Taking Child's Pose ... Inconceivable

If I asked if you have seen The Princess Bride, I'd predict quite a few or you would say yes. I remember the very first time I saw that film. I rented it from Blockbuster and watched it multiple times. It's iconic.

For those of you who have seen this film, do you remember Vizzini? Do you remember what he repeated over and over when facing truths and rejecting them? Pretty sure you must ...

"Inconceivable."

Oh he said it with the actor's signature lisp, but the word echoes in my mind as clearly as the sound of his voice.

I thought of that the other day in my morning yoga session. We were invited to take Child's Pose at any time during the class. If things became too much or we needed something different, we were given permission to "Take Child's Pose."  Whether you do yoga or not, that name might cause you to automatically assume it's a simple, quiet less active place. 

But for the first time -- at that very moment -- it hit me that Child's Pose isn't necessarily a "quiet pose" after all.  That what the instructor was asking me to do didn't mean what I initially thought it meant. To coin another PB phrase ... Let me 'splain. No, there is too much ... let me sum up. Well, just let me 'splain first. :)

In yoga, as in most exercise classes, you follow directions. Someone talks, guiding you into poses and through various flows. That's one of the things that I appreciate. During that hour, I don't have to make decisions. I am told what to do and where to move. I am asked questions and prompted gently concerning the direction my mind should think. During that time, I gratefully release control to someone else who guides me where I need to be.

That's nice. Really nice for a control-freak, type AAA organizer. During class, I am released from the stresses that come from decision-making. I don't have to plan dinner, create a shopping list, tend to my kids, deal with work stuff, run through that conversation I had or plan to have with a friend and its potential implications, decide whether I'll make that call or write that text, determine which show to audition for, manage the budget ... well, you get the idea. During that hour, I don't have to make any decisions at all. I just follow the prompts and do what I'm told. 

In a way, you'd say I'm like a child ... following the directions someone gives me. Like Steve Winwood advised ... Roll with it, baby. So at yoga, I just go with the flow and do what I'm told. Child-like, right?

Um ... (and here's what I figured out so pay attention now!) Not. You see, as I reflected in class, children aren't that simple. They don't just "do what their told." 

My daughter, despite every possible effort, refused to EVER drink from a bottle.  My son, no matter how many times I beg, plead, instruct, cajole or even speak emphatically, never fails to leave his dresser drawers wide open. Nope, doesn't close 'em. No idea why. But I can't seem to affect change there. No matter what I say, there are times (not always but times) that Children Won't Listen. They won't do what they are told. They will follow their own unique path and do it their way.

Back to the idea of Child's Pose. While at first I considered this "opting out" and doing a more simple stretch, that isn't it at all. During Yoga, that's Inconceivable because you are still working and growing and evolving, even in that pose. 

So again, Inigo Montoya's clever response to Vizzini's repeated remark ... "You keep using that word. I do not think it means what you think it means ..." is spot on. Child's Pose isn't going quiet. Such an idea is Inconceivable during Yoga just like it is in life. It's actually taking me deeper.

Pretty cool, those Ah-ha moments. 

Children are ever busy with their questions and exploration as well as their high energy and amazing sense of wonder. They do things their way from a very young age ... sometimes, like in the case of my daughter, a very VERY young age. And though you can guide and suggest, they make their own decisions, discoveries and mistakes. They don't follow pre-established instructions. They are active in shaping every aspect of their lives and their achievements.

So, then, it is Inconceivable to think that Child's Pose is just a still, quiet pose. It is Inconceivable to think that during Yoga (or life for that matter) all I am doing is following a set of outlined, pre-established steps and instructions and if my to-do list isn't chock full of activities than I'm really, truly inactive. Though I "go with the flow," the way I do it and reach a pose as well as what I'm experiencing as I get there is anything but inactive or simple. No ... I'm being guided intuitively to reach inside myself and learn or grow or stretch or celebrate or ... well, whatever it is that I need at that moment. That's what we do every single day.

Taking Child's Pose isn't opting out. Instead it is a meditational, quieter pose that challenges us, like children, to reach deeper and explore different aspects of our selves without movement to distract our thoughts or bodies.

