Adjusting to The Adjustment Bureau

What if Life Featured an “Adjustment Bureau?” 

 Time for your Adjustment … Huh. Interesting word. Lots there …..

You go to the Chiropractor for an Adjustment … Usually means they crack your back a few times and you feel better and get up and go on about your day.

You take your car to the mechanic for an Adjustment. Some guy – or gal – in overalls fine-tunes breaks or rotates tires, completing various important tweaks to your car to make it run better. Then you drive off into the sunset, the car purring like a kitten.

You return an item to a store and the clerk makes an Adjustment to your bill, crediting your account and generally improving your financial health with the touch of a few keys.

So ... how about a Mental Adjustment? Since in all three of the above cases, the participant departs in a better state than they arrived, if I make a Mental Adjustment shouldn’t I be in a better place than I began? After all, don’t I need a tune up every now and then if I’m going to purr and run right? If I want to jump and exercise and keep up with my kids and friends and co-workers and many projects? If I want to get along with the different and beautiful personalities that surround me?

Perhaps I’m thinking a certain way about something happening around me … a work project, a person, a creative endeavor, the overly perky lady who leads my workout at 5:45 a.m., whatever. It isn’t progressing or following the expected path … my expected path. As I wrote a few months ago in the blog Great Expectations: Leave them to Dickens, people, events and life occurrences tend to be unpredictable and follow their own path. I may not be able to control and maneuver things the way I would like. My way may not be possible -- heck, my way may not be best or accessible. Okay, I THINK my way is best. I mean it’s my way. (Don't we all think our way is best ... I mean, be honest.) After all ... It’s what I want. But … along comes reality to bite "my way" in the ass and the next think I know I’m sitting down on the ground rethinking options. Along comes a change in tone or an offhand remark or a goal not reached or an email not returned or a call ignored or a project not the way I wanted it .... and boom, I’m pouring my poor misunderstood or abused self into words in my journal. 

Perhaps, this is the time for me to Make An Adjustment. Change my perspective. Choose to make a lot of lemonade with the 40 pound lemon. Choose to enjoy a drive by the water alone when I was hoping for company. Choose to clean the house when I’d rather grab fries and a beer. Choose to honor the people around me for who they are and what they are versus that "person" I want them to be … for me. Choose to celebrate what I do have and what is happening instead of wallowing in the elements denied me.

A few years ago, Matt Damon appeared in a film called The Adjustment Bureau. In the film, life was meant to flow a certain way and when it didn’t these guys in suits and 1950s fedoras popped in and made an adjustment … Crack!  They pop in and everything returned to the way fate dictated it Should be. Since Fate seemed to have a one directional plan, adjustments had to be made periodically. Free Will had apparently gone the way of the dodo and these guys in suits and fedoras were in charge of what I could do, feel, be, think, have etc. And when they made their adjustment, mankind was none the wiser. Oh, that is except for Matt Damon but he’s smarter than most.

Anyway, as I walk life’s dusty road and make discoveries and encounter people who look at life differently and have different goals than I do, I realize that at times I need to choose to make an adjustment rather than have a tantrum or insist on getting my own way. Seriously, if my life were this film, than these guys would be popping in a lot. I don't tend to follow the normal, expected path in many cases. I tend to like to go off-road and explore. I ask questions and challenge the status quo. I know who I am so I choose to live life and dance in the rain. 

So if I'm honest ... I don't always want to involve the Adjustment Bureau. At times I don't want to compromise or make sacrifices and accept something other than what I want.

However, I realize that not everyone will make the same choices or place importance exactly as I do. People are unique with their own energies and dynamics. I learn from them as they learn from my intense, driven nature. So, today I will make some Adjustments. Might tomorrow as well. I don’t consider this compromise but collaboration with Fate. As for the day after tomorrow, it's anyone's guess. I am who I am. I want what I want. But I love unconditionally, so at times I make sacrifices, collaborate and bite my overly active tongue.

What about you? Can you collaborate now and than instead of having those guys in fedoras pop in to change your life for you? Perhaps we can make Adjustments together and save the future, learning a little bit about Tolerance along the way.

                                                                                                                                  -- Jenni

What's On Your Mind??

