Wednesday, April 23, 2014

legacy

Whenever I have the opportunity to read a newspaper, I always read the obituaries. That may seem odd to some, but I find them to be fascinating. They cause me to reevaluate my own life and my choices so much more intensely. And to wonder, what will be written about me?

Some are laced with an undercurrent of sarcasm, "He loved music of all genres... although he could never carry a tune." Some make quiet jokes, "He accomplished much in his life, but never did learn how to tell a good joke."

Others speak kindly, "He was a kind and gentle man who was very devoted to his family... he lived his life with a gentle heart." and "She had a wonderful gift for making people feel comfortable, and had a great sense of humor."

These obituaries always make me ponder and think ever so much more about myself.  What legacy am I leaving behind? What is the mark I am leaving on earth? I used to agonize and worry that I wasn't leaving a mark, that I wasn't making an impact, that I wasn't changing anything. I felt like I should be doing something BIG and monumental.

After many conversations with people older and much wiser than I, I've finally determined that it's really not so important to leave that type of mark as I once thought. Because what really matters is people. What matters is how we make people feel, how we interact with others. Our actions are what matters. The hours of conversations, the late night messaging, the texts, the random cheerful hellos, phone calls out of the blue, the coffee dates, these are the things that really matter. These are what live on when we're gone. It isn't so much about what we do, but about what we leave in the people we touch. What we pour into them.

We won't know about most of the people affected by our interactions. It's a ripple. If I trade a smile and a lively conversation with someone, and in turn, they pass that along to someone else, there is no telling the good things that will be produced. It will keep traveling.

Maybe I will still do something big, or something monumental, or change the course of history in a wonderful and newsworthy way. But I've learned to be just fine even if I don't. If the only thing I accomplish is bring smiles and laughter to the people surrounding me, I will be completely content.

April 21, 2014, Raleigh, NC

Friday, April 18, 2014

she's born to shimmer

We're born to shimmer
We're born to shine
We're born to radiate
We're born to live
We're born for love

-Shawn Mullins "Shimmer" 

Two Wednesdays ago, I finally got to see Shawn Mullins in concert. If you had watched my activity on social media that night, you would have seen me nearly falling over from excitement. I've been a fan for many years. But every time he played in North Carolina, I was never here. I was always on vacation somewhere else in the world. He schedules very few tour dates each year, so I feel like it's a miracle when he does play nearby. Upon learning about the concert in February, I bought tickets immediately.

Initially, I didn't care for the opener, Max Gomez; but he did grow on me throughout the night, especially when he and Shawn sang a couple of songs together. Recently, I've been listening to more of his music. I even heard his song "Run From You" at Panera last week.

The concert was held in Carrboro at Cat's Cradle. They had the door open before the show started, and I spied the sun setting over the city. I walked outside to get a picture. As I meandered, trying to find a good vantage point, I heard him. I didn't see him immediately, but I heard his voice. He was hidden behind a corner of the building, sitting on a wooden bench, talking with his wife, his backup vocalist, and Max. They were talking about getting food before he went on stage. I was eavesdropping, as I sometimes do. Someone else walked to him and took a photo. As he was leaving, I asked if he'd mind a photograph. "Sure, no problem." And we created a selfie together. He is very kind, and quiet.

To say I was happy would be a vast understatement. I was elated. He's not well-known, and didn't draw a large crowd, but he's someone I've wanted to see live for years. When I pause to write words for this blog, his music is what I listen to, nothing else works. His deep mellow voice and the soothing guitar melodies are perfect. There's a live recording of one of his shows that is posted online, and it lasts for about an hour and fifteen minutes, which is just enough time for me to write a rough first draft. It's perfect. 

The concert was amazing. He sang a lot of songs I knew, and a few I couldn't quite sing. His "Lullaby" is one you'd probably recognize if you heard it. "Everywhere I Go" was also really popular when it was first released in 2009. The rest, you may not know even if I mentioned them. I love the "Twin Rocks, Oregon" story because it reminds me of myself, always observing. It was so fun to sing "Lonesome" along with a roomful of strangers who love his music just as much as I do. It was refreshing to know I wasn't the only one. Maybe some of them had graying hair, maybe some were traveling with canes, maybe some were illegally sneaking in chairs, maybe they were drinking responsibly; but that's normal for me. As some say, I was surely born in the wrong decade. 

For me, one of the most wonderful parts of a concert, is seeing someone do what they truly love with such passion and joy. It's mesmerizing

After the concert, I crawled on stage, stole the set list, bolted backstage, pushed my way (politely) to him and his wife, and asked him if he would sign it. I told him that I've waited years to see him in concert and would he mind signing the set list? He said of course and asked for my name. He wrote, "To Jessica  Shawn Mullins" and I was over the moon. It may have seemed very silly to a random person looking on, but I was so happy. It was a good night! 




Our selfie, Wednesday, April 9, 2014.