Ever sit still for 5 minutes? That ain't easy. But that's taking Child's Pose ... it's quiet, yes ... and contemplative, explorative and perhaps helping you find what you need at that moment.

Taking a "simple" Child's Pose? Well, that's Inconceivable.

So when encouraged to become more child-like, consider what Inigo said ... "You keep using that word. I do not think it means what you think it means ..."
                                                                                                                -- Jenni
                             

Life ... Not A One Way Street

This weekend for the very first time I went on a Bike Ride with my daughter. Well, it was technically a Bike Walk since she rode a bike and I walked beside her. She rode rather fast too so it was nearly a Bike Run since I had to keep moving at a pretty good clip. But it was pure fun. She chattered along the whole ride (surprise), grinning as her blond hair whipped behind her in the breeze. And I grinned too.

I suppose I should preface this accomplishment a bit. You see my daughter hadn’t mastered either the training wheel aspect of the bike or the two wheeler skill. She wanted nothing to do with a bicycle since she tumbled off her own nearly 4 years ago. She didn’t like the brakes and had difficulty getting moving on her own. The entire experience just discouraged her. She was seriously afraid of her bike. The very thought or discussion about said Bike would result  in “drama,” complete with tears and her storming off.

Since I bought it when she was 4 ½, her Tinkerbell bike is way too small anyway. It teeters/totters dangerously every time she goes out with those plastic training wheels still on. Her brother worked with her over spring break. We have even had a friend work with her. She rode two blocks once ... but it was a process. So I had pretty much resigned myself to a trip to garage sales in search of a new used bike that might be the right size and that might give her confidence and get her to try again. But, she stubbornly announced one night at dinner that she would never ride a bike. Nothing I could do would change her mind.

But this past weekend took care of that.

Now, my son would tell you that she really didn’t master a bike this past weekend at all. She rode her Meema’s full-size 3 wheel bike, complete with a large basket on the back to conveniently hold her books, dolls, toys, groceries and the dog she insists I’m going to get her one of these days. But watching her ride an adult sized bike much too big for her with such amazing joy and confidence was a thrill to me … she was finally riding all by herself and unafraid.  She couldn’t get enough.  We were out twice a day! She peddled, she braked, she turned, she rode alone down the street while I watched. And the one time she took a turn too fast and fell was no big deal. She got right back on and started peddling, the scrape on her knee dismissed. 

So it was a 3-wheel bike. The little girl scared of her own bicycle mastered a grown up contraption in less than 3 minutes. 

My daughter is stubborn, yes. But she is passionate and fearless once she decides to do something. (She's a lot like me.) So, she has decided that a full size 3-wheel bicycle is THE answer to her previous struggles. And she is determined to have one and ride to her heart’s content. I hinted that perhaps her newfound confidence might imply that she could at least Try a 2-wheeler. To my initial chagrin, she dismissed the idea on the spot.  But .... 

My daughter – in her nine-year-old wisdom – explained to me that not everyone does things the same way. That though her way might be different, that didn’t make it wrong. That her way was okay too.

Wow. Pretty cool.

My daughter recognized at a young age something that a lot of grown-ups I know still struggle with. She understands that being different isn’t bad. That there isn’t one way to do something. And that choosing to march to the beat of her own drum is not only okay but empowering.

I hope she can still embrace this idea whenever Peer Pressure rears its ugly head ….

At any rate, she’s right. What’s right for you, might not be right for me. Life is full of choices and we make them uniquely. There is no one right way to do anything. Instead, there are lots of wonderful options and choices. I honor what you choose. I hope you’ll honor mine. And if not, feel free to express your opinions but don’t be offended if I choose to continue my momentum or if I don’t leap to dance to the rhythm of your Pied Piper.

It’s okay to be different. Life isn’t a one-way street. In today's society, that should be easy to embrace. But it's not. I tell my kids -- and write in my blogs -- to not only honor but celebrate your "you-ness" ... to nurture your individuality, creative spark, unique perspectives, interests, feelings, thoughts, ideas and imagination. Oh the Places You'll Go if you Let your true colors shine through. Here and now I speak my truth .... Don’t be afraid if the colors of your life aren’t the same as someone else’s. That won’t make them any less beautiful.

