Jeneration Why

The Top Ten of Jen - 2011 Style

2011-12-31T07:04:00.000-08:00

Oh, 2011. It's been real. I have to say, you were a pretty normal year. In some regards, I have to say, ho hum. And yet...more and more experiences for which I will be forever grateful. Funny how that works. Lucky me! As is tradition (two solid years running now), in no particular order, here are the Top Ten events of 2011:

1) Started experiencing a new tradition with a friend that I love. (I love both the friend and the tradition.) My friend Alex is a very thoughtful friend. She has frequently reminded me what it really means to be a friend to someone. Alex has two little girls. Adorable little girls who are funny and sassy and sensitive and smart as whips. So Alex decided since she can't go out like she used to, she will do what it takes to maintain her friendships. Almost every single Wednesday night, Alex makes an amazing, delicious, meticulously planned dinner for me and another friend. Wednesday was never my favorite day of the week. Who likes "Hump Day" after all? Well, I do now. Wednesday night dinner has become a highlight of my week, and the cornerstone of a remarkable friendship.

2) Went to sunny San Diego. People make fun of me and my many travels for my job. I can't help it! If being a good steward of the taxpayers means I have to go to San Diego in January, I will do it. I am that committed to the good people of this fine county. But I will say this: opportunities like that generally result in me mixing business with pleasure. So I extended this trip by a few days and had my sister Jess and our friend Matt join me. Enter hilarity, stage left. From the moment our plane landed, everything was funny. Jess kept stopping the car too far in the intersection and had to back up four times in the first 30 minutes on the road. We took tourism advice from a 3rd shift convenience store worker who was missing teeth and I'm pretty sure was a meth abuser and/or hardened criminal. We checked into a hotel where the price was right but the cleanliness was not. We ate at amazing places and spent all kinds of time on the ocean and even saw a whale or two. We cheered the Packers onto the Superbowl in a local Packers bar with waves crashing off in the distance. All told, that portion of my trip cost me something like $130 thanks to Priceline and splitting the bill three ways. Yipee! I love my life. Er, I mean, I love serving the good taxpayers of this county.

3) Reconnected with another Matt. I have some long lost cousins. And this really bums me out, because they are the cousins I grew up with in Iowa. We literally spent every holiday together, and for many years we were together most weekends, too. My dad and their dad were brothers and best friends. But after our parents passed away, our relationship did too. Nobody was mad or fighting, but one month turned into one year turned into fifteen years and wow. What happened? So a while ago, I found one of these said cousins, Matt, on Facebook. Matt was my bud growing up. We are one year apart in age. He is a funny, charismatic free spirit. And this year, as "the rest" of my family was preparing for our annual Cousins Weekend in Spooner, Wisconsin, I suggested to Matt that he should make the trek from Colorado to Wisconsin to surprise the rest of the family. It took some convincing on my part, but we made it a reality. Matt flew to Milwaukee, and then drove 6 hours with us to see the rest of our cousins and the only remaining living sibling of our two dads. When Matt stepped out of that car, our family about freaked. They too had not seen him in 15 years or so. Hugs were shared, tears flowed, and disbelief continued throughout the weekend. It was the best surprise ever. And the memories - oh, the memories. This event more than any other in 2011 truly made my heart happy.

4) Philadelphia, Part One. My BFF Mindy and I planned a trip as we tend to do every other summer. This time we invited her friend Meri along whom I had also gotten to know over the course of the last year. Oh, we did all the usual Philadelphia things. The stupid Liberty Bell. The snoresville Constitution Hall. Ran up the Rocky Steps at the art museum. We ate cheesesteaks and big pretzels and drank local beers to our heart's content. But mostly, we laughed. And laughed some more. And then a little more. One night I laughed so hard....well, I will spare you the rest of that story. During this trip, I did harvest a story about Betsy Ross that has become a "must tell" at any party, happy hour or social gathering that doesn't include any sticks in the mud. Oh, Betsy. If you only knew. Our last night there, I met a cute boy. Actually, he was a man. But sparks flew and numbers were exchanged...and you will just have to keep reading for the rest of the story.

5) Visited my mom and dad's best friends in Iowa. Jess and I took a road trip to Iowa mid-summer. My best friend was holding a wedding reception for her Christmas Eve wedding from the year prior and we were happy to go celebrate with her. While back on our old stomping grounds, however, we revisited some of our favorite places and things. College campuses, pork tenderloins, and a few friends along the way. On our way to the Quad Cities for one last visit, we made a detour and drove through the tiny little town we grew up in. We made an impulse stop at the home of our parents' best friends, Jim and Jan. We rang the doorbell. We held our breath. They answered the door and we jumped up and down and hugged and I even got a little verklempt. We only spent an hour with them, but it was an incredible hour. We all shared updates and brought everyone up to speed, and then they shared some hilarious stories about our parents that made me laugh and feel a little pang in my heart. That hour was so good. It was unexpected and spontaneous and full of love. I was reminded - don't hold back. Take a risk, get off the beaten path, and don't be afraid to step back in time if only for a minute. This was easily one of my favorite moments of the whole year.

6) Put my big girl pants on. My immediate supervisor at work left in August. As the deputy director, I had to step up in a big way and do all of the director duties. It was budget season, then contract time, and I had what felt like an insurmountable amount of work to do with no previous experience and no one to train me. Admittedly, I left in tears a couple of days. But I reached out to my resources, I approached things in my own way, and I got the job done. And I even feel like I got it done really well. While managing the whole department on my own, I have assembled a dream team and am in the process of helping to pick out my new boss. It is an entirely different department, in a matter of four months. It feels goooooood. And I am all in! My prediction: we are going to kick some serious ass in 2012. Watch out!

7) Philadelphia, Part Two. Remember that spark I mentioned from my last day in Philly? After seven weeks of texts, emails and phone calls, said spark came to Milwaukee for a four day weekend visit. We spent copious amounts of hours at the lakefront, went to an antique car show, visited Lambeau field, said a prayer together at Holy Hill, made an amazing dinner for my sister and brother in law, went to the movies, went to the farmer's market, ate custard, took a boat tour of downtown, drank Spotted Cows and had every bit of fun we could squeeze into four days. Sparks continued. Sadness ensued upon departure. And even though life has kind of gotten in the way of more permanent togetherness, I have no regrets. I have been happily reminded of exactly what I want out of a relationship. Best. Weekend. Ever.

8) Got a reminder that I am no spring chicken. This year my Cornell College class of '91 and I celebrated our 20 year reunion. Twenty years! Wherever has the time gone? A whole bunch of us descended back upon that little slice of New England on an Iowa hilltop. Cornell is a special place. My classmates are special people. And I must say, we have aged remarkably well. It was fun to regress for a couple of days and revisit my humble roots.

9) Took an adventure all by myself. More grueling work travels ensued later in the year - this time to San Francisco. I tried to find someone to tag along and couldn't find a taker. So, I decided, I am not missing this opportunity. I am going anyway. I booked a hotel and it was out in the sticks. The first day I panicked. I had no rental car and this was going to be a challenge. I had to put on my thinking cap and rise to the occasion. Even worse - I had to ask for help. I had to master the use of the subway and numerous forms of public transportation to find my way around a new city. By the third day, I could get anywhere in that town. While most of my time was alone, I did reconnect with two college friends I hadn't seen since 1991 and a former co-worker whom I adore and hadn't seen since the mid-90s. I spent time exploring and reflecting and falling in love with a new city. Traveling alone is not my first choice, but I won't ever shy away from it in the future. I left the bay area with a new confidence and sense of resolve.