Such asks the empty box on Facebook. The Status Box. You’ve all seen it at some time. Even those who snub FB or visit only occasionally cannot help but recognize that question. It beckons me to type something … to comment creatively about some topic that would be of note to close friends and casual acquaintances alike. I feel the urge to present some clever prose to appear interesting, thus winning new friends and influencing others.

That question taunts me, demanding a response until in frustration I click away from FB.  

You see, I have lots on my mind. Observations. Questions. Concerns. Hopes. Dreams. Disappointments. Intentions and Goals. Creative thoughts. Dark thoughts. Things I’d like to do. Things I want to do but can’t do for one reason or another. Food. Drink. Activities. Plans. Books to read. Knitting projects to begin … some to finish once and for all. Plays I want to do and see. People I want to spend time with. Places I want to go. The shoes I saw on-line or the outfit that struck my fancy. The conversation with my son this morning … the worries of my daughter. The call from a friend. The words from my parents. Things I want and can't have. Things I have and don't want. Things I don't want to do. The grocery list ... meal planning. Last night’s episode of Burn Notice ….. the list goes on and on.

There is so much on my mind at times that I feel as though I am a whirling dervish of thoughts. Many I grasp from the spinning tornado and hide before anyone can sneak a peak. They are precious and mine. Not to be shared with anyone but the most worthy. Others escape from my fingers – or lips – and can never return to the safety of their origins. But few are worthy of notice or evaluation from the great masses of eyes that will review it, analyze it and judge it in the light of a Status Update on Facebook.

My thoughts might be delicate … might dissolve with an unkind comment. My thoughts might be quirky and misunderstood. My thoughts might be different from the mainstream view … causing dissent and unfriending. My thoughts might be too personal to share randomly with people who only see me as a type-written passage.

But still Facebook asks me: What’s on your mind? So, I tell … I gently tug a little piece of myself from deep inside. I tell a little of the safe stuff or the mainstream stuff or the stuff that might create a dialogue amongst those individuals whose ideas I honor and appreciate. I type an update that might connect me to someone out there in the vastness of FB. But, most of the stuff stays locked up.

How dare Facebook ask me such a personal question anyway? It’s none of their beeswax.

So, what’s on YOUR Mind?

                                                                                                                              -- Jenni

I'm Fine

You are walking down the sidewalk and notice a familiar face. You smile. They smile. The time honored greeting now begins: "Hey there ... How are you doing?" 

And you respond in the traditional, habitual way by saying ... "Fine ... I'm fine."

Shallow. Incomplete. Flat. This Fine response. 

What does Fine mean anyway? What kind of an answer is Fine? Why do we say we're Fine? Why do we automatically use that expression as a fallback response? To the casual acquaintance, why do we feel the compulsion to paint our lives as "pretty"... as though everything is always coming up roses. It is important, I guess, for us to show ourselves to these casual encounters at our best. We don't disclose the drama ... heaven forbid!  Nor do we tend to disclose the fabulous. We prefer to be just "Fine."

Our route response may be derived by a degree of insincerity. We want others to see us as "solid" and "together."  And when a casual acquaintance asks you that question, something inside of you Knows that they really don't care about the answer. If you aren't in that "good place" personally, it is difficult to own that. You KNOW that they are expecting a simple response and anything more complicated would be a shock. Or, maybe you don't truly want to share. Maybe as Colonel Jessup said when cornered to tell all in A Few Good Men: "Truth? You can't handle the truth!"

So, you realize that if you started to say something outside of the standard ritual, you would be met with a blank, shocked gaze. Easier to say "fine" and get on down the sidewalk.

What is Fine? My Yoga instructor captured it beautifully during class the other day. 

Fine = 
 F = "effed"-up ...
 I = insecure ... 
 N = neurotic ... 
 E = emotional ...

Okay ... that I can relate to. That is who I just might be when I say "I'm fine." Some days one of those might apply ...  sometimes all. But that definition is one I can get behind. That is a more honest definition. 

People are too 3-dimensional to be Fine. Too complex to be Fine. Too hectic and busy and creative and energized and dynamic and multi-faceted to be just Fine. Life has too many challenges and opportunities to leave us fine. There is too much excitement and laughter and joy to remain fine. Chocolate cupcakes. Walks in the rain. Laughter of children. Good books and music. Kissing. Holding hands. Sunrises and Sunsets. Beaches and stars. Amidst all the beauty around us, I struggle against being just "fine." I don't want to be "Fine."

