choosing

The Story

The following is a true story.

“The girl in the teal shirt, with the long blonde hair, is studying hard. And when she takes a break to gaze out the window she is working hard, even then, to not meet anyone’s eyes or connect in any way. The only other customer is a dark, small man whose attention is completely on his computer screen, though there are books and notepaper piled on the table all around him.

The woman in the corner puts down her book and stares at nothing for a minute before picking up her coffee cup and, pausing with it halfway to her lips, peering at its contents as if reading her future inside. She takes a small sip and returns the cup to its saucer.  There are tears floating in her eyes. They do not overflow.

She takes a deep breath and refocuses her attention, turning her head so one ear is cocked toward the staff behind the counter, who are alternately joking and bickering.  Outside the window, her eyes follow two women and a child in identical orange shirts, then shift to a thirty-something couple attempting to settle a large German shepherd into the back of their car.

This is what the woman in the corner is thinking:  She is thinking about one summer back when she was in college, and they had a small apartment downtown. There was amazing art on the walls, which belonged to the professor who owned the place.  She remembers the white walls, wood floors and the paintings.  She remembers the long summer of wasting time, of endless talking and smoking, of quick walks down the block to the bar or the Maid-Rite.  She remembers feeling the life ahead of her will be anything but ordinary.

She knows it is useless to wish for the past to come back, to wish for a different chance, to have been a different person. That doesn’t stop her from wishing it. Doesn’t stop her from wishing she had chosen differently. It occurs to her that she can choose differently for herself now, that beginning with this moment she can try for something other.  But then she thinks of the work piled on her desk. She thinks of the bills that must be paid. She thinks of her timid nature, her indecisiveness, and she can’t believe in her own ability to change.  She thinks, “I am like that German shepherd, acting like I have a choice when, in actuality, I am always going to sit in the back seat.”

And she knows she can never say these things. She knows that anyone hearing these thoughts would argue or, worse, console her.  Instead, she picks up the pen and opens the notebook in front of her.”

April 22, 2007. I wrote this story in my journal as I sat in Starbucks on a Saturday or Sunday morning telling it to myself.  I thought of it yesterday, when I happened to stumble onto a Tony Robbins video clip.  Now, I’ve never really paid attention to Tony Robbins, motivational speaker extraordinaire, so I was surprised to find myself listening carefully.  Paraphrasing what he said, “Suffering doesn’t come from life events.  Events happen. Suffering comes from the meaning we attach to them.  The story we attach to the event is the secret.”

In the story I used to tell about myself, I was a sad observer of life. I’d never merit the front seat.  My “glory days” were behind me in an apartment in downtown Dubuque, Iowa circa 1983.  I never really liked that story, but I thought it was the only one I had.  After all, you cannot go back and change the past.

But I can change the story.  The woman, sitting in the corner of the coffeeshop can, after picking up her pen, can write:

Snap out of it! Its a beautiful day. No need to brood over gloomy thoughts of the past when you have today.  Today, anything is possible. The more you believe that, the more you know in your heart it is true, the more the impossible will take shape in your life.  Who you have been has led to who you are. And who you are is someone who will put down this pen and walk out into the sunshine.”

We can always change the story. I know, because my story has changed substantially. You should try it.  I can promise you this — it is way more fun to be the author of your story than just another character in it!  To quote another great motivational performance (the band Sugarland): “…find out what it means to be the girl who changed her mind and changed the world…”

Fullness

A couple of years ago, I was experimenting with a new journal style (for those of you who don’t know this about me, I’ve kept some form of journal or diary since 1973).  I bought a blank book, then wrote a list of words on the first page.  The challenge was to take one word at a time and write about it until I didn’t have anything else to say. 

Most words on the list took two or more pages to fully explore, though a couple took less.  For the word “fulfillment”, I wrote:

“My life has always been full.  Full of work, full of activity, full of obligations, full of  ‘shoulds’, full of food, full of fears, full of expectations, anticipation, potential.  It was so full I was completely overwhelmed much of the time.

It has only been recently that I’ve realized that a life can be very full without being filled.  My goal now is to figure out what I need to do or change to experience ‘filled’.  The paradox is that the first step is to pare down, purge, create space. There has to be less to make more.”

So, here I am, a couple of years older and, hopefully, worlds wiser.  My life is still full, especially in August.  But it is also much further along the way to being filled.  And by filled I actually mean something akin to sated or satisfied.  The activities on which I spend my energy are meaningful in ways that I hadn’t really experienced when I wrote the journal entry above.  And I was definitely onto something when I said the first step was to create space. 

In the quest to make space in my life, I have had to examine my time and figure out what stays and what goes.  I purged my closets, my craft room, my psychic baggage.  I now spend a lot less time filling time, and a lot more engaging in experiences that are satisfying at the soul-deep level.  I’ve learned that really good, and good for you, food sates your appetite in a way that junk never will — and this is true for the things I put my heart into, as well the things I put into my mouth.

A few weeks ago, an old friend said to me, “You have a very full life.”  I hadn’t thought of it, but I loved hearing  it.  My life is full in the sense I imagined it could be when I wrote that journal piece.  This kind of full, this style of fulfillment, leaves plenty of room for growth and adventure. For new people and places. And it creates its own atmosphere of contentment even in the harried and difficult seasons of the year.

Extreme Makeover: Honesty Edition

The other night at my friend Sara’s house, we were discussing swim suits and the fact that, while I now own one, I am not necessarily keen on the idea of wearing it in public places.  Sara’s daughter Abby, a precocious first-grader, piped in to ask, “Jen, why do you hate your body?”

The question stopped me short — and I experienced the (rare for me) sensation of speechlessness.  I looked to Sara for help, and Sara just shrugged as if to say, “Well, she’s a perceptive kid, whadda ya want me to do about it?”

What resulted was a conversation between Abby, Sara and I about choices.  The ones we carelessly make and live to regret, the ones we make that have incremental impacts we don’t think about until it would take a herculean effort to reverse them.  A bit heavy, you might think, for a kid Abby’s age, but she tracked on all of it.

And it brought home to me one of the things I have been learning, another “late bloomer aha”:  the truth is a powerful thing.  I’ve written before about my attempts to be more honest and how that has impacted me and my life.  But what I’ve been thinking about since my chat with Abby is how, when we make the effort to be truthful, it can make a huge impact on others as well.

When we cover up, sugar coat, or stay silent it diminishes the other people we are in relationship with.  It is as if we, like the Jack Nicholson character in “A Few Good Men”, are saying to them: “The truth?  You can’t handle the truth!”  Sounds pretty condescending when put that way, but isn’t that what we are doing when we decide it is in someone else’ best interest to fudge a little? or a lot?  And when it comes to the children in my life, like Abby, I want to think carefully about the messages I send and example I set for them.  So I told her the painful truth:  I don’t hate my body. I love my body, but I am embarrassed by what poor care I have taken of it.  Abby could handle it.

The other night, I was talking with Sue Stork, and repeating a story.  She was surprised by something I recounted saying to another friend, and said, “Good for you for being honest.  But really, this whole journey you’ve been on has been about being honest — especially with yourself, but also with others.  This part of your life could be titled: Extreme Makeover: Honesty Edition”.  Those who lived with me throughout my childhood would agree that I am an unlikely ambassador for truthfulness (they know I can tell some whoppers).  However, like a zealous convert, I urge everyone to make the committment to be more honest in daily life.  It is an important way to communicate your love, honor and respect for the people in your life.