10) Lost a friend, suddenly. One of my favorite co-workers passed away rather suddenly at the end of this year. He was a whopping 48 years old, and pancreatic cancer got the best of him. Oh my gosh, it was so sad. He was a great guy. Funny, charming, smart, driven, and really good looking to boot. He had a family he adored. He did work that mattered, a whole lot. And he left this world much too soon. The funeral was exhausting. At one point I stopped trying to dry my tears and just let them roll down my cheeks and drip right onto my sweater. As is always the case when at a funeral, I got an important reminder: Live, Jennifer. And trust me, that is just what I am gonna do. Bring it, 2012. I am ready for you!

Peanuts

2011-10-02T07:47:00.000-07:00

I met my first soulmate when I was four.

The preceding 18 months had taken a toll on my family. My dad had been diagnosed with kidney failure, and in a matter of days my mom had packed up our life and moved us to Iowa. It was a chaotic time, a time of uncertainty and fear and disbelief. It's hard to self-actualize and find your inner peace when everything that matters is at stake. Suffice it to say, we didn't.

And so, after Dad's health stabilized thanks to the wonders of modern medicine, my parents decided it was time our life got stabilized too. When we lived in New Mexico, my dad had two horses and this has evoked a passion in him he didn't previously know existed. With their dreams of more horses in tow, they searched for some land in the country and decided on a 20 acre lot just outside of Lowden, Iowa. (For those of you who don't know, Lowden is a thriving metropolis of about 700 people, with zero stoplights and a cop that is shared with the next town over. Kid you not.)

Shortly after we moved, my parents realized that young Jenny was going to need a playmate or she may well drive them nuts. I am told - and I can hardly believe this to be true - that I was quite a talker in my early days. My dad always told the story that one day, out of sheer exhaustion from the sound of my voice, he suggested I go outside and talk to the bush in the front yard. I did.

So one day, my mom woke me up and told me that this day was going to be a very special day. I couldn't imagine what was in store, but in no time we headed up the road a ways to the home of our neighbor Annabelle. Something was a little off about Annabelle. She was dirty and disheveled and had really bad teeth. Rumor had it when her son came to visit, he had to sleep in the bathtub. So I can assure you, this day that we went to visit Annabelle would be our first and last visit to her home.

Rumors aside, what happened that day at Annabelle's rickety old house changed my life. Annabelle was a talker (well, so I was I - but talking to a bush had more appeal than talking to Annabelle) and so it took seemingly forever to realize why we were there. We eventually went out back to the barn, and situated there was a momma dog and 6 furry little puppies - German Shepherd/Collie mixes. My mom told me I could pick which ever one I wanted. I looked at her in disblief, then surveyed the landscape. They were all cute in their own way, but there was one who was so fat and roly-poly she could hardly stand up. She was a fluffy fluffball of pure fluffy goodness. I picked her, or maybe she picked me, and in no time I had selected her name: Peanuts.

Peanuts was my first soulmate. On that farm, she was my best friend and my most reliable source of companionship and entertainment. She was an "outside" dog, because that's what people on farms have. So every morning in the summer, as soon as I would get up I would bound outside, screen door slamming behind me, to find my pal who was always patiently awaiting my arrival. We would roam the acreage and get into all kinds of mischief together. In the fall, when I had to return to school, Peanuts would come running to the end of the lane to greet me when she heard the school bus pull up to drop me off at the end of the day. In the winter, I hated her "outside" status and would go make beds of hay and blankets to keep her warm. And in the spring, the best season of all on that farm, Peanuts and I would make the rounds together to check on all the new baby animals that had arrived on the scene.

I say that Peanuts was my first soulmate because she was all the things you would want from one. She was loyal beyond belief and fiercely protective. (For some reasons she really hated one of our neighbors and would snarl and growl at him and only him. I still wonder what she saw in that man that I never did.) She loved me in a way that I had never been loved: unconditionally. Ever present, she was there when I needed her most, relishing the good times and comforting me during the bad. She was sweet and gentle and affectionate, but not overbearingly so. But most of all, she shared my joy. There was literally no one else on the face of the earth that she would rather see than me. You could see it in her innocent brown eyes, and her tail, and I swear to you she could smile. She was the best.

Here is what I know for sure: soulmates are far and few between, but they come in a lot of forms. You never know when one will just pop up in your life. And rest assured, you don't need to be on the lookout for a soulmate, you just need to be ready for them when they arrive.

Have Fun, Will Travel

2011-02-26T20:32:00.000-08:00

When you lose a parent (or two) at an early age, it either teaches you to be bitter and resentful, or else it teaches you to savor every precious moment of life. Lucky for me, I chose the latter. It also made me want to experience everything I could, as quickly as I could, in case I end up having the same fate as dear old Mom and Pop. The resulting fire in my belly for the last few years has been to travel. Traveling has opened up my life and my world. Guess what!? There is more to this world than Brown Deer, Wisconsin. Who knew? Here are a few things my traveling adventures have taught me:

Every city has something to offer. I work in social services, for crying out loud, so I'm not afforded the vacation time nor the resources to hang out on a yacht in the French Riviera or jet set to the Galapagos Islands. And you know, it really doesn't matter. I have been to Europe a couple of times, and it was all well and good, but I have had just as much fun spending a three or four day weekend in cities that are hardly known for their tourism industry. Cities like St. Louis and Cedar Rapids. 'Tis true. Every city has something they are proud of that you should check out, at least one or two great restaurants, and people who are worth getting to know. Just get in your car and go.

Patience is a virtue. My mom used to say this to me all the time as a kid, and it aggravated me to no end every time she said it. Now that I have grown and matured (at least somewhat), I have to agree with her, but I would amend it. Patience is a virtue, especially when you are at the ticket counter. In travel and in life, things don't always go your way. You can choose to be upset, or you can choose to roll with it. Being upset won't make the fog go away and alleviate the 13 hour flight delay you experience in Juneau, Alaska. (Yes, that really happened to me.) But choosing to roll with it will mean that, while enduring said 13 hour flight delay, you will find the long-awaited perfect cup of clam chowder in the Juneau, Alasksa airport. Even when things are all f'd up, life can be good. Never lose sight of that.

In life and in travel, picking the right partner matters. A lot. I have had to get to know myself well enough to be able to pick the right partner(s) for travel. (I am still working on picking the right partner for life.) I have friends I adore who do not make good travel partners for me, for one reason or another. I need someone who will do some (but not all) of the planning, who will be spontaneous and inspire me to be so as well, and who will not complain if I want to take a short late afternoon nap before going out for the night. I know these things. I can't compromise these things if I want to have a great travel experience. And I will not settle for less.

Sometimes you just want to get your Pizza Hut on. So I totally believe in checking out the local cuisine, and in asking the locals where they like to go, and in living life as art by trying new things. I get it. That's the gold standard. But sometimes, travel can wear you down and you just want the familiar. I will never regret the meal I had at Pizza Hut in San Jose, Costa Rica. It was exactly what my bestie and I needed, exactly at that time. I was going to hurl if I saw another plate of Arroz con Pollo. I was tired. I was hungover. I had been behaving badly. And Pizza Hut purported to cure all that ailed me. You know what? It did. No regrets. I slept like a baby that night.

