How to Save a Life

For every person that comes to know me very well, there typically comes a day when they find out every important autobiographical fact about me in one sitting.  This is because telling my story makes one thing lead to another until all of it is just kind of out there and everyone is just a little bit overwhelmed and can only say things like "wow" or (my favorite) "hurm."

Spark notes: Growing up, I had a hard life.

Post script: It got better.

After I put some epsom salts under my listeners' noses and they come to, they will inevitably ask me this question: "Why aren't you more messed up?"  (aren't you wondering that a little now, too?)  Why no chip on my shoulder?  Well let me educate you...

As a child, my home life wasn't exactly conducive to endorsing that I was special.  Most (though not all) of the adults in my family were tackling big world problems and not really paying attention to what I was doing (except for my Saint of a Grandma), however remarkable or unremarkable what I did was.

                                                              Me, just being 4 and sassy

I can't exactly pinpoint the moment, but I would guess that I started believing that I was not altogether insignificant and the world wasn't entirely unfair in the fifth grade. That is when I met Shannon, my Big Sister from Big Brothers/ Big Sisters.  Until I graduated from high school in 2008, Shannon consistently took me on adventures every Tuesday (what a commitment), including an awkward trip in middle school to the liquor barn to pick out paper party plates (yes, Shannon, I told on you). She was there when my Mom died, she never missed a graduation, and she listened to every complicated boy-related issue I could come up with.  I truly became a part of her awesome family, was honored to be a bridesmaid in her wedding, and am now "Auntie Jessica" to her beautiful son.  We both moved from Louisville area, and now live a street over from one another in Lexington (small world, huh?).  

                                   Pictures from a Tuesday, the day before I went away for college,

                                                     and from Shannon's wedding 

I don't know if you have ever been mentored or served as a mentor, but regardless of if you have or have not, I'm sure that you understand that the longevity of our relationship is an exception not a rule.  Two of my sisters, Sarah and Ashley, had Bigs through BB/BS, too.  I'm sure their Bigs had great intentions when they signed up for the program, but they weren't able to deliver the unwavering consistency that kids with tough lives need.  They were no Shannons.

Shannon kept hanging out with me after I asked her to wear a shirt referencing Britney Spears to a church youth group type of thing, drove to my house countless times only to find out I was grounded for some stupid reason and couldn't hang out with her that night, and overlooked that I probably forgot to say thank you as often as I should have (“thanks for spending time with me!”).  

Like Shannon, my best friend, Katie, also made me a part of her family.  A big reason I felt special as a kid, and still feel special, is because of her awesome parents, Trish and Joe.  Trish took me to and from Cheer practices when I was a kid, tutored me in Pre-Calculus when I had a witch of a teacher, encourages my writing, and offers great advice.  Joe makes me feel like I am the most intelligent person alive (even though his daughter is much more intelligent than I am), laughs at my weird stories, and makes me feel like I can go places if I want to.  They picked a weird little 7 year old to include in their family, and that weird little 7 year old is still grateful. 

                                              Last Christmas when we visited the Pelletiers in

                                                                         sunny Florida 

As an adult, I have had two other influential mentors , Sara and Shelby.  (Are you thinking about how that word makes you sound old?)  They came to me at a time when my life was good, and I didn't really know I needed some extra help navigating through the world, but God knew.  He always knows.  I love Sara because she is supportive in every circumstance, never makes me feel like I owe her, and because she just has this indescribable way of getting through to me when I am upset and not ready to listen to others.  I love Shelby because she always has this urgency about everything, is the definition of a prayer warrior, and calls me instantly when she thinks something is going on with me (even when there is, in fact, nothing going on). On behalf of the best core group ever, thank you!

[This is where a picture of me and Shelby and Sara would be... if we took pictures.  

But we don't even have one somehow... three years guys... really?]

Shannon, Trish and Joe, Sara and Shelby all came to me in different stages of my life, but they all taught me about the value of consistency, loving like Jesus does, and what can happen if you invest in other people.  I’m special because they told me I am.  I invest in other people because these people invested so much in me (more on the awesome people I serve at a later date). 

Blog friends, consistently and intentionally tell someone they are special, because it can save their life.  It saved me.  By no particular talent or merit of my own, I was remarkably loved and am now able to be remarkably loving. That’s my secret. Isn’t it a good one? 

Waiting in Expectation

As with every new endeavor, I used my best friend (besties since we were 7... what a commitment), Katie, as a focus group of 1 for my first blog post.  Her reaction was, "I like it.  So you are basically saying you are going to fake it till you make it, right?"  Wrong, Bub, WRONG.  Your best friend is no faker (except, in honesty, sometimes I do wear “Tory Burch inspired” jewelry)!

                                          My favorite picture of us, at a "rally" in DC...