As my daughter eloquently reminded me, there isn’t just one way to accomplish or look at something or someone. Our uniqueness makes us who we are. We possess the freedom to maintain our individuality. And that makes each of us dynamic and exciting.  

So ride whatever bike you choose. That's my Declaration of Independence this July. And when you're out there, listen for my daughter’s laughter on the wind …

                                                                                                                            -- Jenni

Why I Must Write ... and a Thank You

I awake with words in my head, like a cartoon character with a caption bubble. You know what I'm referring to. Sometimes the words are clear ... sometimes they echo just beyond my comprehension like the "blah blah blah blah blah" of a Peanuts adult or the squiggly marks associated with Woodstock. There's a story lurking on the edge of my consciousness like a rising storm ... a poem dancing with images like the drops from a summer rain ... a blog demanding a voice. An observation whispers on the wind. An idea spins like a spider weaving her web.

All my life, I've been writing. In elementary school I participated in the Young Author's Conference. I remember my first story, handwritten words in a small 5 x 7 3-ring binder and illustrated by a friend. I wrote it in 4th grade. There was another book in 5th and a mystery in 6th. I don't know where these early products of my imagination went. I don't need their tangible presence to prove that they "were." 

Over a year ago, I launched Jenni's Corner, encouraged by a couple special friends who had been reading my words for a time and thought I might have something to say -- and the skill to articulate it with words on a screen.  I want to take a moment to thank each of you who have taken time to read my ideas ... my thoughts. I appreciate it when you email me comments. I treasure compliments as well as different viewpoints. I'm honored that you read what I write and that there are debates and discussions inspired by my words.

See, I'm an English/Theatre major embedded with theatricality. So I have thoughts ... I like to explore and discuss and learn from others out there. I read what is shared with me. I pour through books and scripts and blogs, honoring ideas and differing viewpoints. To write is to breathe for me. Banter is the chocolate for my soul.

Do my thoughts and words have any value when they hit the "paper" screen? I don't know. The curser flashes and I type. My notebooks beckon each morning so I write in them, offering up my words and ideas like sacrifices on an Aztec pyramid. And though I give them life with blood, sweat and a super sharp pencil, only when someone reads them do they begin to breathe.

I write because I have words and ideas and images and observations. But, why do you read them? I like to think you take something from them. That through sharing words we connect and open our minds. In my necessary writers "arrogance" -- for who would have the courage to put their words out there and become vulnerable without it -- I feel I offer you something that you find valuable. At least, I hope so.

Writers write for the same reason runners run, painters paint, teenagers stay up late and sleep away the morning. We have to. It is our nature. We have a voice in our head that will not cease speaking until the words take form ... until a character's story is told ... until an observation or theory is articulated ...

So I'm grateful to you ... those who read my thoughts in "the Corner." I hope my little words have sparked delight ... have made you think a bit. I might just have a bigger story in me that needs to be told. Who knows what is next ... surprise is half the fun.

I wake up with words dancing in my mind and stories on the edge of my consciousness that need release. Read them kindly ... let them swirl in your mouth like a good wine or beer or whiskey or whatever beverage delights and tantalizes your senses. I want to stir your senses with my words ... my little words.

I write because I must ... I have words to say. Thank you for indulging them. Thank you for taking time to read my varied, little thoughts from "the Corner." 

                                                                                                                     -- Jenni

Leave Drama To The Stage

Today just moments before departing for Dance Camp, my daughter discovered that her ballet shoes were too small. Not a huge surprise since we bought them last September, but the result was an emotional outburst with whining and despair.

Last week I left a "To Do" Note for my Summertime kids. At noon I received an insulted phone call from my son, declaring that I was asking too much … these things weren’t his job!

I know people who have looked at an action taken by a friend as an insult and stopped speaking to them, deleting them as Facebook friends and ignoring them in public. Years of happy moments lost in a perceived slight or careless word or misspelling. No steps taken to discuss the issue ... just a friendship dissolved in an instant. 