Don't waste your money on the hotel. Unless you are on your honeymoon, or you are independently wealthy, an upscale hotel is just not worth it. My sister has taught me the joys of Priceline. It's like buying the "mystery bag" gift--you never know what you are going to get. We have gotten fantastic hotels for $50 a night, and not-so-fantastic hotels for $50 a night. The point is, it doesn't matter. As long as it is clean, the bed doesn't hurt your back, and no one gets shot in the parking lot, it's all good. Traveling is about seeing. You have a beautiful, comfortable home to return to. So save your pennies for the whale watching tour or the amazing dinner or the carriage ride through Central Park that you might not have had if you had stayed at the Westin. Those are the memories that will last you a lifetime.

Sensible shoes are more important than looking good. I learned this painful lesson--and I do mean painful--in Washington, D.C. The first day there I had on a cute little dress and sandals. Sandals that ripped my feet to a bloody, disgusting, painful pulp. I spent a good portion of the rest of my vacation bandaging my feet, complaining about my feet, and wincing everytime I stepped on my feet. Stupid, stupid, stupid. D.C. is a walking town. My feet were so bad by the time the trip was done that my friend and I took a picture of them. Lesson learned. It is better to feel good than to look good. At least when you are traveling, that is. You can look good when you get home.

Sex in a foreign country doesn't count. Well that is what someone told me once, anyway. Enough said.

Don't kiss the Blarney Stone. Sometimes you want to see that thing that everybody else has seen. But other times, it's just not worth it. My trip to Ireland was one of the best trips of my life. I did a lot of things, but I did not kiss the Blarney Stone. And I don't care. I walked through a cemetery that had gravestones from 3 A.D. I had fish and chips at the quaintest little pub on the coast in Northern Ireland. I drank beers, a whole lot of 'em, with drunken Irish soccer players who were missing most of their teeth. I fed a flock of sheep some grass through the fence, and laughed so hard I almost wet my pants. So Blarney Stone be damned, I experienced Ireland the way I needed to experience it, and I loved every minute of it. Make your vacation uniquely yours.

Do visit Iowa's Largest Frying Pan. So in Brandon, Iowa there is what is allegedly Iowa's largest frying pan. I say allegedly, because how does this sort of thing really get authenticated? It is kind of dumb, and pointless, and really only a photo op and nothing more. But it is damned funny to see. Stopping for the silly is always worth it. And if you don't know where to find the silly, you can always visit http://www.roadsideamerica.com/.

Pretty much anything can be funny if you look at it through the right lens. If you are in the right mindset, that is. Regular Jen is a pretty fun gal, if I do say so myself. But Vacation Jen is extra fun. She delights in the little and the absurd. How else would I laugh hysterically at noting that our San Diego hotel elevator had a different font for each of the numbered buttons, at the fact that my friend Katie got stains all over her ass while sitting on the carpet of the divey bar we were at in Louisville, at my own monitoring of a ketchup bottle's fate in Memphis, or at the 3 a.m. fire alarm I endured with my friend Colleen in Sarasota? I know, you are reading this and thinking "that's not funny at all" but I assure you it was. So funny, that in each instance I laughed so hard I could not breathe or contain myself for long periods of time. Love, love, love, love, love that part of travel. Lose yourself in those moments. They are rare and awesome and what life is all about.

There's no place like home. People always talk about taking a vacation to relax. That's all well and good, but I find that a good vacation exhausts me. It exhilarates me too, but the hallmark of a great week of travel is that I am physically and mentally spent. Like when I came home from New Orleans and had not slept for the past 36 hours. That was good stuff. And while the trip home is never as much fun as the trip there, getting home is always a blessing in and of itself. Oh, the bliss of being back with my stuff, my cats, my bed, my shower. It is always good to leave, and it is always good to come back. Maybe that is why I love to travel so much...it gives me just the right amount of perspective that I need and helps me avoid taking for granted that amazing life I have right in front of me.

So all of that being said....get out the map, kids...I think it's time to plan our next adventure. Where shall we go? And more importantly, what shall we learn along the way?

Top Ten of Jen

2011-01-01T11:22:00.001-08:00

The year's end is always filled with a host of Top Ten Lists. Top Ten Movies. Top Ten Vacations You Must Take Before You Die. Top Ten Bad Reality Shows You Really Need to Watch. Top Ten Celebrity Mugshots. So my Top Ten list is a day late...but it's still worthy of review.

The Year 2010 has been fun to reflect upon. That is not to say that the whole year was fun. It wasn't. Like any year, it had its ups and downs. But mostly ups, and in no particular order, here are the ten things I remember and cherish most about this past year:

1) Moved on. Almost two years ago now, I had a professional dream dashed. I had "grown up" at a non-profit agency that I treated like my baby. I loved that place. I nurtured it. I worked my ass off for it. I made it my own. I believed with all my heart that one day, and for many days to follow, I would lead that agency. But then something happened. Our Board of Directors made a decision to merge with another company. I went with it at first, but the fit just wasn't right. Without assigning blame, I will simply say that I lost my bearing. Not only did I leave in 2009, I left with a broken heart. And it took me a really long time to get over it, because things didn't work out as I had planned. But you know what? I did get over it. I have a totally kick ass job, that is the same in some ways but also really different, and I have learned a gazillion new things that I never would have learned at the old job. I am grateful. Finally.

2) Spent a day honoring Honest Abe. That's right--Abe Lincoln. My sister Jess is a huge fan. She dreams of stovepipe hats and log cabins. So this year, Jess and I took the day off on Abe's birthday and celebrated it right. We drove to the Land of Lincoln and engaged in some good old fashioned consumerism at Ikea. We carried around an Abe Lincoln figurine with us everywhere and laughed about it. We ate at Steak n' Shake--no relevance to Abe but we just like it. Then we went to the Admirals game, where we got Abe Lincoln bobbleheads and did fist bumps with someone dressed up as Abe Lincoln. It was a really fun day. It was ordinary stuff with a twist. And it is those ordinary days with a twist that are really what life is all about. I have the best sister in the world, and I want everyone to know it.

3) Got into teaching. So this actually started in late 2009, but I furthered my teaching gig in 2010. This just in--teaching is hard! It takes a lot of preparation and a whole lot of energy to pull it off well. But I absolutely love it. It has helped me fulfill a promise I made when I got my own graduate degree to help inspire more young people to see the joy and importance of working in the mental health field. I don't think I'll ever stop. That's how much I like it.

4) Went to the National Archives in Washington, D.C. So I was there on business, but what good is a business trip without a little fun too? I wasn't prepared for how emotional the National Archives would make me. The Declaration of Independence. The Constitution. The Emancipation Proclamation. All right there for us to see. All that history. All that love, and sacrifice, and hard work. I am so lucky to live in this country, flawed though it may be. I was reminded, and happily so.

