Confessions, ramblings and the truth as never before

At times I believed I began this blog as a way to document my life in a medium other than the mad ranting of hand-scribbled journal entries. When I look at it now, as I've looked at it every day for the past month, I feel that part of me needed to validate my experience by writing it down, having it agreed with, admired, envied, acknowledged. Part of me needed to apologize for my needs, a habit I've carried since childhood. I don't know anyone else like me. Even Ryan and I differ when it comes to the fulfillment felt on the open road. He's traveled, taken road trips, but these past 6 months have been his biggest mobile adventures...and I, I've been doing this all of my adult life. When I am uncomfortable or unhappy, I pack up and leave. When I feel claustrophobic or categorized, I run. When I reflect on it in its entirety, the fear of being "normal" has ruined friendships and romantic affairs, leaving a path of burning bridges on my horizon. I take responsibility for the selfishness I've displayed that has hurt people. But equally, I refuse to retain the blame for being who I am. It's this very thought that has meandered back and forth through my mind since my last submission. I am always apologizing for the way I feel, for what I need, and always accusing everyone of not understanding. It's true, they don't understand. But likewise, I will never grasp their definitions of safety and security. The only intersection of these concepts that I can fathom is that in a world that's always changing, people desire guarantees. For as reckless as I can be, have been, I too am sickened by uncertainty, nauseated by moments that test my patience and strength. My knees buckle and my heart palpitates when I feel I'm about to be abandoned and instead of allowing someone to hurt me, I cut them loose first.
I tried to do that to Ryan last night. Nearly two months ago when he called me from Chicago he asked me to be his rock while he regained his footing and worked through redefining all he's ever known about himself. I opened my heart, home and wallet to him without expectation of anything greater than gratitude. These past 6 weeks of living together have been challenging like never before. We are in opposite places than we were in Kansas City. I am thriving, exhilarated, happier than I have ever been, social and enjoying myself. He is home bound, struggling, in despair. I thought offering all of this security would make him happy and healthy again, but it hasn't. It's cushioned the blow of an uncertain world but the moment I feel unappreciated, instead of communicating my boundaries, I lash out and remind him of "all of the things I've done for him." This is my confession as to how ashamed I am at holding that playing card over his head as the only the way to keep him in a place that makes me feel comfortably in control. Ryan is an uncertain person, with no distinct boundaries, no rules, no game plan. Nearly every action is performed on impulse and I am in a place in my life where I seek guarantee like never before. It is from this cocoon of safety and security that I lash out at him, trying to push away his questioning of the world, his randomness, his fears. I want nothing to do with surprise anymore. I want to rest my head on a soft pillow by midnight every night. I want to have a routine, familiar places, comfortable surroundings. I'm not angry anymore. The past no longer exists anywhere but a box in the top of my closet. I moved here because I knew the fearlessness it took to drive across the country would be rewarded with steady ground. I abandoned what I thought I knew about myself and others, and allowed the world to reveal the truth to my previously scaled eyes. I was wrong about so many things as I was wrong last night with Ryan. The people in my life deserve me in my entirety. My friendship is boundless, my heart and capacity is love is endless. But what has changed is that I am not willing to be who I was in Kansas, and I realized that as I was saying hideous insults to Ryan. I felt like he was asking too much, even in the smallest request, because I feel like I've given my fair share to the world and now the rest is mine to retain.
Resolution came 18 hours later, after deep consideration as to what it is that strikes fear into my heart. Some of it was simply situational. Some of it was irrational. But the lesson learned is that I don't have to care to what other people think, but I do have to be compassionate and understanding, so long as the request to do so doesn't break me in two. I don't have to give any more than I'm willing to, but I can give as much as I'm able. It's acceptable to stop trying to save the world before you're making a noose out of the end of your rope. I can't save the world. I can't love someone out of their pain. I can't erase the past or predict the future. I can only know my limits, my boundaries, myself, and respect those in others. I also can't give what I don't have. The action of giving should be selfless, not expectant, much like all facets of love and friendship. I am guilty again of having expectations of myself that extend outward to other people without their knowledge or consent. Ryan didn't ask me to save