the kneecaps.

I have recently been awakened to the notion that I do not know how to dream big. I drown myself in questions. Instead of letting myself have big ideas, grandiose dreams, and  fantastic speculations I crush them upon  conception. Dreams are something that need to have a impregnation, an attachment, a nurturing, and a birthing. I discovered that I have a knack for stifling the process.  I question and rationalize and scrutinize them to death. It’s as if I implement a process of harsh criticism that results in spontaneous miscarriages.

I have been realizing that in doing this I don’t let myself to be free. I complicate the process.  It is just like running or dancing.  I am not free to run when I let the technicalities of physics and movement take over. There is no leaping, falling, jumping, bounding, or flinging when there are meticulous calculations.

Part of me is convinced that I have simply been so frustrated with the plans I have that have continually gone unmet, that I have forgotten how to dream. Dreaming takes an element of trust and vulnerability. In some ways I think my heart has become a bit hardened to dreaming. It almost feels like a waste of time. I hate to say that out loud because it makes me jaded, but part of me thinks that it might be true.

Frustration is a heartbreaking emotion. It is angry and hurt. And it is tired. Its hard to convince yourself to dream, and run, and breathe, and be risky when you are heartbroken and hurting.

So, my question is, “How do we start?” How do we leave the land of overwhelming questions  and find our way to the land of frivolous dreaming?  How do we stop planning? How do we hold frustration in one hand and hopefulness in the other? Do we have to re-learn how to dream? Is it even  possible to dream when you are this disappointing and frustrated? How do we look at your friends who are being catapulted forward in the same areas that frustrate you, but still know that God is a provider even when it doesn’t feel like it?

Ive decided that for me it is going to start like this with one simple statement:

“God, I am so frustrated by unmet passions that I have forgotten how to dream. Help me to dream. Show me what it is to dream wildly, and not to worry about if they’ll happen or not. Let me dream. ”

Im still wildly frustrated. I still have loads of unmet needs. But this is the only way I know how to get out of the corner Ive somehow been painted into.

And while I pumped out all of my energy from the day, a memory resounded through my mind. A few years ago I was in the midst of another dark night lit by only the moon. I remember this moment very vividly – not only for the emotional significance, but for the astonishingly sharp visual that seemed to pair with it. It was the middle of the night when I was en route to New Zealand. In leaving LA, I was leaving behind a host of problems, my life was essentially in wreckage, and I was holding it all together with McGiver-style bubble gum and tape. Little did I know that when I landed in New Zealand I would promptly be deconstructed and begin the process of slowly piecing my life back  together. That moment on the plane was probably one of the darkest, more anxiety ridden nights of my life.

As I flew through the dark night, thousands of feet in the air, the darkness was piercing black. But the moon was soft white, illuminating the ocean as a blanket of sparking diamonds. The night was so clear that even from my height, I could make out the tiniest islands down there in the in the massive blue, and I could see the white caps of waves washing over beaches. It was honestly one of the most beautiful sites I have seen in my life. I remember specifically with tears in my eyes I whispered under my breath, “God I don’t know where you are, and I am scared sh*tless, but here I am.”

Running along the bay tonight, it was the first time I had recalled this memory in years. And yet, tonight was a night much like the one I had on Air New Zealand almost 3 years ago. The night was black. Purple. Blue. The bay was black, and yet the moon shone it’s warm light down on the water, making little diamonds sparkle down the current. And all of the homes and cars on the other side of the bay all shone like little cafe lights in a far off place.

I had to smile. I can’t help but feel like in life we always come full circle. Here I am again, lost and a mess. This time not in my identity, but rather in my career, passion and profession. I’ve just decided to pursue freelance writing, and I can’t lie; I feel like I have given up safety to chase ghosts. Here I am standing in the midst of the moon light whispering, “God I don’t know where you are, and I am scared sh*tless, but here I am.”

But here is the cool thing: I’m not scared the way I was before. The night can be a very terrifying place if you let it be. The first time in my walk through the dark night, I remember being gut wrentchingly anxious, scared, unsure and looking at all of the long shadows and unknown sounds like they were going to over take me. This time, I feel like I have have come to love the dark night. The air is cooler. The colors are astounding. the lights seem to sparkle in a way that captures my heart. And you know, moon shadows are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. The idea that we can play with our shadows in the darkness of night is a notion beyond my own mind.