5) Saw a friend fall from grace. My very long-time friend and mentor recruited me to come work for Milwaukee County in 2009. Then, during a highly political year, the winds changed suddenly and he made a difficult decision to step down from his job in August of this year. In short, it sucked. I mean like it really, really, really sucked. A lot. I stood by this friend and did my best to walk with him through the valley. I never stopped believing in him and I never will. And as a true homage to him and his brilliance, I picked up the pieces, waded through the rubble and regained my focus at work. His legacy will live on for a very long time, and I will make sure of it.

6) Saw another friend arrive where she belongs. Not everybody has a friendship that has endured their whole lifetime, but I do. OK, so I didn't meet Mindy until I was 5. But in all fairness, I don't remember a whole lot about my first five years. (Dropped a rock on my toe, had my bicycle stolen, got a puppy. Yep, that's about all I remember.) I met Mindy in kindergarten and we went to school together all the way up through college. We weren't best friends all those years, but we have been for many of them and the history speaks for itself. We have seen each other through a lot, and laughed at the absurdity of it all every step of the way. We have made a lot of bad decisions (bad decisions are my favorite!) and sometimes we made them together. On Christmas Eve, I got to see Mindy marry a fantastic guy who loves her and her boys in all the ways they deserve. It's awesome, and it warms the cockles of my heart. (Yes, I said cockles).

6) Fell for somebody. Though not widely publicized, I fell for somebody this year. It's not widely publicized, because the other half of the equation didn't exactly fall back. But you know what? No regrets. I put myself out there, I took a risk, I gained a friend and I learned a lot about myself. Mostly this: There is still love in this steely old heart of mine, and someday I will find it. And when I do, well, they may just be the luckiest person in the world. Here's to not looking, but finding it anyway.

7) Took a road trip to St. Louis. Admittedly, I slept a good portion of the way there. But my travel partner Steve packed us some fantastic snacks and let me pick the radio station part of the time. We connected with two of my college friends and went to see the Brewers (lose) at Busch Stadium. We laughed ourselves silly. We got in a stupid little spat. We ate too much. We slept too little. And we wouldn't change any of it. Road trips are the best.

8) Found some old friends. People can say what they want about Facebook, but I have had some amazingly positive experiences because of it. In May, I spent a night out with two very long-lost friends. One was from college and I had not seen him since 1988. The other I met right after college and I had not seen him since 1992. Both met me out for a night of cocktails and bad bar food in Minneapolis. It was quite a walk down memory lane, and I loved it. Thanks, Facebook! You're the best. Forget about all the haters.

9) Returned to the birthplace of Jen Wittwer. Little known fact: I was born in New Mexico. So when I had a chance to take a business trip to Albuquerque, I did not hesitate. New Mexico is amazing. I hadn't been back since I was 13. It really is the Land of Enchantment--they're not just making that up. At the end of my conference, my friend Colleen met up with me for a long weekend. We went swimming in the middle of a thunderstorm (Colleen's famous quote: "One more bolt of lightning, and then we'll head inside!"), taunted the unsuspecting doppelganger of my ex-husband, saw the mass ascension of hot air balloons, drove to Santa Fe in true Thelma and Louise style and met the most handsome, charismatic and perfect artist ever, and laughed until we could not breathe while singing to Andy Gibb and eating sopapillas. My cheeks hurt for days upon my return from all the laughter. This trip was credited with my funniest moment of 2010--no small feat.

10) Made a whole bunch of new friends. I have had years that were devoid of meeting anyone new or really all that interesting, but 2010 was not one of those years. I have made some amazing new friends. People who are interesting, thoughtful, bright, clever, energetic and full of chutzpah. People who are willing to challenge me and inspire me to be better. People who are just downright funny. My life is richer on the other side of 2010, and that's just cool.

So thanks, 2010....it's been real. And here's to hoping that my list in 2011 will be equally grand. I can't wait to see what you have in store.

Princess Buttercup

2010-07-06T17:39:00.000-07:00

The emails had gone back and forth for some time, and my college pal Angela and I eventually confirmed our long-awaited plans. A road trip to St. Louis was in order, and a chance to see the Brewers play the Cardinals at Busch stadium over the 4th of July weekend would soon be mine. Somewhere along the way in the chain of emails, Ang made note: "Don't forget, the 4th of July is Princess Buttercup's first birthday, and we will need to celebrate." Nevermind that the 4th of July was also my travel partner's birthday, or America's birthday, for that matter--this day was going to be dedicated to a furry little friend that I in no time had dubbed "P.B."

Princess Buttercup is a special little kitty...heavy on the special. To be honest, she has a face that only a mother could love, and a forehead the size of a frying pan. She came home with Ang after one night of many spent volunteering at the animal shelter, with strong cautions that she probably had hydrocephalus and probably wouldn't make it. Turns out, they were probably wrong. Princess Buttercup may not be the sharpest tool in the shed, but a year later she is thriving. She chases the tails of her other feline friends (noted by Ang to be "approximately a million years old"), gladly snuggles up on the couch with a willing partner whenever the opportunity presents itself, and looks up at you with her alien-like, watery but ever so sweet eyes. She is a keeper.

She's a keeper because Ang decided she was. And really, that's all it takes. One living being to look at another living being and proclaim, "You are mine. I will take care of you." All too often in life we get bogged down with all the stuff--the errands, the chores, the work, the over-commitments and obligations we eventually come to resent. In reality, if we just slowed down for a minute and took note, we could all find our own Princess Buttercup. Maybe it's our elderly neighbor or a co-worker or a kid who needs a mentor. Whoever it is, just imagine what a little time, attention and love from you could bring. In my estimation, that's how we change the world. We don't need to donate a million dollars or feed an entire starving country to make a difference. All it takes to make the world a better place is to pick one living creature and decide to treat them like they are somebody really important. I'm going to be on the lookout for my Princess Buttercup, starting now. Care to join me?

Billy Joe

2010-06-20T18:26:00.001-07:00

In short, he was the coolest cat I ever met, and while most of his family called him "Billy Joe," I was lucky enough to call him Dad. There are so many things I admire about him, that I am not sure I can put them all to paper. He was funny and patient and tolerant of the most trying of circumstances--far beyond anyone's comprehension.

Born on October 1, 1941 to Harold and Kathryn Swearingen, Billy Joe was the baby of his family. (One of his all-time favorite jokes: "They named me Bill because I came on the first of the month.") There is something about being the baby of the family that lends to a special brand of charm, and he had oodles of it. He just had an easy way about him, and was always the life of the party. Need a spot-on impression of one of the locals in our small Iowa town? Bill was your man. Want to feel better about your own circumstances, compliments of some serious self-deprecation? There he was again. ("How tall are you?" someone once asked. "Depends," said Dad, "if I am on my good leg or my bad leg. I am either 5'10 or 6'0.") His life was tragic, and charmed, and as far as I can tell, truly one-of-a-kind.

In 1971 just months before his 30th birthday, my dad was diagnosed with kidney failure and was given two weeks to live. But here's where I developed a sense that there indeed is a plan out there greater than ourselves: Bill's brother Alan was completing his medical residency at the University of Iowa hospitals who just happened to be some of the pioneers in the field of nephrology. So in a race against the clock, my family packed up and moved from New Mexico to Iowa so that Dad could get what was then state of the art treatment.

From there, and for many years to follow, my dad and our family experienced a whole lot of medical ups and downs. I look back, and I realize that all of my formative years were shrouded with worry of losing this most remarkable man. But here comes lesson number two, compliments of Dad: All the worrying in the world doesn't change a thing. And, in fact, it just might make things worse. He showed us.