At my Thursday yoga class, our guest instructor seemed to perceive this whirling dark energy that takes hold of the thoughts ... this destroyer of peace. And Rob took us in a completely unique direction. Beside the fact is that I sweat more than I ever had in my life and we did moves I’d never done in a slow flow yoga session. Key to the experience was the moment we were holding a particularly difficult pose after a really, really challenging flow and he gave us a mind warning.

What is that, you ask? What is a “Mind Warning.”  I  mean, he didn’t say it was a Mind Warning. There was no flashing sign stating ... Get this now! This is the important message of the day!!! Wouldn't it be nice if there were?

No, he just stated a particularly compelling thought that gelled in my mind. Here we were sweating (okay, gonna admit that I was dripping sweat) and holding this balancing pose and he made a remark that stuck with me. It ran something like this: “Right now, Drama is trying to sneak into your mind and pull your focus and even insight a little panic. Don’t let it take hold.”

The Human Spirit is amazing. It can handle and withstand more than we think it can when we are in the midst of a crisis moment or difficult time. Not that holding a yoga pose is truly a crisis moment. But, all around us people -- including you and me -- make ordinary moments into crises all the time! Psychologists blame this on our Fight or Flee response. Either we meet the challenge or we run from it. But what if we do neither? What if instead of fighting or fleeing we consider the challenge a balloon … a balloon we don’t pop but deflate.

We’ve all heard it before, bad things happen. People stress about why these bad things happen to good people. Why they happen to them. Why they happen at all. Something these bad things lead to good things. Sometimes these bad things challenge us and stretch us and help us grow. Sometimes these bad things seem to be pointless. They never seem to end or teach anything and just suck.

In the midst of our “Bad Things” are choices … How to respond, how to behave, how to handle whatever Drama is flying our way. Lash out? Blame? Cry? Scream? Shop? Run away? Exercise? My daughter tends to whine. My son chooses to argue and debate. But, in the middle of it all, we DO have a choice in our response.

Back to yoga and Rob’s Mind Warning. Drama will come and go. If we dwell on the stress or pain or anger or frustration or fear or unkindness or hurt or _______ (fill in the blank with your current personal drama), we get stuck in it. Trapped in a tar of our own making. We spin out of control. We start shaking. We have anxiety or panic attacks. We stop sleeping. We distance ourselves from the offender or from people in general.

What if instead of giving into the Drama, we embraced the idea that whatever was happening was temporary and let the Drama drift through us?

What if instead of holding a grudge or blaming someone or allowing the anger to rise, we embraced the idea of uniqueness and diversity and the concept that not everyone sees things the same way and we’re all just doing the best we can?

What if instead of thinking there is only One Right Way to Be or to Act, we accepted our own differences, "weirdness" and individuality, embracing and honoring it instead of denying or fighting it?

What if we forgave and moved forward instead of dwelling on past injuries done to us by those we love most?

I’m a passionate, dramatic person. Those of you who know me well may know that I have highs and lows. But Rob's Mind Warning isn't something I choose to forget. And I encourage you to join me. You see, I see the Drama whirling around me and trying to take hold in my mind. I recognize the darkness and the hurt and the rejection and the __________, and I choose to take a mental break, releasing the air from the balloon. And if I don't happen to have a balloon handy, I release a deep sigh.

And I leave the Drama on the stage.

                                                                                                     -- Jenni

"Sometimes the best thing that you can do is not think. not wonder. not imagine. not obsess. Just Breathe. And have faith that everything will work out for the best."

An Uncomfortable Life

I see her pretty much every day, pushing her grocery cart around the streets where I live. It's not L.A. or New York City. It's just a mid-size midwest town.

In the summertime, her skin has a tan glow ... but not a healthy one. It's hardened and sunburned. She pushes her cart down the sidewalk outside my office window. The wheels rattle as she goes by. I think she takes shelter at times behind my building. 

During the long Michigan winter, she wears a thick down coat but her skin still shows a ruddy glow, hardened by the colder temperatures. She is still pushing that grocery cart. It is full of bags.

I saw her at Taco Bell one day. She was quietly sitting at a window table eating a box of tacos. Her grocery cart sat outside the window, parked like a bike near the doorway.

I don't know her name. I've never spoken to her. She never makes eye contact when we pass each other. She didn't look up from her meal that day as my son and I walked out. But I see her. And one thing I've noted ... I've never witnessed one time where she has held up a sign or asked for money or support.