This time around I realize I have learned to relax in the darkness, to enjoy the night. I know last time I saw this vision, it marked the beginning of the most adventurous, beautiful, terrible, growing, stretching, rewarding journey I had been on in my life. This time I have slowed the anxiety and I can see the signs for what they are. And I can only hope that I am standing on the brink of something half as great as the story I embarked on en route to New Zealand.

Let me start this review by saying that I recommended this book to just about every Christian woman I have met this week. Yep, it’s fair to say that this is one of one of those books. You know, the book that you’ve barely finished Chapter 3 and you are already raving to your friends about, and by the time you finish it (which is most likely only 2 days after you bought it), you’ve managed to work it into every conversation – claiming that the book will change their life – regardless of their current circumstances.

Well, without sounding over zealous, I will venture to say with confidence that this book will change your life. I’ve already mentally gone down to the Christian book store and bought all of their copies for nearly every Christian woman friend that I see on a regular basis.

You see, Isaacs is a comedian.  She is sassy, and punchy, and brazen. And after waking up one day and realizing that she was single and 40, and had been through the crap-hole of life…she was PISSED. She had followed God, loved Him and His rules, and yet she was still jipped out her dreams or desires. She was 40, unmarried, career-less, a recovering alcoholic, and questioning if she even wanted to press on. She was angry because she didn’t understand why a loving God could make her life so dreadful, and if he was really “good” why did it constantly feel like she could never catch a break? Sound familiar? Oh right…maybe that’s just my life.

Isaacs did what any naturally sassy and brazen comedian would do. She reasoned that if she was “the Bride of Christ,” then God was being a dead beat husband – and she took God to marriage counseling. (I know what you are thinking: “Why hadn’t I thought of that yet!?”)

I found Isaacs’ memoir through the dark places of her life honest and …well hysterical. As she described some of the darker and more heart wrenching years of her life, her story resonated with me on many levels. She was passionate about God, yet couldn’t stand some of the “Churchy-ness” of Church. She seemed to grip the idea that there are real, raw, genuine and cool people in the world, and hated that the cross necklace and prarie dress wearers seemed to miss them.

Isaccs struggled with the same issues that I talk about on my blog all the time: trying to find her purpose in life, Christian men, Non Christian men, dating, not dating, career choices, alcoholism, sexuality, Church culture, loving Jesus and faith. And throughout her struggle, she was always refreshingly honest with God.  Sometime she would yell, she would get sarcastic, and candid about the reality that she felt jipped. Heck, she even threatened to divorce Him! (And man, you thought I had gall!)

In the end, despite punchy humor and sassy remarks, Isaacs manages to squarely nail some of the desperate realities of letting God barbeque her life. She not only answers the question of “why do bad things happen to good people,” but manages to encourage the reader to press into their own darkness in their lives. She shows the face of God for who He really is, darkness and all. Isaacs does not shy away from these harder issues of faith – but instead, through her unflinching work, she proves that God was really much much bigger and greater than she ever gave Him credit for. And not in some sappy Christian Book store sort of way. Promise, she doesn’t quote verses at you – yet by the end you really get a sense of passion for God that you would never find through the “3 Points and a Poem” books that fill the shelves at Sonshine Christian Stores.

In conclusion, walk away from your computer screen, get into your car, and drive to the nearest store where you can find this book. Or better yet, click the link below and order it. And then go sit patiently by your front door and wait for the delivery guy to come.

Earlier this week I was looking through the file for some places to go with this next post. I pulled out a scrap of napkin that had blue ink scribbled front and back.

This napkin spelled out sudden clarity about my plans vs. Gods plans. In that moment, I clearly was understanding that:
1) I don’t always know best.
2) Sometimes uncomfortable change is good.
3) If you demand life only on your own terms, often times you will miss the point
4) God’s master plan in this whole life is to be an epic storyteller.