Dad went through a couple transplants that didn't last long, but he spent most of the rest of his life on dialysis. Twenty-five years, to be exact, which put him in something like the top one thousandth of one percentile of life expectancy of people on dialysis. He had a point to prove.

If his onslaught of medical problems wore on his nerves, he surely never showed it. Every night for many years, we played Nerf basketball in the kitchen while Mom cooked dinner--sometimes to her chagrin and more often to her delight. Every night sometime after dinner, Dad would grab the guitar and sing his silly made-up songs. He thought and planned and dreamed about ways he could improve our little hobby farm for the quarter horses he so passionately raised on it. Maybe it was because he had the keen sense that life is short, but Dad really knew how to live.

When Dad's body finally gave out on him fourteen years ago, clearly long before his will dared to do so, my sister and I were there with him. I have always felt it was a privilege to share this most amazing moment with him as he danced on the delicate line from one world to the other. And though he had been in a coma-like state for two days prior, he awoke on his last day and was as lively and as funny as I could ever remember him being. And you know what he said? He said the most astounding thing, considering that he was in the last hours of his life. He looked us in the eye and said, "I am not going to lose levity today." There came lesson number three out of a gazillion that I got from him. I thought it every day he was alive, and I have thought it every day since: I am lucky to have known this man.

Life has all kinds of twists and turns. Nobody is guaranteed anything, and if you think you are then I say you're a fool. Just ask Billy Joe: Our charge, if we can, is to live. Not just to breathe, but to live. Find your passion, surround yourself with quality people, seize every opportunity to try something new, make a new friend or for God's sake, laugh.

Happy Father's Day, my sweet dad. Thanks for shaping me and above all else, for letting me live in your light. Wherever you are, I will meet you again someday, and when I get there I know one thing that I can count on for sure: We won't lose our levity.

Pieces of Paper

2010-05-09T18:15:00.000-07:00

Pieces of Paper

It is human nature, or perhaps Jen nature, to think that we are fully in charge of our lives. We plan, we coordinate, we study, we work, we network...all because we know exactly where we are headed and precisely how we are going to get there. And yet, if you really stop to look at the path of our own lives, how often does it really go as planned? Not so often, would be my guess.

I recently had the opportunity to make a new friend, a friendship that as it turns out may be the shortest I have ever experienced. I was out of town on business and, because of my own social inadequacies, sat at the bar for dinner as opposed to getting a table for myself. Because really, let's be honest, if you sit at the bar alone you look like much less of a loser than if you sit at a table alone. Really. Everyone knows that. Duh.

Anyway, the gentleman next to me at the bar, clearly embracing this same "cooler at the bar" mentality, struck up a conversation with me. Over the course of the evening we played a 3 hour verbal game of "I'll Show You Mine If You Show Me Yours." We cautiously, then bravely, then joyfully swapped stories of jobs, families, moms, irritations, passions, falling in love, falling out of love, hopes, dreams and the beauty of a clean slate pursuit. Okay, so maybe it sounds like the beginning of a tawdry novel inclusive of a steamy love affair, or perhaps more astutely as my friend Kim would say "a great way to end up in a Hefty bag on the side of the road." But I assure you, it was innocent, and wholesome, and heartwarming, and a great reminder of the connectedness we can have as human beings if we are just willing, even if only for a moment, to step outside of our comfort zone.

And in talking to this guy--a guy I never knew before and may never know again--I learned something. From him, I learned that a little piece of paper can change your life. Now, I suppose we all can come up with pieces of paper that changed our lives. Divorce papers, sitting on my car seat one dismal April morning six years ago, certainly come to mind. But really, our lives are so inundated with information and papers and posters and flyers and post-it notes and memos and reports, who really pays attention to every piece of paper that crosses their path? But this guy did, and it has changed the the trajectory of his life forever.

As a teacher, my new-found friend noticed that someone had posted a flyer on a door in his school that simply read, "Teach in China." And you know what? He did. For three summers he went to China to teach for the summer, and he said that even though he had been to 45 countries previously, the moment he stepped off the plane in China he felt like he fit in--he knew that he was home. So, after some soul-searching and consulting and worrying and planning and hoping and selling his stuff and breaking the news to his grown children, he decided to spend the rest of his life teaching in China. Boom. Just like that. Picking up, moving on, starting over, building anew. A new chapter, a new adventure, a complete revision of his life story....all because of a flyer that most everyone else would have ignored or maybe used to swat a fly.

I spent the evening enchanted by his courage and wondering if I could ever do the same. Probably not, I surmised, and then when he told me that in previous trips he had eaten things like chicken intestines ("probably not cleaned" mind you) and duck heads, I was certain the answer was no. Nevertheless, I was reminded of the importance of having an openness and an awareness of everything in our lives. A piece of paper--a meaningless, mindlessly placed, graphically lacking, stupid flyer, on white paper and probably typed in Comic Sans or some equally offensive font--can change your life forever. If you let it, that is. Will you?

Dear Mom

2010-05-08T20:39:00.000-07:00

In honor of Mother's Day, I am sharing a letter I wrote to my mom for Mother's Day four years ago. Happy Mother's Day to all of you who have the hardest job on the planet.

Dear Mom,

This weekend marks the 20th year that I have endured a motherless Mother's Day. Twenty years is a long time --more than half my life--and a lot has changed since I last saw you and you assured me that everything was going to be all right. I think there are some things you should hear from me.

First of all, I want to say you picked a really shitty time to leave me. Granted, you didn't have a lot of say in the matter, and I know it's not how you expected things to turn out either. But the time you left this earth was shitty because I was in the midst of what was perhaps my most imperfect state. Sixteen, and had it all figured out. Sixteen, and full hormones and stupidity and false confidence. Sixteen, and angry that you had the audacity to criticize my foolish ways. Sixteen, and unable to see that I was turning out to be you.

But I have turned out to be you, in the strangest and most unexpected way, and I think you would either be immensely proud or completely annoyed. I have your wicked and sometimes bizarre sense of humor. I have your thick, stubborn head (unfortunately topped with Dad's fine, lifeless hair). I have your big brain filled with big ideas. I am sometimes misunderstood just as you often were. Like you, I believe in all things just and right, and like you I am painfully aware that life rarely offers hearty helpings of either.

I know there are a lot of things about my life that would make you proud. I've made a life for myself that is filled with laughter and selectively chosen loyal friends. I have been called and have risen to a life's work that is more meaningful than almost any other I can imagine, and have made an immense difference in my corner of the world. I am responsible in ways you would have never thought possible. Really and truly, I am.

And one of my proudest accomplishments, one that I know would warm that sometimes steely heart of yours, is that your baby--my baby sister--has become one of my most trusted, cherished and sacred friends in life. The same baby sister I loved the first day she was born, and by the second day figured out she shamelessly stole my spotlight. The same baby sister who I resented for choosing the same cereal as me every morning, and the same baby sister who was the inspiration for the limited-time, one-act melodrama, "Stop Playing With My Makeup You Fucking Little Brat!" The same baby sister I couldn't comfortably relate to until I could safely assume she'd had her first beer. The same baby sister I look at now and think, "Damn, how did she get here from there?"