So I find myself wondering what her story is. How did she come to live like this ... pushing a grocery cart around the downtown area? Where does she go at night? Where does she go when it rains or snows? What does she eat? Where does the money come from? How does she survive day to day to day? Why is she alone, pushing a grocery cart around Royal Oak?

I have no answers. And, I must honestly admit that I've never stopped her as she walks past me. Never asked her name or offered to assist her. That bothers me. See, I thought about it that day in Taco Bell. But then I did nothing. Since I've never seen her ask for assistance before, I didn't want to insult her. Perhaps nothing "happened" to place her in these circumstances. Perhaps she has found some sense of realness or satisfaction in the simplicity of her existence. Perhaps she has chosen this life ... a life that to me seems riddled with strife and hardship. An uncomfortable life.

Life is filled with choices every single day. We choose what to wear, what to eat, who to talk to, who to love and who to reject. We choose our activities and our goals and our hopes and our friends. We even choose our enemies. We choose to keep learning and growing and living every single day. Or, we choose to settle in, sit on the couch or recline in our easy chair and watch the world move along. We choose to protect our heart or open it up. We choose to explore new activities (like PoleFit classes or yoga). We choose to push ourselves and sign up for a 1/2 marathon or run daily or visit the gym when it's still dark outside. We choose to audition for that role. We choose to apply for a new job. We reach out or walk away. We choose the things and people to invest in ... and when to let go of those things or people that no longer serve us. Choices greet us every time we step outside our door. Heck, just stepping outside is a choice.

I don't know whether The Grocery Cart Lady chose the life she is living or whether she became a victim of circumstances I can't begin to comprehend. I've never faced a situation like that. But I don't see her huddled on a street corner. I see her moving along and making her way in the world as sure as I hear the wheels turn on her cart.

I'd like to help her. But since I don't know how I choose to help others from meeting her uncomfortable fate. I've sponsored three different children through World Vision and donated to various support-focused organizations. I've volunteered and served food to the homeless. I've stopped my car at an exit ramp to give a few dollars and a lunch to someone whose sign said they were homeless and needed help. I've paid attention and offered a smile instead of ignoring those who walk past or near me. I've opened the envelopes requesting a few dollars for a Thanksgiving meal. Not tooting my horn or asking for thanks ... just anonymously doing what I can do to make a difference in the lives of people I will truly never know. 

I have a good life ... an easy one by most standards. I don't need to worry where my next meal is coming from and I don't push a grocery cart around town. I have a home and plenty of clothes and shoes. My children can participate in the activities they choose and I have my own car to transport me around town and beyond. HOWEVER, I do not choose to settle down to a comfortable life either. I challenge myself, embracing new experiences and opportunities. I reach out to those I care for and leap oceans for them whether or not they step over a damn puddle for me ... that's just who I am. 

I'm over 40 but I'm not done yet. There are things I want to do and places I long to visit. I have Dreams and Hopes. I don't think I'm unique here. If we continue to see our lives as a work in progress ... as though we are a lump of clay spinning on a potter's wheel awaiting the pounding, shaping and eventually the fire before we are finished ... we will live an uncomfortable life. We will get bruised. But we can get up and move too.

Sometimes what we do sets us outside our fundamental comfort zone. Sometimes it stretches us. Sometimes it hurts. But it makes us stronger. It makes us alive and not some puppet blindly following a flow chart. 

When I die, I want my tombstone to read She Loved Deeply & Lived Fully. That might mean some scraped knees along the way. But it also means adventure and exploration. Great love might bring great pain ... but it's great so I will deal. And I will have lived and embraced all life has to offer with two hands ... not necessarily fearlessly since sometimes I am afraid but with a passion that enables me to push past the limits fear might try to apply. 

The Grocery Cart Lady haunts my thoughts. Maybe someday I will reach out and give her a Taco Bell gift card, purchased because I was thinking of her as I ate my comfort food there one lunch hour. I wonder about her story. Maybe someday I will ask. 