Not A Know-It-All
It shouldn’t come as a surprise that we don’t always know everything. The idea that you will always understand everything, and that you are never wrong is one of those thoughts that if you say it out loud, you sound selfish, conceited, delusional, etc, etc. HOWEVER, that doesn’t stop the deepest parts of us from trying to control it all anyway. We make calculations, speculations, collaborations, and even manipulations to try to make things go the way we think is right. Why do we do it? None of us really know – or I’m sure the answer is too philosophical to easily explain. But anytime you get a good dose of reality and realize that you don’t always know everything, and cannot control everything – it’s still a kick in the pants.

I’m Fine with Change, as Long as it Doesn’t Mess Up My Routine

I’ve said this before, but there is tiny Suzy-Home-Maker and a tiny Gypsy that live in my soul. And they are constantly at war. What I want for my life really depends who is winning the war at that moment in time.

The Gypsy wants to get tattoos, work at a bar, pursue writing and creativity, wear flowing skirts, travel the world, and loves constant change. The Home-Maker doesn’t love change. She realizes that moving might seem like a fun idea, but she hates unpacking boxes after a move. Tattoos seem hip and trendy, but corporate jobs don’t always want to line you up for a promotion if you have artwork from your neck to your knees.  Moving  overseas sounds great and adventurous, but often asks the more practical questions (what are we going to do for money, and what are you going to do when you come home?)

However, there are moments when the Gypsy is right. Where drastic change happens, the Gypsy rejoices and the Home-Maker throws a fit. It is uncomfortable, painful, and usually involves getting dirty in some physical or metaphorical kind of way. But if given enough time and perspective, and the Home-Maker is usually calling a truce and telling the Gypsy her favorite words “You are right, that change was much needed.”

Don’t Miss the Point!

When I lived in Thailand, I remember waking up one morning in a panic. I had a vivid dream, where one of my childhood friends was getting married. In preparations for her wedding, I was running around like a chicken with my head cut off, getting flowers, arranging people, coordinating the speakers and microphones, making sure the other bridesmaids were ready… In the midst of my planning panic, my friend came to me dressed in her wedding gown. I was covered in dirt and sweaty from the day’s work. She said, “Jenni, we’re ready to start. Why aren’t you dressed?” It was clear by the look on her face that my job for that day (as her maid of honor), was just to be ready with her. To be dressed, and excited, and prepared to accompany her down the aisle. And even though everything I was doing was good things, when it came down to it, I had missed the point of my job as her bridesmaid.

I walked around the rest of that week with these words burned into my mind, “Don’t be so busy that you miss the entire point…don’t miss it Jenni, don’t miss it.”

It was a wake-up call and a reminder that even though I had 100 students, and more than a million things to do, that wasn’t the entire reason I was there. I needed to love my kids. I needed to laugh with them, and play with them, and hug them and love them. That was the lasting part that would remain far after I was gone – not the fact that we implemented a health check system into the daily pre-school curriculum.

Even though I have been home now for a few years, I find that dream resounds true in so many other areas. If you demand life on your own terms, you miss the point. If you plan everything to death, you miss out. If you don’t learn to let go, relax, open your eyes and see the beauty in your current chaos, you could lose the most beautiful gifts that right under your nose.

The Epic Story Teller.

Last week after receiving an email from a prospective job opportunity indicating that they were going with someone else, I had a brand new thought when it came to my job search – “Is there something wrong with me?” Upon thinking this I knew I was breaking the carnal rule of job searching – it is NEVER personal. Jobs and business are all about matching my skills and experience with a company in order to maximize profitability and efficiency. It’s never about my identity as a person. But I went there, and I knew I was down a headlong rabbit hole that might be hard to get out of. Almost a week and a half later, I know that those thoughts don’t necessarily ring true, but I’m still struggling to get out.

I realize I have stopped hoping. I have begun to think that maybe there is something wrong with me. That maybe I will never get a job. That maybe I’m not cut out for my calling in life (Is that not the most morbidly depressing thought you’ve ever heard!?)

In a way, I’m angry with God. “God, why hasn’t this happened yet? Why do I keep praying and going on all of these interviews, and yet I’m still without work? How come you haven’t made something work out yet? This isn’t the way that I want it!”