his life or to bail him out of any situation. He simply asked me to put away art supplies and I threw 6 weeks of tension, stress, disdain and anger in his face. Knowing now that all of these emotions are rooted in the helplessness that is an unavoidable reality of not being God, I want to say I'm sorry, out loud, in person, to everyone I've hurt. I accept my blame and in doing so, I retire expectations of you. But while Ryan and I have discussed and mended the stupidity of the ruthless battle, many of us won't have that conversation. If you're no longer in life in any or all capacities, it's because I don't want you to be. I maintain the right to have my opinions and prejudices, to stop apologizing for the way I feel and who I am. And in order to stop apologizing, I must minimize the world and eliminate those who have hurt me, purposefully or otherwise. I'd rather be alone, but the curious experience is that I am not. Those who truly love me have never walked away, even when the words were like daggers to the eyes and the truth was crippling. Those who really love me have never said anything about me that they wouldn't dare say to my face because when you love and respect another person's humanity, it becomes nearly impossible to show them anything but respect for being the magnificently imperfect, insecure human being that they are.
This next chapter of blogs will address who I have become in the silence. The writer, the photographer, the artist, the (future) bookstore owner still exists, but the woman who accepts disrespect, excuses maliciousness, apologizes for the bad behavior of others no longer exists. The meek, mild, terrified of rejection Jen died a few short weeks into this California relocation. I am no longer willing to participate in the lives of unhappy people. I am stronger, better, and more deserving than that. And so are they, but the only way to achieve such a feat is to acquire for yourself. There are no more excuses. No more lies. No more holding back. There's so much I haven't said for fear of offending, for fear of reaction. Fear. I don't fear anyone or anything anymore. The truth shall set me free because the hate in my heart, fueled by the disregard of the people in my past, is no longer allowed to consume me. There's a reason I walk out the front door to my dreams every morning and you're either a part of it or you're not.
Ryan is a part of it because he is suppose to be. He is my best friend. The only man I've ever loved that wasn't related to me. He is everything I ever wanted to be and everything I'm scared of. Knowing that as I do, I'm capable of accepting my mistakes, apologizing for my actions and in the end, still retaining my best friend. Because when you love someone, you don't walk away. You live, you learn, you apologize, you move forward.
Soon you will hear, unabashedly, about the terrible accident that has left a significant scar on my face, my wanderings and introductions to the city, to new and fascinating people. You'll hear about the woman I met coincidentally in October who may very well be the romantic love I've always been searching for. You're welcome to stay, or delete my blog, my Facebook, my phone number, my existence from your memory. It makes no difference to me any longer other than for me to acknowledge that I am no longer a woman scorned. I am free. More free than I've ever been and it's because I accept my blame, forgive the past, shed the secrets and guilt of all those who came before California and left their luggage on my doorstep. It's taken nearly 4 months...26 years and 4 months to be able to say that I believe everything and everyone happened for a reason, but I'm not willing to hold onto the past any longer.
This is my fresh start and if my happiness offends you, or if you, for even the slightest moment, find yourself confused as to why I'm not in the your life anymore, consider the apology I've never received, the understanding and grace you never extended. It's only acceptable now because I don't want it, I don't need it. It's over, it's done with, and will only be revisited as I shape the novel guaranteed to win a Pulitzer prize.
It may sound pompous to you, but there's nothing I can't accomplish when I try and what I choose to stop trying to do is save people from themselves, which in turn leaves me anxious, degraded, defeated, diminished.
Ryan, I've told you before and I'll tell you again- if you could see yourself as I do, you would be fearless and drunk with ambition. You will conquer the world with your talents, skills, and perspectives. You will find your place in life and love and in the meantime, I'll try to shut my mouth when the only words exiting are petty and self-involved. My humanity will prevent this effort from being perfect, but I know love and the Universe will see us through times much harder than this.
To my past and present friends and family, my lover, my encouraging audience, anyone who thinks of me with sincerity and peace in their heart- thank you. I am humbled by being granted a place in your life.
To everyone else, go fuck yourself.
There's no more room in my life for apologies or explanations. I'm not sorry for being who I am anymore. I am destined for greatness and you're either with me or you're not.