I hope I will never live her Uncomfortable Life. I may never know how she came to be with that Grocery Cart. But I learn something from her. Life can be uncomfortable. I choose to see that as an opportunity for myself and not a hindrance. No, I don't want to explore her life. But, I pledge to honor my own quest as it beckons me ... to avoid the easy road and the unkind road but not fear the bumpy road. I pledge to strike out on an adventure to fully live this life I have been given.

And if it gets Uncomfortable, well, I guess I'll face those challenges along the way. I mean, no one said Childbirth was easy or pain-free ... but the results are pretty damn incredible.. 
                                                                                                                        ... Jenni

What If We Already Know The Ending?

"Only Gatsby was exempt from my reaction – 

Gatsby who represented everything for which I have an unaffected scorn. 

If personality is an unbroken series of successful gestures,

 then there was something gorgeous about him …

it was an extraordinary gift for hope such as I have never found in any other person." 

- The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald

Voracious reader that I am, the other day I selected a book from the shelf: The Memoirs of Helen of Troy by Margaret George. Slightly more than 600 pages, this novel will tell the complete story of Helen ... her childhood, choices, challenges, dreams, hopes ... and the countries she brought to ruin.

I already know her story. At least, I know how her story ends. But I find myself reading the book anyway. 

Why do we do that? Why read stories when we know how they will end? Why watch a movie when we know the eventual conclusion? Not only do we know that it will end happily or badly, but we know exactly how it will conclude. We know that at the end of Gone With The Wind, Rhett will utter the words "Frankly Scarlett I don't give a damn" and walk out of Scarlett's life forever just as sure as I know The Great Gatsby ends with the death of our "hero." I know that Denys Finch Hatton will die in a fiery plane crash that I won't see but will know is happening near the conclusion of Out of Africa. 

But I read the books and watch the films anyway. And during Out of Africa when I hear change in the music and know that "it" has happened, I cry just as I cry when Wilson shoots Gatsby, sending him drifting to the depths of the swimming pool while Daisy walks obliviously away with Tom.  

I love the movie Troy -- and not just because it's glorified eye candy. (No, I'm not a Brad Pitt fan ... much prefer Eric Bana.) But that's beside the point. I love the heroic beauty of that era. But I dread the moment when Achilles challenges Paris and wimpy Paris runs. I cringe as I watch the mighty and very noble Hector fight, knowing that he will eventually be horribly killed and dragged behind Achilles' chariot. I read The Illiad in college. I knew the story. I knew before I read it how the story was going to end. But I read it anyway. I watch the film anyway. And no matter how well acclaimed Achilles might be, I hate him every time he kills Hector. I know it's coming. I watch anyway ... and loathe it every time.

I don't think I'm alone here. We all have favorite stories be they books or movies. What Gone With The Wind fan among us doesn't want Scarlett to realize sooner that Ashley is a dullard and that it's Rhett who she really loves? Who doesn't want Mrs. Danvers to crash to her doom BEFORE she sets darling Maxim de Winter's beloved Manderley to blaze? Who watches The Man in the Iron Mask and doesn't want a change to occur before the moment when D'Artagnan dies protecting his son? Who doesn't wish Octavius to die horribly and thus allow Cleopatra to enjoy a life of passion with Mark Antony instead of suicidally playing with poison asps and plunging Egypt into centuries of Roman Rule?

But we watch anyway. Each of us reads along just as I pour through the pages of Helen of Troy's story and know that as her story progresses she will find love and bring destruction down on Troy ... and Hector.

Perhaps, like Gatsby, we have "an extraordinary gift for hope" that our beloved characters might just make a different choice this time ... that the ending might be different. Maybe Cinderella will smack down her Stepmother and go off and enjoy an independent, exciting life instead of waiting for a prince to rescue her. Maybe Jekyll will realize that evil cannot be separated from good. Maybe Heathcliff and Cathy can find a way to be together before death. Maybe ......

That "extraordinary gift for hope" sustains us when real life gets challenging. Like Tennessee Williams' Blanche DuBois, we believe in the Kindness of Strangers ... the goodness and potential of the people surrounding us. We feel their light and warmth. So we read along when we know the ending might not be what we want because ... because we enjoy the story. We find ourselves drawn in by the characters ... their foibles and follies and development. Their choices and conversations. Their connections and failings. We revel in the discoveries they make. We rally at their victories and curse their mistakes. We may know the ending, but we read on because their story is beautiful.