And here is where my own past-thoughts come to kick me in the ass. Napkin thoughts are spelling it out for me that God is an Epic storyteller. Think Lord of the Rings plot line vs. Mary Kate and Ashley Olsen take on San Francisco (straight to DVD).

And there is good news with God’s epic story. We know how it ends: God wins. And we are on his team. So…why is it that my current state seems so devastating? Oh right, because that is happening right now, and we don’t know what happens next.

But in the face of all of this, I know I have to hold onto the words on my napkin. That maybe God is doing more than what I am seeing right now with my eyes. That maybe these six months is going to be very important to me when I look back in a few years from now. That I still get an opportunity to be involved with something epic and majestic, even if it doesn’t look or sound like it at the moment. That yes, even though I still can’t say it with conviction,  I will get a job that I love. Yes, I am talented and some employer will be lucky to have me.

And yes, things will be uncomfortable along the way. We will lose jobs, go broke, get in car accidents, have children with diseases, have our parents die, and possibly get divorces. That’s just life. That part doesn’t change. That’s part of the epic storyline.

But I’m convinced the ending is majestic.  God wins. I’m convinced that we don’t feel jipped when it is all said and done. I’m convinced that we realize it was a beautiful story – and we’re glad that we got to play a part.

That’s a lot of ass kicking for one little napkin – four bullet points that have sufficiently changed my perspective down here in the rabbit hole.  I have a hard time believing that I ever saw this clearly in the first place. It’s a pretty good thing I wrote it down. Doesn’t necessarily mean it gets any easier to climb out of here – I suppose it just gives me a reason to start picking myself up and keep on moving forward.

All that to say, I do appreciate your feedback. Actually, I would argue that at some level – I need it. It’s important to me that what I write resonates with people – and I thank those of you who have jumped into this conversation.

Jesus and Cocktails.

One of the major comments that I received from both men and women alike when responding to the ideas of meeting guys in bars is simply this: “Can’t great guys go to bars too?” As so aptly commented by Megan, most of us hang out in bars at some point or another, whether it is once in a while or every weekend. It would seem logical then to realize that going into a bar doesn’t transform a person into something evil. And sure, nice girls and boys are still nice when they are sitting on a bar stool.

In fact, I love going out. I wouldn’t say that I have a party lifestyle these days, but I couldn’t imagine being with someone who had a problem going to clubs, or didn’t drink at all. A perk might be that they could be my designated driver all the time – so that might not be half bad; except for the part where you are always the one making an ass out of yourself – I at least like taking turns being the drunken retard.

For the Christian daters out there, I suppose we can meet people in bars because I would hope that there are bars have Christians in them. In theory. However it is in the execution that things get a bit messy. It is a bit awkward to ask, “So do you go to church?” in the first 5 minutes of meeting someone. Granted we all have values that are important to us, but deciding to rule someone out based on this can feel like walking a tightrope. Rule them out too soon and you are paralyzed by your pre-judgement – wait too late and you can face emotional pain by trying to sever a connection due to your intellectual dissonance. 

This can be true of a lot of things beyond where you spend Sunday morning: if you want kids or not, if you drink  or not, if you are a Republican or a Democrat…none of these are things you want to ask someone within 5 minutes of meeting, yet they are imperative to moving forward. Tricky business.

Hotter, Nerdier, and Blonder – the Story Continues.

So, as promised, I did call Hot Nerdy Blond. In fact, I called him last Sunday on the way to an Engagement Party for two of my friends. Now, you might understand why this subject has become so much more complicated, because as irony would have it, I met someone at this party (yes, the traditional Christian way to meet people – at a party with your friends, how ironic).

Now the fun part is, this guy is Hotter, Nerdier, and Blonder than Club Guy. I had met him before, and this time when we were talking, the connection was obvious. I won’t go into too much detail regarding my new heart throb out of consideration and privacy (Surprise, I don’t put EVERYTHING in my life on the Internet). But I will say this, he’s gotten the thumbs up from a few of my buddies, and has a killer laugh that makes me weak in the knees. Ooh-la-la.

I have gotten a call back from Club Guy. But at this point we run into the same questions that we were debating before: “Is it nice to go on a date with a guy when you know that it won’t go anywhere?” It might be true as I professed before, it is just dinner….but the thing is, in light of someone that I know is legit, I don’t know if I want dinner with someone that I met in a bar.