You have every right to look me in the eye and confidently state, "I told you so."

Even if your sudden departure wasn't expected, it turns out the cosmos were right. Right in the wrong sort of way, right in the way that makes you say, "What the fuck?" and then strap on your cajones and confidently trudge forward to unknowing greener pastures. Right in that, I was afforded the lesson early on that I have the capacity to rise above even the most miserable of circumstances triumphantly. I've carried that lesson with me everywhere, and have used it over, and over, and over again.

The truth is, Mom, you may have left the party too early, but before leaving you left many gifts behind. Trust that each gift has been accepted and used in the spirit with which it was intended. And know that even though your stay at the party was too short, it was really great that you were able to show up at all.

Love,

Jen

Grandma Swearingen

2010-02-21T18:15:00.000-08:00

I believe it was Mahatma Gandhi who said, "The best way to find yourself, is to lose yourself in the service of others." For years this quote was carefully placed on the bulletin board above my desk at work, and the meaning behind it has undoubtedly been a guidepost for my career. But truth be told, I didn't need a spiritual leader from India to teach me this. I had Grandma Swearingen.

Kathryn Pflederer Swearingen was my dad's mom, and was the epicenter of our family. She passed on much too soon in 1981 when she lost her short but brave battle with pancreatic cancer. Even so, to this day, every Swearingen family gathering eventually results in the warm embrace of fond Grandma Swearingen memories. We really can't help ourselves.

Grandma was tireless in her efforts to take care of the people around her. She embodied the notion that a stranger was merely a friend she had not met yet. But to her family, her service was unrelenting. Much to Grandpa Swearingen's delight ("Fox" as she loved to call him), her kitchen was a virtual pie factory. But not just any old run of the mill pie factory--the kind that phoned you ahead of time to inquire about your particular pie requests. (Peach, thank you very much.) There is no question that Grandma took tremendous joy in the little things she could do for the ones she loved. She would wash your hair (even her adult sons lined up for this special treat), make you a fresh lemonade shake-up with real lemons (just like the ones at the Tazewell County fair), and loved to scratch the back of whoever was sitting next to her (hence the constant vying of myself and my cousins for this premiere seating opportunity.) My favorite Grandma Swearingen memory, however, were the hours upon hours we spent playing the board game "Payday." At the end of each game, I exclaimed, "Again!'" and if her enthusiasm ever waned, I surely never knew it.

I look back now and I know that there was no way Grandma and Grandpa had much money. Grandma was an elementary school lunch lady and Grandpa was the janitor at the bank. But everytime they made the trek to our farm, Grandma came armed with a gift of some sort. A stuffed dog, that I promptly named Puffy and carried with me everywhere for years. A butterfly pin she found that reminded her of me, because she knew I loved to collect butterflies. Something fashion forward, like my first pair of clogs. And, even though she had never heard of Harriet Tubman, she had gotten wind that I was obsessed with this particular historical figure and she searched every bookstore in central Illinois until she found a book that fit the bill--no small feat, I am sure.

Grandma loved to laugh--most often at herself, and even in moments of confrontation her ways were as gentle as a warm summer wind. I remember a time when my mom requested I go to the basement to retrieve some canned goods for the approaching dinner hour. Being the self-centered brat that only I could be, this somehow enraged me and I proceeded to huff, puff and loudly stomp down and back up every rickety step to that basement. Grandma paid no attention to my bad behavior, and calmly looked at my mom and said, "Well, she might have a hard time doing it sometimes, but that Jenny sure can be a good helper." Her words stung and startled me to attention. I was keenly aware that I had let her down, and that it was time for me to grow up and learn to serve my family just as she had done for her whole life.

The thing about Grandma Swearingen was, everybody felt like they were her favorite. The fact of the matter is, I think everyone was. Almost 30 years have passed since I last saw her, but her presence is always with me. I can't imagine the woman I would have become without having known her. I just can't thank her enough, and know that my service--to my family, my friends, and people with mental illness--is a meager tribute to the greatest woman I ever knew.

Loose Change

2008-03-09T16:32:00.000-07:00

A colleague of mine owns a number of rental properties, and over the years has postulated an interesting theory. Whenever possible, he makes an effort to meet with prospective tenants at their current residence, and if he sees loose change laying around, he believes they are careless with money and therefore at a greater likelihood to default on rent payments. He's been testing this theory for over twenty years and swears by it. He's even declined renting to people as a result of his hypothesis. He calls it the "loose change theory." I can't say I agree with it, but I find it intriguing nonetheless.

Life would be easier, though presumably less interesting, if we could so precisely categorize people based on their simplest subconscious behaviors. But the reality is, we all have a little loose change in our life. Not the silver or copper kinds of change we have in our pockets, but the kind of change that has to come from the heart and soul. The kind of change that can be difficult to approach, let alone achieve. The kind of change most of us need to make on one level or another.

What is my loose change? Well, that's an easy one to answer, but one I won't answer for just anyone. Like most people, my loose change is a closely guarded secret, shared only with those I trust the very most. It is the demons I have lived with for many years, the insecurities that still haunt me as I approach my very, very late 30s, and the things I just really think could make me a much better me. My loose change can be as obvious as the sun glinting off of a glass building, or as subtle as the breeze on a warm summer night. Who gets to see it is up to me and only me; who gets to challenge it and set forth a chain of motion in a better direction is a different story altogether.

I've got some loose change, but I will say this: I've got a whole lot less than I used to have. I've still got a ways to go, but I believe I now have every resource I need to get there. Most importantly, I have love. Love for myself, and love from another who matters. Love that won't allow me to be complacement and continue to ignore the loose change in my life. Love that cares enough to take note, identify, and get me headed in the right direction.

We should all be so lucky. Lucky enough to have a little loose change laying around, and lucky enought to have the gumption to do something about it. Lucky enough to have somebody who is willing to make the investment in you, and lucky enough to have the chance to get there in the end.

Grilled Cheese

2008-01-30T18:08:00.001-08:00

I love grilled cheese sandwiches. A lot. They are kind of like my version of penicillin. Except for the part about accidentally discovering them compliments of post-nasal drip in a petri dish. That part clearly does not apply. But in every other way, they are my pencillin, for they are capable of curing all that ails me.

You see, grilled cheese sandwiches are always there for me. There has rarely been a time in my life where I didn't have the three necessary ingredients required to make myself a delicious, melty, warm and toasty grilled cheese sandwich. They are so simple, yet so delightful--so basic, but so rich. They are an enigma, wrapped in a shroud of mystery, tied up in a bundle of joy.

I also love grilled cheese sandwiches because they have never let me down. Grilled cheese sandwiches would never harshly criticize me for getting one A minus on my report card (when the rest were all A's, no less!) Grilled cheese sandiwches would never call me a slut for merely kissing a boy in the driveway. Grilled cheese sandwiches don't tell my family that I am stealing from my sister's college trust fund. Grilled cheese sandwiches have never betrayed me by giving my cat away to their ex-girlfriend in Minnesota. Grilled cheese sandwiches don't send hate mail to my Uncle Tom just because he's gay. Grilled cheese sandwiches might add on some extra pounds over time (if you eat too many), but they would never, ever point out the extra pounds.