So when I walk down the sidewalk and you ask me how I am and I say "I'm Fine" ... well, you can be pretty sure there is more going on. Subtext and stuff. The old definition of Fine I use in that casual sidewalk encounter is an overgeneralized assessment of a response too complex to answer. There may be days when I'm fine. But, I'm gonna fight that. I'm more apt to choose to be "outstanding."

So ask away. I may be Fine ... some days. Or, I may surprise you.

                                                                                                                                            -- Jenni


 

Decision: Be Brave

Are you brave? What does "being brave" mean to you? How would you define "Brave?" Is it ...

• Standing strong when things come at you that you aren't expecting?
• Maintaining your composure when fear is the obvious choice and all you want to do is run away or "go south" and give up?
• Believing in yourself when everything around you suggests you take an alternate perspective?
• Refusing to give up something you believe in or hope for or dream of doing?

Disney made a movie with the title. Sara Bareilles, Josh Groban, and Idina Menzel have all created beautiful songs on the subject. "Brave." That idea seems to be receiving a great deal of attention. I find that's important to me. Being Brave. It applies to being brave and comfortable with the 47 year old woman that I am today. Being Brave when it comes to trusting my children and their choices. Being Brave when it comes to pulling out of my driveway and not knowing who might be on the road with me. Being Brave when I stand on the stage alone and have lines to say that I hope I remember. Being Brave as I make decisions, avoiding fears, doubts, undermining questions and regrets that try to worm their way inside my protective coating.

Funny, when tempted to let fear win out and give up this past week, I realized that I have those three songs on my iPod. As a person who believes in Nudges of the Spirit, I did not see this as a coincidence. But as a message. The words of Sara Bareilles ... a song that literally chose me from iTunes one day ... sent a message loud and clear.

Everybody’s been there,
Everybody’s been stared down by the enemy
Fallen for the fear
And done some disappearing,
Bow down to the mighty
Don’t run, stop holding your tongue
Maybe there’s a way out of the cage where you live
Maybe one of these days you can let the light in
Show me how big your brave is

Say what you wanna say
And let the words fall out
Honestly I wanna see you be brave

25 years ago I was Brave. I wrote a play. That in itself was Brave. But this Play had a sensitive subject matter. But then, after sharing it with One person, I buried it. Yeah, I know. Not so Brave.  For 25 years, it remained hidden in a dark folder. Then one day, it was discovered.

Perhaps, like Tolkein's Ring in the Lord of the Rings series, it wanted to be discovered at that point in time. Perhaps, it had a story inside its dusty pages that chose to be told at long last. Who knows. But, when it came into the light, it refused to be ignored.

So, the time had come for me to be Brave. I wrote the story. I needed to share the story. Tell the story to others. I needed to stage the play. So, I said yes to the challenge. Yes to the audition. And yes to getting the story told.

Auditions happened and no one came. Can I admit to a surge of doubt? For a moment there was a flicker that questioned if perhaps the story shouldn't be told ... No, with a little help from a friend or two, I chose to brush the fear and doubt aside. I chose to ask a different question and decided to be Brave. I had people who had shown interest. I reached out. I asked. And they said yes. A breath of relief went thru me at that moment. Finally the story would be told.

Another hurdle. One yes. Another no. Another moment of doubt. But then ... someone else chose to be Brave along with me. Someone unexpected. But, because I don't believe in coincidence, the right person after all. Rehearsals finally began. And after 25 years, I heard the words I wrote spoken aloud for the very first time.

Oh, it wasn't the true first time. There was another time when these words had life. When the characters breathed real air. But then that's another story. And I'm not brave enough to tell that one yet.

But for now. I'm Brave enough ....

                                                                                                                                      -- Jenni

540 E. Harrison Street

I have a chronic case of Hurry Sickness. It's been documented by family in countless conversations and communications. It's been noted by my children. It's a part of me ... that whirling dirvishness that finds some twisted pleasure in spinning like a tornado instead of blowing gently about like a breeze from the ocean.