Jenni-the-Writer might feel obligated to give Club Guy one shot, just for the sake of consistency with my writing and commitment to what I say over the Internet. But Jenni-the-Person has a hard time using guys as social experiment. That’s not very nice now is it? 

We Hate Dating.

I think it’s fair to conclude that we don’t love dating. We don’t always hate it, but it can be murky waters out there, and it’s easy to get lost. In fact, talking to one of my girlfriend’s who lives in Seattle, she often calls me and starts our conversations with “Jenni, I hate dating.”

Duh. We all do. As I have often said, dating is a bitch. But we aren’t really given too much of a choice. We all have to decide to play, to give guys the flirty eye, to debate about giving out your phone number, to not call back when he calls you. Maybe we secretly envy our married friends because they have their person already, and don’t have to feel naked as the stand there talking to a new guy, hoping he likes you back.

But here we are, trying to figure it all out. And as I say to my Seattle friend, “Just keep dating! Be content in where you are at, even if it is uncomfortable. And when in doubt, give him your number anyway.”

This morning I had breakfast with two of my favorite, fun-friends. I don’t know if you have fun-friends, but I highly recomend that you get some. They are the friends that encourage you to be glorious and goofy, honest and candid. And seemily, this is something that happens almost immediatly when meeting them. It’s almost like meeting a super hot guy that you have electrical chemistry with….excepet they are your friends, and you don’t want to make out with them. You just want breakfast and laughter with them. At least, I don’t make out with my fun friends.

Anyway, this morning we met at the Gypsie Den for breakfast. (Side note, before breakfast I got stuck in a time warp…my cell phone gitched to the wrong time, and since I am in the process of moving, it was the only clock I had. Needless to say Sophie was suprised when I called her and asked “Is is 9:42 or it is 10:21am?” Suprise, it was 10:21…which made me 20 minutes late. Oops. But clearly I had a solid excuse. “Time Warp Sophie. I can’t control the universe.”)

I realize that I love these two girls, because over 5 Grain Cereal (yes complete with puffed milk, bananas and nuts), we had conversation which moved 80 miles an hour, discussing the highs and lows of the week, relationships past, and the fact that we are fabulous (Yes, at any girls breakfast, this is a subject that does come up.) What I realized in talking to them, is that they really see me for the creative writer that I am, and encourage me to write – every day, all the time.

I left breakfast DYING to get to a computer because I felt so inspired by their thoughts. Sophie and Chris pointed out to me that I am not held captive to wearing a suit and walking into an office everday. Creativity and success can look so many different ways. And to this point I have been pushing to find a corporate job, they opened my eyes to the idea that I can persue my writing, and simply use my job as a means to a paycheck. Well, maybe a paycheck and some good writing material.

Ladies and Gentleman, I am contemplating divorcing Corporate America.

As you all know, I have some history with very corporate jobs. So naturally, the first thought I had when I got laid off was  to look for a marketing coordinator position, or something within the business world that will harness my skills at a communicator. And to be honest, after I got a “No” from this last position, I really felt burned. Maybe I was too pumped,or maybe I  set myself up for failure. Either way, I really wanted that job, as you might have noticed from this post I did right before the interview.

Now, it’s almost like I got broken up with by “job search”. I put my heart out there, and they gave the job to someone else. And like a Jr. High Girl, I want to turn around and say “Fine, job searching, I don’t need you. I’m not going to apply for jobs any more.”

Ok, so I’m not going to be one of those people who lives on unemployment forever, but all of a sudden I feel incredibly empowered. I realize, I don’t have to find a job that fits me. I just need to keep writing. And as far as how I make my money, I can do a million things. I am free to choose any job that I find INTERESTING. And I am free to take my time wandering around to find what that is….like a gypsie.

In my mind, I want to walk around in flowy skirts. I want to wear a grey beanie. I want to serve coffee and get tatoos. I want to be a bartender. I’m thinking about studying for that test for the Postal Service that I wrote on several months ago. I’m thinking about trying to find a job for a non-profit. Or working with a traveling group. Or being a roadie. Who cares?

Corporate Suit VS. Gypsie.