Just like in movies and books, each one of us does this every single day. Oh, we can choose to play it safe and shut ourselves off. Or ... We can open ourselves up and make ourselves vulnerable to people and experiences that inspire or intrigue us ... whether we anticipate the ending will be good or bad or just not to our liking. We treasure the people surrounding us at this moment even though someday they may leave. We play the game even though our team may lose. We audition for the role or interview for the job even though the answer may be "no."  We explore the relationships even though the eventual resolution is inconclusive.

If you know the ending might be bad, will you avoid the story? Or, will you read on ... watch on ... play on ... laugh on? Will you open yourself up and invest yourself when perhaps that friend, lover or companion might someday walk away? And if you don't, what might you lose in your journey? What might that person bring to your life that would be missed if you played it safe?

One of my favorite sayings is by Flavia: Some people come into our lives and quickly go. Others stay, leave footprints on our hearts and we are never ever the same. Those people that stayed around and left footprints on our hearts might leave as well ... someday or even tomorrow. Or they might hang around. Or they might come and go and come back. You never know. But, the way I figure it, I'm better off that they were there than if I avoided them because .... "what if" they hurt me or left me or ... or ... or.

The oracles foretold that Helen would inspire great love, cause a great war and destroy a country. Yet we watch her story unfold ... we read the words anyway. I believe that we are better for the experience -- the good, the bad, the sad, the devastating, the beautiful, the passion, the joy, the highs, the lows, the pain, the laughter, the  ____ (fill in the blank) than we would be if we closed the book too early.

As Kerry Washington's Olivia Pope says in my favorite TV Show Scandal ... "I don't want normal and easy and simple. I want painful, difficult, devastating, life-changing, extraordinary Love." Well, you don't get that by hiding in the corner and playing it safe.

I guess I'd rather have tears, scrapes and scars than miss the joys and passionate moments that come my way. I may know the ending. I may be able to predict the ending. But I enjoy the story as it unfolds. And, like Gatsby, I retain my extraordinary gift for hope as I read, as I watch, and as I live.

What about you? What will you choose? Are a few bumps, bruise and tears worth the ride to the highest heights or are you afraid of the lowest lows? If you know, predict or anticipate the ending, will you read on and ride it out? Or, will you close the book and choose something safer? 

After all, sometimes the endings can surprise us ...

                                                                                                        -- Jenni

"Social" Media .... Really?

"No I didn't download you off the Internet. 

I gave birth to you. End of discussion!"

I sat the other morning in a coffee shop, observing the people around me as I sipped my fancy Starbucks concoction. It's something I enjoy ... slowing down and taking the time to turn the spotlight off myself and focus outward. So, I watch and listen -- an anonymous observer of life and its pulsing energy. But I've noticed a trend lately ... and it both confuses and disturbs me.

More and more often, it isn't conversation and laughter I note. And, I don't think I'm alone in noticing the demise of conversation and the rise of technology as our key communication tool. Instead of words, there is a steady drum of pings and clicks, little beeps and eclectic sounds. Instead of locking eyes with the people around me as they move about their day, I catch the color of fancy phone cases. Instead of conversation, I hear a steady rhythm of typing.

It seems today's trendiest communication techniques have little to do with actual "communication" and everything to do with symbols and acronyms. Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, Tumblr, mySpace, Flicker, YouTube, LinkedIn and a host of other programs with fancy logos represent a trend known as Social Media. Many of these are foreign to me ... beyond my comprehension. But they encompass the current generation's method of communication. I hear that if you don't use these tools, you are doomed to a poor career and dull personal life. But what I can't figure out is how these technologies obtained the power to dominate our communication patterns. And how I'm supposed to feel when a relative stranger "endorses" me for skills on LinkedIn, follows me on Twitter, and asks to be my Friend on Facebook ...