Friday, April 11, 2014

June 18, 1999

This piece was written on June 19, 1999, when I was still a very young, naive, and very isolated sixteen year old. I grew up in a small town in the middle of Nebraska. My brothers and I went to the bar downtown all the time and spent our allowance on candy (but my sister was always frugal, she saved her money.) Our entire family would walk over for burger nights on Fridays. This is something I wrote after observing a local man having his supper there. 

According to my typed draft from 1999, it went through several revisions, and I finally stopped rewriting it in December of that year; and, although there are parts I'd like to change, I chose not to edit it again today.


There's melodrama, and blunt honesty, but also kindness... 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He sits there at the counter, his legs dangling gracefully around the bar stool. He orders a glass of yellow beer, and hamburgers; and waits. I see him light a cigarette and blow the smoke through his nostrils.


A man is restocking the live lobster tanks over in the corner: Norman turns his head and watches. And smiles at someone's conversation.


His face and hands are grizzled and begrimed by black grease. He wears a pale blue work shirt, open at his throat in a sharp V. His pants look as if they are part of a uniform. His clothes are dirty and greasy - I have never seen them otherwise.


Norman watches the big TV in the corner on the wall; commercials seem interesting. He becomes engrossed in the television, pausing only for a drag on his cigarette. He downs another glass of beer in one swallow. I hear his soft mellow voice. He's talking to one of the waitresses. I wonder why. He always seems like such a quiet man.


Norman's face is a somewhat hollow, worn face. His mouth, surrounded by a week of unshaven beard, is thin, but the upper lip has two distinct curves. Nothing at all could be said about his nose; it is a normal one, and not worth mentioning. His eyes are deep-set in his face, very hollow eyes, and they are always rimmed with black. He has dark hair but he is nearly bald on top. He always wears a teal-colored cap, and I honestly think he looks better with it than without it.


Norman's food arrives, and he eats; adding another beer to wash it all down. I wonder if he ever drinks water. He lights another cigarette and rests his chin on his hand.


I wonder where Russell is. Russell is almost always with Norman, and he does not talk much, so I call him "Norman's shadow". No, the shadow did not come tonight; and Norman is alone, and looking lonely.


Greg comes in and talks to Norman. They smile and laugh like best friends; maybe they are. I watch as Greg walks away. Norman looks at the lobsters again.


He orders a pie and laughs with the waitress. It's an apple pie; that must be his favorite, I think to myself.




Sunday, April 6, 2014

letting go

Have nothing in your houses that you do not know to be useful, or believe to be beautiful. 
-William Morris 

Last weekend, I spontaneously decided to spend a few hours cleaning out my closet. My actual closet. That's not even a metaphor. Over time, I get lazy and toss things here and there; a lot of times, it's easy to just throw things in and close the door. It's "clean and tidy" because I can't see it! As I was rummaging through everything, I realized that some things are so much easier to let go of than others. The Hurricanes shirt I never wore, the white pants that still have the tag attached (seriously, I'll never wear white pants); they are all so easy to get rid of. They have no purpose, and it's an easy decision to give them away. Those are the easy, really simple decisions. Some are more difficult. My sister and her little family were stationed on the Yokota Air Force base near Tokyo, Japan for a few years, and she bought me a shirt from the Starbucks on base. I almost got rid of that shirt. I didn't, but almost. Items with memories are more difficult to give up. But in the end, they are just things. (Lest you get the idea that I'm perfect, this really is something I need to work on, on more of a daily basis.)

Things weigh us down, they hold us captive, bound. Some things, even though they are intangible, still keep us bound, mentally, even physically. If you've seen the television show Hoarders, you've seen the downward spiral that happens when we look to things for happiness. It's so unhealthy to attribute your happiness to things. Somewhere along the line, they decided the only way that they would feel loved and complete, is if they were surrounded by things. I am far from a physiologist and I won't pretend to know the ins and outs of a hoarders brain. I do however, have experience. I can tell you that my dad has always had hoarding tendencies, and I know the cause. Since I am my father's daughter, I can sometimes see myself displaying hoarding tendencies, so I have to be careful. I try to purge (such a horrid word) things at least once or twice a year. It's healthy. I accumulate so much, but I don't toss the unnecessary things as often as I should.

The same principle can sometimes apply to people. We've got to let go of people who are unhealthy for us. We can't hold on, and keep such a death-grip onto things (or people, or situations) just because they are familiar to us. Just because it's perceived as "normal" doesn't mean it's healthy. Just because it's what's expected of you, doesn't mean you have to continue it. You've got to let go. You can walk away. And learn to be okay. Let go of that friend who mistreats you, the spouse who is abusive, your job if you're unhappy. Seek out, and cultivate, healthy relationships.

The beauty of letting go of what you don't need, means that you will make room for things and people that you do need. Maybe when you toss a shirt you didn't need, you make room for a pair of jeans you've always wanted. Maybe if you walk away from an unhealthy friendship (or even alter it), you can make way for a much better one. One of my favorite phrases is "Barn burned down, now I can see the moon." For me, this means that there's something in my life that I lost, but because it's gone, I can now see some thing I had all along, and it's better and brighter than what I had before.

Let go of all that holds you. Be free.