                                          the Stephen Colbert/ Jon Stewart rally (2010)

To serve as a daily reminder, one of my very favorite friends, Lesley, used to make her computer log-in passwords short inspirational phrases.  "Fake it till you make it" didn't make Lesley's password list, and it doesn't make mine either.  One of my favorites from her repertoire (which has since been retired, so don't try it, hackers!) was "waiting in expectation."  I just love that.  Waiting expectantly… 

                                     (I think this is probably when we fell in love, 2009)

Aren't we all, in some capacity, waiting expectantly?  Whether it is waiting for someone to acknowledge your hard work, waiting for a friend/family member/ significant other to suddenly change their personality and do X thing, waiting for the right job opportunity, or just waiting for God knows what (and he does know).  We are all waiting for and expecting some great big thing, whether it is due to us or not.  Whether it is coming or not.  Whether it is good for us or not.

What does this "waiting" look life for you?  Y para me (my favorite Spanish phrase), since I broke out of the nest in 2008, I have put the work in to prepare for the life I expected.  I have always had at least two jobs, have stayed in school (and may never get out at this rate), have been active in service work, played with every baby God gave me to play with, and only dated people worth dating (and by that, I mean person singular, but making it plural makes me sound more interesting and aloof).  I've been doing everything and it has been rather exhausting… aren’t you exhausted just listening to it?

Here's what I haven't done though... sat still, left room for changes, given myself enough time for fun, or enough time to even review my expectations.  Really I haven't waited at all, I've just kept expecting and moving. 

                                     Sitting (almost) still with one of my favorite toddlers 

                                                         on my lunch break 

So, in my moment of blog-inspired self-reflection clarity, lemme tell you what my self-assessment looks like... expectations for life: samezies (when you know what you want, you just know). Timeline: open for assessment.  Jessica: benched. 

While I’m benched, I’m still making a game-plan… shake my booty to as much Beyonce music as possible, wear shiny shoes every day, and wear sassy clothes I can’t wear in my 30s (and I don’t mean the Hollister jeans that I can’t move past, due to them fitting my body type perfectly).  The plan isn’t to find some magical thing to make me happy (aside from going to Disney World... I can't deny that is the cure to everything), or to trick myself and others into believing that I am, but to just do more of the things that already bring me joy (refer back to Disney World). 

                                                      No caption needed. Bliss.  

While I’m busy pursuing those endeavors, I’m also going to be watching God continue to answer my prayers better than I know how to ask them, and remember that he can mend the majority of my grief in this world with solutions as simple as a phone call.  Blog friends, won’t you wait (expectantly) and watch with me?     

Rose Colored Glasses

At HR meetings and any new group get-together, you will inevitably be asked the question "what is an embarrassing story about you?"  I think this small talk question should be thrown out (I mean, it is the worst, isn't it?! There are far better ways to get to know people!), but it's one that will forever be used as a get-to-know-you tactic.  Well, blog readers, let us begin by delving into an embarrassing story about me....

The story: In the midst of my teen angst, I vividly remember having a bad day and deciding to sit on my back porch by myself to watch the sunset.  So I got my iPod and a pair of sunglasses, and that's what I did.  I sat outside for at least half an hour watching the sunset, and letting the anger go.  Then I realized that since the sun had gone down, there was no longer a need for my sunglasses and  subsequently took them off.  Well, it was still a bright sun-shiny day.  My rose colored glasses had made it look like a sunset, and me feel a little foolish.  But I just put those bad boys back on and kept on watching my fake sunset, because I wanted to. 

Like most Americans in their 20s, I watched such popular shows as the OC, Laguna Beach, and the Hills in the mid-2000s.  The female characters on these shows taught me many pearls of wisdom (don't act surprised!), perhaps the biggest of which is the utility of huge Audrey Hepburn/ Jackie O sunglasses.  With these magical, stylish sunglasses, a woman can cry anywhere in the world in peace without anyone noticing.  I received my first pair of Jackie O Raybans as a Christmas gift from my Memaw circa 2006-2008, and if boots were made for walking, these glasses were made for crying.  Look...

Am I crying, am I not? Who's to say?

As it stands now, I have cried for 39 days in a row.  Not the kind of crying where you are still cute afterward... the deep intense cry of someone who has just watched the season finale of HIMYM or any episode of Grey's Anatomy ever (or, you know, experienced an actual personal life tragedy).  The kind of cry that makes you feel somewhat certain that if anyone in the world saw you crying that hard, they would probably run away in terror (it did happen once, I swear).  So after day 39, I am at an impass... to keep making my boss feel uncomfortable and crying at work (which is super professional) and wearing my stylish, severe Jackie Os, OR putting on some rose colored glasses and choosing to see the life I want instead of the life I have. And just crying occasionally in my new fabulously plush bed.

(Doesn't it look like the ideal place to cry?)

The silver lining, if we are going to be really honest about it, is that I still just feel so lucky to have been given something that was valuable enough to cry 39 days (and counting) over losing.  Worth every tear (even the ones in front of my boss, and that's saying something). 

So here we are... writing this blog is square one, step one, to getting back to trying to be my normal-take charge-productive self.  It was this, or making a series of very sad mixed cds (which I am still SO tempted to do).

My hope is that if you, too, are struggling between feeling sorry for yourself and trying to be bold, please find this message here... you are not alone!  (and neither am I).  I promise to provide you with lots of great anecdotes of the things that make my little heart the happiest, and lots of (mostly sassy) asides written in parentheses.