February got away from me

"Welcome to the revolution," he said with his wiry ginger beard twisting like storefront bamboo shoots. The overhead track shuffled from Miley Cyrus to Justin Beiber. I've waited my entire life to hear those words and unfortunately they were delivered to me at the Apple Store as I purchased my iPad.
California, however, is revolutionary in its entirety so there is truly little to complain about.



Since Ryan's arrival, "real life" has set in dramatically. The every day grind of work, the pressure of keeping a start-up business alive, attempting to push it beyond the plateau of survival and into the realm of profit is exhausting. I enrolled in another semester of college solely for the scholarship and loan refunds to cushion the blow of moving across the country, a decision I regret nightly (college, not moving). This semester will be my least successful and also my last. There's nothing left for me to learn at the collegiate level and so, though I've said it before, this will be my last attempt at a B.A. for a while. The business demands and deserves too much of my attention right now to attempt to put my efforts into anything else. Those efforts are showing though. Every day I inch my way closer to owning a bookstore, a place with mahogany shelves, curious minds and giggling children. A place where the best parts of my mother will shine through me.



When Johanna was in town, we discovered St. Francis Beach in Half Moon Bay on a densely foggy afternoon. The drive down the coast was disappointing as the cloud cover prevented viewing anything more than 5 feet away. But I did see the Pacific for the first time and it is glorious.
The following weekend Ryan and I escaped the house and traced the coast North for hours, stopping at half a dozen beaches, taking photographs and videos, marveling at the wonder of it all. We stood on cliffs with drops so sharp I felt fearful when heaving rocks into the great abyss. Our safe haven revealed itself at, as usual, the most perfect time. Somewhere between Miramar and Half Moon Bay State Beach, we dipped down the slippery slopes of tide-carved bluffs and nestled into an enclave of bliss. The rocks were textured like worn sandpaper. The wildly blowing wind rushed past this ancient sanctuary of ours. We cast aside our sweaters, opened a bottle of $5 Merlot, threw clementine peels to the seagulls and marveled at the majesty of the universe.







The moment of complete intoxication hit me so feverishly that I ripped off my clothes and jolted toward the ocean. The fearlessness that seized my heart was the same power that navigated the dangerous curves of the Rio Grande and the bone-chilling juts of the Arizona canyons. For a moment, for an hour, for an entire day, I felt nothing but gratitude and love. California possesses this capability if your heart is willing to embrace it. Somewhere, lost in the sun and the cradle of sea-smoothed rocks, I forgot that I hate my size 12 body as much as I hated it at size 26. I forgot that the damage done to my skin and my stomach will prevent me from proudly wearing a bikini. I forgot that I never felt like the other girls so I mocked them to mask the envy of always wanting to be them. For an entire afternoon I was content in my own skin, perfumed by citrus and salt water, sipping tart crushed grapes with my best friend. I was every thing I ever wanted to be that afternoon. I was free, I was happy, I was loved.



Back on the home front, we decorate with meager possessions of books and writing, as it has always been. Somehow when Ryan appears in my life, I cast aside my stringent regime of cleaning out my car and keeping the house in an orderly fashion. I lose track of time and responsibilities. I give up on the trivial efforts and remember to live. That is one of the enchantments I love about him most, the ability to make me forget that I'm trying to be something specific and instead I just live.

The poet and I continue to see one another regularly. It comes as no surprise to me that I am difficult beyond words, but we are equally matched in complications and her laughter, her Einstein and Frida obsessions, her adoration of pant suits and sudden bouts of withdrawing shyness appeal to me. She is a cavern and I am a spelunker.





Last night we got lost in the city, creating our own memories, our own fairy tale. Everything has happened so quickly that I've begun to believe there's no such thing as a timeline for the heart. People stay in relationships for years without feeling the slightest sense of fulfillment and others know the moment they see one another that life hadn't actually begun until they'd met. She and I fall somewhere in between, where the journey and the common sense intermingle. It is in this place that I am most reassured. Today she will help me chose a bike and we will peruse a local nature trail. My whole life I've hated the outdoors. It's a combination of harassing allergies and boredom, but there's something about California that beckons one to be outside. The hideous cold that has ravaged my body for more than a week is finally dissipating, so I will return to Yoga tomorrow morning and soon, very soon, surf lessons in the Pacific, a juicing diet, the finalization of smoking cessation. Tremendous personal challenges are on the horizon, but I am not afraid. Quite the contrary, I feel more alive than I ever knew possible.