A "few" years ago, I graduated from Albion College with a dual degree in English and Speech Communication. Both of these programs helped me learn to articulate ideas, comprehend text and speak proficiently and with authority to others. To get my Speech Communication degree, I took classes in verbal and non-verbal communication, explored dyadic and small group communication patterns, took a look at mass communication techniques as well as courses in public relations, rhetoric, persuasion, argumentation and advocacy, intercultural communication and public speaking. I even took a class on communication theory. My grades in these classes were exemplary. Not bragging just saying that -- in short -- when I graduated, I knew a thing or two about English Literature, Grammar and many, many aspects of Communication.

But this program did not prepare me for the dramatic changes in "communication" and the rise of "Social" Media.  These courses never suggested the demise of verbal, face-to-face communication nor did they hint that we would be checking in, texting and tweeting every move and learning from a program called YouTube. While these classes helped me build an impressive resume, they did not instruct me on how best to present myself using LinkedIn. Seriously, who could predict that our Social patterns would dissolve into typing our thoughts and ideas into an on-screen Timeline for people to follow?

I don't think I'm alone when I say that yes, I am "linked in" to many of these programs. I have a LinkedIn and Facebook Account. I even have an Instagram and Twitter Account with  a handful of followers and a few people that I follow ... though where we are going and how this program helps me get there still eludes me.

I joined Facebook a few years ago to connect with friends from my past ... I found a few of them from my days at Valparaiso High School and Albion College as well as people who've moved out of my current circle. We shared pictures and reminisced. I didn't expect Facebook (or Twitter for that matter) to turn into a place to post my every activity or check in to inform my followers and friends about my latest thought, discovery, activity, idea, meal, mistake, or political agenda. I don't use it to lash out at others or condemn different ideas or opinions. But that seems to be what it has become. And it is thru these programs that we make ourselves known ... And what goes there, stays there. Transparency in our lives is no more. 

Maybe I'm old-fashioned, but I prefer talking, creating and sustaining my relationships face-to-face. If my fingers do the walking in conversation, it's usually because I talk with my hands and I will inevitably reach out and touch your arm in expressing an idea. Yeah, I'll text you. But, I'd rather call you ... speak to you.

Last night, I sat with a friend and talked. Looked her in the eye and just spent time catching up. We laughed a lot and enjoyed a couple glasses of Prosecco as well as some popcorn. Pretty simple stuff. Before I realized, 3 hours had passed. During that time, the only time electronics came into play was to show pictures of her recent vacation. I didn't "check in." I didn't scroll FB messages. I was present and in the moment.

No offense ... but when I sit with my son, he is constantly checking his phone. His Twitter feed seems to be his link to the world. And, he's not alone. I worry that the art of dyadic or small group communication is going to be lost for his generation. I worry that it will never be found. That kids will grow up knowing only how to communicate with a "smart phone," iPad or other tablet device.  Kids don't use their phones to TALK. They use them to Tweet and Text. And they use them All The Time ... even when they are sitting next to each other!


Just an observation but it seems this Social Media stuff isolates us more than it brings us together ...

As a teenager, I found myself in trouble more than a few times for tying up the phone line. I had a 20 minute limit that I was always blasting past, preventing calls from getting to my parents. This was, of course, before VoiceMail during a time when the concept of a private conversation was limited by the length of a phone cord ... by how far that cord would stretch.  Bottom line ... I liked to talk to my friends. It's something I still enjoy today.

Texts are okay. FB messages get simple ideas across. But my Social Media isn't Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, Tumblr, mySpace, Flicker, YouTube, or LinkedIn. It's Face to Face with the people important to me. But if that kind of Social Media is lost on our kids and the current generation to typing ideas, quips and thoughts, what happens to verbal interaction and the human touch? What happened to the idea of being Truly Connected to another person? How does this Social Media technology sustain true relationships? Seems more complicated and time consuming to me. More difficult than dialing 10 numbers and speaking to someone in real-time.

Social Media ... that's a contradiction in terms ... an oxymoron. Don't text me ... talk to me. Don't Follow me ... Arrange to meet me for a drink or coffee. Don't FB message me ... Call me. I love my gold iPhone 5s. But I love the look in your eyes, the sound of your voice and the human touch more.

Maybe it's just me, but who else wonders where all this Social Media came from anyway? Doesn't seem very Social to me.

                                                                                                                        -- Jenni