The fact of the matter is, people let us down Most of the time they are great, and usually we want them in our lives. But other times, they just downright suck. They are human, and they are inherently flawed, and therefore sooner or later they are probably going to disappoint us. Sometimes to a degree that we just can't understand, sometimes to a degree we assuredly do not deserve.

When this happens, I think it's best to just say the hell with people, and go straight to the fridge for some butter, some cheese, and some bread. Three simple ingredients, and no more than three minutes, and you've walked right into a little slice of heaven. The world is pointed toward right once again.

Godspeed to you, and your next grilled cheese.

Jump Start

2008-01-28T18:37:00.000-08:00

Being the independent gal that I am, I am a long-standing member of AAA. This is because I know just what the AAA website claims: "Each year, millions of motorists are stranded due to a dead battery." That's right, millions of them. (Now that I read that, it occurs to me they may be exaggerating just a bit.) Anyway, I don't want to be counted amongst those purported millions, because stranded just isn't my gig.

During ridiculously cold weather like this, the number of stranded motorists due to dead batteries increases exponentially. It's easy to get frustrated by these little annoyances in life, because it feels like they slow us down, throw us off track, delay us from our goals. Afterall, we have places to go, and people to see! But I think it's worth reflecting on this a bit, because everybody needs a little jump start once in a while.

Nobody ever got a jump start when things were running fine, or if they did that was really stupid. When things are running according to expectations, it would seem obvious that there is no need for a jump start. But in fact, over time our battery may be ever so gradually dwindling in power, slowing down and losing its charge without us even taking notice. And it takes a really significant event to grind things to a complete halt. It's then, and only then, that we seek out that jump start.

Once we get that jump start, it's like, "Wow!" There is a new sense of appreciation for what was temporarily lost, but there is also a burst of energy that results. It's like you didn't even pay attention to how poorly things were running or the preventative maintenance that was needed until the catastrophic event came along. Once that happens and the jump start is completed, it becomes ever so clear how things were really intended to run all along.

Batteries aren't the only thing that need the occasional jump start, life needs them too. Sometimes we trick ourselves into thinking that we are fully charged and right on track, when in fact we are not. That's complacency, and everybody does it sometimes. It is usually then that it takes something getting in our path, hitting us up side the head or even taking us down for a minute before we realize what we really need. A jump start, of course.

AAA offers a full menu of services for its members to help keep things running smoothly. For those of us who are lucky enough, our lives have an equally valuable array of resources available to us. We have big brains to identify solutions, financial resources to fund the results, friends and family who will fill the gap until we make those solutions a reality. And let's not forget...we also have the patience and wisdom to help us transcend the current set of circumstances when we need to.

I've got my AAA card, and I've got everything else I need for my road trip of life. Do you?

Little Lessons on the Prairie

2008-01-21T07:12:00.000-08:00

The Wisconsin prairies have entered my consciousness in recent years compliments of a friend who is a self-proclaimed prairie enthusiast. You might think such folks are few and far between, and perhaps they are, but they are a committed group of folks who have a vision for their contribution to the world. The prairies, which once covered nearly all of our midwestern states, are now sparse and rare to find. Prairie enthusiasts know that a return to this form of sacred land has much to offer our world and our future generations. Not only is it preservation of history, it enriches our environment and raises our human understanding of days that long preceded us.

The prairie is a place of peace and harmony, life and vitality. The tall grasses sway gracefully in the wind, and the plants bloom all throughout the season like a perfectly synchronized symphony of color. The birds make serene yet sturdy home, and the grasshoppers, crickets and cicadas sing joyfully, as though the prairie is the stage built just for the opera they themselves composed. The butterflies breeze in and out and all around, abundantly surrounded by the nectar produced by the wildflowers, willfully carrying pollen to our Creator's intended destination.

And while this scene is placid, rich in nourishment and even definitively divine, it is actually much more complicated than that. By way of God, the prairie has had to learn over and over again that the only way its beauty can be attained is through the occasional burn to the ground. By history and by chance, prairies often started on fire from lightning. As man has made efforts to restore the prairie to its natural state, it has become understood that this ceremonious spring burn is in fact essential to the health, vibrance and longevity of the prairie. The burn chokes out the weeds, and the rich, blackened ground adds to the nutrients in the soil to replenish the plants. This welcomes the sun to drench the earth in a warm blanket, inviting and encouraging the grasses and plants to grow back in the quickest, most robust and healthiest way possible.

It is interesting that such beauty must be tormented by such searing pain in order to truly thrive. It seems this is perhaps symbolic of the human experience, and what we need to thrive as well. Often in life, things are humming along beautifully. So beautifully, in fact, that we may not even take notice of the abundance with which we have been blessed. Taking it for granted, it is often called, and it is something that seems to be inherent to the human experience.

Grief has been the spring burn in the prairie of my life. I've had my share of loss, and at times it has been the source of incredible pain. Death of my parents, loss of friendship, failure of a marriage. Most recently, it was having to make the decision to euthanize a cat who shared her life with me for fourteen years. Regardless of the loss, the experience and the outcome has always been the same. It has been pain so blistering that it forces me to revisit every bout of loss that predated the one I am currently experiencing. That being said, it has also provided me with a cleansing of sorts. A way to feel the burn, and really let it dig down deep in my soul. A way to let my tears wash over me and drive the cumulative toxins out of my soul. A way to remember that I am human, and only human, at the end of the day. And at the conclusion of each new milestone of grief, I am able to brush myself off and move on triumphantly with life...with a renewed reminder of all that really matters.

River City

2008-01-21T07:09:00.000-08:00

Sometimes it is people we attach to, but sometimes it is places. I have a few places on this great earth that are near and dear to my heart, and as it turns out most of them include water. From ages 4 to 18, there was a mighty river known as the Wapsipinicon where I spent good portions of my time and had some experiences that lasted me a lifetime.

The "Wapsi'', as it was affectionately known, was a river that ran abutt to our farm property. It was about a third to half mile back from the portion of the land we used with any frequency, but its presence was rarely forgotten. This was no creek, nor was it a delicate, meandering stream. This was a River with a capital R. It was a force to be reckoned with, a constant reminder from Mother Nature who was really in charge. Unless there was a drought, you could count on the Wapsi to charge through our acreage with force and determination. Oh yes, the Wapsi would ruthlessly take the occasional life, but on its best days it danced and popped and shimmered with life.

The Wapsi was a proud and dignified river, but also one of overabundance. Some rivers flood only once every ten or twenty or hundred years. Not the Wapsi! Nearly every spring thaw of my formative years, the Wapsi would swell and exceed its steep banks by literally hundreds upon hundreds of yards. At least four times in my recollection, the Wapsi flooded to such a degree that it made its way the nearly half-mile trek up to our barnyard, leaving the poor horses standing knee-deep in sloppy mud and water until we got them moved to higher ground.

But the Wapsi was otherwise more like an old reliable friend. I was never allowed as a child to go anywhere near it on my own, but my dad and I spent a fair amount of time down by the river. It was an oasis of sorts, a place where we could talk and laugh and share our dreams. Dad always had pie in the sky ideas and sometimes we would even make our own kites (dubbed "The Swearingen Special") and run along the banks of the river in an attempt to fly them. Other times, we would spend a lazy afternoon fishing for the perfect catch. I only recall one time we actually landed that "perfect" catch--a 20 pound catfish that was so heavy we had to pull it out with a garden hoe borrowed from an ogling bystander who was a fellow river-loving visitor. As a ten year-old, I can assure you that catfish felt like a Marlin to me.