You have to understand where I am coming from. I’m the kid that did everything right. I went to high school, did sports, journalism, youth group, and got great grades. In high school I didn’t smoke, drink or have sex. I got into a good college. I got two degrees in four years, and graduated with honors. And even then, I still mainly walked the straight and narrow. I still don’t have tatoos, and always did what was expected. I wanted to go to Law School. I was a clean-cut good kid who always played by the rules.

Suddenly I feel relinquished. Free to work in a menial job and have it be ok. Free to ride and bus and write about it and have that be ok. Free to be artsy and eclectic. To leave the graph paper mindset behind and flow into graphic color.  I have never been more excited to be insiginificant. To be normal, and not have to be all put together.

Maybe this is the stuff most of you guys all figured out in college. Maybe you all really got a chance to experiment and find out what you wanted to do if you could do anything. Somehow I think I missed the boat. But late or never, I think I’m catching on. And it’s pretty glorious.

I told my mom tonight that I wanted to get my bartenders liscence and work in bar. I’m also thinking about not washing my hair for a while. I really think that’s actually gross, but it’s fun to think about. I also told my mom I was thinking of tatoos. She didn’t respond. Neither did my dad. It was great.

Tonight I went out to dinner with a friend, and we had a great conversation about the content of life. At the moment, I told her, I feel like I am on the edge of my chair. Maybe you could say that I am on the brink of change. It seems like at the end of each breath there is a small space. I would call that hope.

Hope that at the end of this thing we call life we all get what we were wanting, or if we were lucky, we got more. Hope that we get the job, that we find beautiful people to roll through the years with, that there are enough bottles of wine and warm fires for winter nights. That we have beautiful children, and awful tragedies, and at the end of it all we have enough prospective to still feel like it was all worth it.

Eggs and Honesty.

Earlier this morning, I had breakfast with my friend Andy. On Fridays we go to Yoga, and then come back to my house and I make eggs and toast. It’s glorious. In between bites of egg, I explained to him that even if it isn’t remotely true, I need to believe that I am going to get an amazing job soon. Not only that, but that I will eventually find an amazing man, that eventually my family will be a little bit more sane, and that I will find amazing roommates.

Not to say that any one of these situations keeps me awake at night. In fact, I have found that lately, I am happier than I have ever been. But I realize that depression, anxiety and panic seem to be characters always seem to be just a click away. And it’s not just me, it seems to be everyone at the moment. Turn on the news, and you’ll see what Im talking about. Thousands of people getting laid off, our economy circling the toilet, and thousands of dollars in taxes on their way. There are more than enough reasons out there to fuel whatever issue you want to have.

What I said to Andy through bites of egg was that I simply choose to lie to myself. Every single day. And you  know, I don’t care even a little bit. I don’t care if I’m flying high above reality in my delusional thoughts of getting jobs, finding love, or satisfaction in this broken world.

Maybe that makes me a dreamer. A romantic of sorts.

Did you ever see that movie Hope Floats? I didn’t. But in my mind, I imagine it was a movie about something sad, the characters that find hope, they change, and then things are ok (that seems to be the premise for a lot of movies).   I bring it up because I think maybe hope does float. Maybe people say that because it’s like a metaphor for a life preserver. Or like a seat cushion on a plane if you crash into the ocean. I am told by stewardesses that there are little arm loops that make it a floation device.  Unless you are flying Sully the Pilot, in which case you wouldn’t really need a flotation device.

So I’m concluding my thoughts with this: Life is great. I’m on my couch on a Friday night, dateless, drinking a new bottle of wine that I took a chance on at the grogcery store. Surprise, it turned out awesome. I’m rocking out to Elton John, which I heard in a friend’s car last night and decided to go through an new phase where I am in love with the old good stuff. I’m also munching on amazing Swiss chocolate that my buddy Ben sent to me (I keep the tons that he has sent to me in my fridge for emergency dateless, friendless, wine nights).   And I’ve decided that lying to yourself is the greatest thing that you can do.

I might not get the job that I really want. I might be thirty and single. My family may never change in ways that I want them to. But for now, I’m going to pretend that they all do. Because hope, is apparently an airplane seat cushion.