One memory in particular that has always remained with me was a time that Dad and I were again attempting to go fishing. Apparently Dad's exuberance got in the way of things, and he didn't have the patience to wait for the heat of the summer to dry out the riverbanks. About 200 yards from our starting point, my feet got stuck in the mud. I remember how panicked I felt, because Dad was far ahead of me and I could not move. I was paralyzed with fear and screaming out for Dad. He finally came and rescued me by lifting me right out of my shoes. The shoes stayed stuck in the mud forevermore, but I was carried to safety. I've often reflected back on that moment, that moment of sheer panic in which I feared nothing more than being stuck and being abandoned. I've had both experiences numerous times again in the years that followed, being stuck and being abandoned, and I think that fateful day in the muddy banks of the Wapsipinicon and the assurance that followed were hallmarks in my development.

As a teenager, the Wapsi took on a new level of meaning for me. It was a perfect place to engage in the throes of teenage debauchery. Boring summer days often resulted in going "tubing" down the river for a few miles, scorching our tender skin beyond recognition. We often had parties by the river, and nothing good ever came of them. And it was in this very river that, on a dare, I made my first and only attempt at skinny dipping. A few rites of passage, or brushes with danger and stupidity at least, and the river was lovingly standing by, watching me grow up and learn to make right choices by making the wrong ones first.

The Wapsi is permanently stored in my psyche. I think this is because it was one of the few constants in my life during that era. Even today, I often have dreams of this river. I have a recurring dream where I am on the farm but have misplaced my red sports car, and in this dream my first thought is always, "Oh, I bet I parked it by the Wapsi!" I have dreams and recollections and fond, warm memories of this special place. It is literally etched in my heart.

Joan Didion wrote, "You can't step in the same river twice." I have always loved that quote, because I find it to be so remarkably true. You can return to the same place, with the same expectation, but the reality of life is such that both you and the place will have undoubtedly changed, so that the experience you harken back upon cannot be precisely duplicated. Such are the dynamics of life. As badly as we sometimes long for it, we simply can't go back to the times and places that were easier, more pure, less adulterated. Armed with that knowledge, however, we simultaneously have no choice and every choice in the world to become a river of our own, flowing freely, confidently, and occasionally a big jaggedly, toward the destiny that is uniquely ours.

The Power of Subtraction

2008-01-21T07:07:00.000-08:00

In our society, people are often obsessed with what they want to gain in life. Gaining power, gaining money, acquiring status and wealth and possessions. But what people often fail to see is that the seemingly simple arithmetic concept of addition may be where they are missing the boat. Subtraction needs its props, too.

I never really thought of this much until the last four years. As I went through the pains of divorce, recognizing that most of the pain I was experiencing was self-induced only made the pain that much worse. Pain of the realization I made a wrong choice to begin with, then failed to listen to myself and my body as it violently protested to my choice, then failed to keep the commitment I made to the wrong choice. A series of bad choices and failures, and voila! I had lost everything I never wanted to begin with but didn't quite know how to live without.

But as the gaping wounds of shame, loneliness and guilt began to heal, I came upon a stunning revelation. By subtracting something from my life, I actually gained. I gained true happiness and bliss for the first time. I gained passion and peace and serenity and self-assuredness. I gained recognition that indeed, I can be enough if that is how it needs to be. And I gained a comfort that I now know myself well enough to avoid repeating my mistakes. Next time, at the very least, I knew that I would listen to me.

The very definition of subtraction is that you are removing a part from the whole. But this implies that the "whole" was verifiably true and understood at the outset. Perhaps, as human beings, we fail to recognize that in order to be whole, we have to have some pieces missing in the first place. The pieces that will magnetize us to the others who can gently and lovingly fill those voids for us, thus creating a bond that is sanctified by the cosmos. Maybe, just maybe, the quest is not to keep adding to our lives in an effort to make ourselves whole, but rather it is to subtract from our lives until we can really see and focus upon our purest selves. Perhaps then, and only then, are we ready for all that awaits us and all that we are meant to be.

Numbers

2008-01-21T06:54:00.000-08:00

I've always loved math and growing up it was my favorite subject. This set me apart from a lot of people who found it to be daunting, but it was a subject I really enjoyed to no end. I think the reason that I loved it so much was that the answers and the numbers brought order to my sometimes chaotic world, or at least that was my perception of it. It also satisfied my need for the healthy dose of frustration that must be involved in any situation in order for it to be be truly enjoyable to me. Of course, I liked algebra best, but a close second was geometry. I especially loved doing geometric proofs, where you had to use logic and find the trail all the way to proving the theory. I loved math so much that sometimes, if I was stuck on a problem, I would go to bed early and the answer would actually come to me in my dreams. When I woke up, I would run down the creaky stairs of our old farmhouse and finish the problem no matter what time of night it was. Kind of weird, I know.

But I must say that in my adult life, numbers have not always had the same sense of order nor have they brought me the serenity that I found with them in the confines of a classroom. I was anxiously thinking about numbers all day because I have to complete an $11 million budget for 28 programs in the next 3-4 weeks. Did you see that? Three sets of numbers in one sentence, that combined feel like a chemistry experiment gone awry. And even though I have a long-standing love affair with numbers, today they don't feel like my friend. Today they feel like a 400 pound gorilla that is locked in a cage with me.

I have learned throughout my life that numbers have power. In my own life, numbers have at times been elusive, they have sometimes let me down, they have been the occasional source of conflict, they have even been downright scary at times. As adults, we seem to attach numbers to just about everything, as though life has to be quantified in order for it to make sense to us. And yet in so doing, we all seem to be haunted by at least some of these numbers that we attach to our lives.

For some, it's a high cholesterol reading that looms over one's head, promising an early death. For another, it's a dress size or number on the scale that chips away at their self-esteem. It may be the seemingly low balance in the checkbook that is believed to be holding them back from their dreams, dreams so far in the distance that they can't see the greatness that is right in front of their eyes. For many, it is the rightful salary that is believed but never achieved. Some refuse to acknowledge the number of birthdays passed, as though it is a dirty secret never to be shared. Still others tally the number of sexual conquests to make themselves feel whole, but in so doing callously toss away part of their soul with every new addition. If you think about almost every major component of an adult life, you can attach a number to it in some way.

I can guarantee you that those very numbers have brought nearly all people disappointment or angst or full-blown panic attacks at one time or another. How many people do you know who think they will have found true happiness if only they could lose ten more pounds, make $20,000 more a year, take five years off their face through cosmetic surgery or get a car one model more expensive than their own? The world is filled with this kind of thinking, and yet as every goal is reached, a new one--with a new number--is just as achingly longed for. The number changes, and the promise of happiness remains as elusive as chasing a ghost or herding squirrels.

It has occurred to me that in the one place in life that matters the most, numbers don't count. Our creator is not keeping score, and there is no real way to quantify one's spirituality. In a spiritual sense, there is no magnitude or degree or severity or balance attached to love, regardless of the type of love it is. At the end of the day, love is love. And even though it has the capacity to grow, it has no numbers attached to it. It's no wonder that love, in all its forms, is what everyone seeks for solitude and true fulfillment.