However, in the summertime I have discovered a cure. In the early mornings I sip my coffee a bit more leisurely at ease on the patio. In the warm afternoon air, I savor the bliss escaping with a good book. In the evenings, I take a walk and listen to my iPod. I find pleasure in seeking out warm weather tunes that play as I clean or cook. In July & August, I withdraw from the busyness symptoms. The hurried pace of my life is replaced by more solitude and silence. By simple pleasures enjoyed with family and friends. By an ease that can exist uniquely amidst warmth, sunshine and the drama of summer storms.

Perhaps this is a result of summers spent with my grandparents. The unhurried pace of life at 540 E. Harrison Street offered a completely different experience. There I was content to walk and talk with my grandfather and to help my grandmother with the from scratch meals she prepared in an air-condition-less kitchen. There reading a book outside as I sat in the clover and watched the bees was the best way to spend an afternoon. There afternoons at the park were followed by leisurely meals at Poe's Cafeteria where we visited with all the relatives and friends my grandparents knew from that small town in southern Indiana.

I listened to records and played with toys. I didn't spend a lot of time inside as I recall and little to no time -- except for the treat of Saturday morning cartoons -- in front of the television. Laptops and Smartphones were non-existent. But picnic lunches after church and singing during car-rides bring a smile to my heart portable DVD players and a Nintendo DS will never touch.

At 540 E. Harrison Street, we spent evenings around the oak wooden kitchen table playing games -- a card game named Liverpool Rummy could take 3-4 hours. And after lights out, my brother and I would sneak downstairs and sit outside the swinging wood kitchen door and listen to our parents and grandparents laugh and talk. My grandfather would smoke his pipe on the back porch. Popcorn would be made on the stove. I remember the meals ... my grandmother would make these amazing green beans ... homemade beef and noodles ... fried chicken ... and PIES. Oh how I miss her pies.

None of this could happen without a leisurely pace. Without an unhurried life. Without an empty cloth calendar whose only purpose was to show the days ... there was no lengthy list of to do's or places to rush to. From scratch cooking and simple pleasures ... they need time devoted to them. They deserve time. And the benefits we receive when we devote to them are immeasurable.

So in late July and August, I honor the memory of 540 E. Harrison Street by knitting, reading, relaxing with my family and friends, walking, talking and just plain slowing down to notice the stuff I can sometimes get too busy to notice other times. And, perhaps someday the 540 E. Harrison cure will expand into other months of my life. I would like to be a breeze instead of a tornado. There is always the possibility I can find an easier approach to my tornado tendencies ... anything is possible.

Wanna join my at 540 E. Harrison Steet ... just for a little while?
                                                                                                                                                                         -- Jenni

Words To Say ...

There is a woman who stands outside the Post Office every day, collecting money for the Royal Oak Animal Shelter. Rain, Sun, Snow ... doesn't matter. She's there. She has something she believes in and stands outside sharing her mission with anyone who cares to listen. Or donate.

I walk by her a lot as I travel around Royal Oak for work or to yoga or to shop or eat or whatever. I smile at her. I exchange a few words. I don't necessarily donate money as I walk by every time, but I do make eye contact and speak. I don’t even know her name. But I recognize that she has something to say as she stands there and I want to let her know I honor her stance.

The other day, I attended a church service led by a dear friend of mine who is now a retired minister. He has been and will always be a mentor of mine. I would sit at his feet anytime I could and listen to him preach. I would gladly debate, discuss, and exchange perspectives ... learning along the way. During the church service ... it was a Methodist service by the way ... he mentioned both Buddism and Judaism, honoring the words those religions have to say in his own message. He has always had an amazing, reflective and open mind. He has always had words to say that are worth hearing.

Many of us have words to say. I choose to say them on "Jenni's Corner." Like the girl in Beautiful Creatures, I see words all around me. Poems. Stories. Quotes. Ideas. They have power and energy to connect or disconnect. No ... that isn’t exactly true. The words don't have the power. The way people hear and interpret and respond to the words GIVES them power. I know many people who post blogs or commentary on Facebook or other Social Media. Sometimes, their words result in people removing themselves from their mailing lists or un-friending them. Such a strange concept. But it’s just an example of the Power of Words.

Like the woman outside the Royal Oak Post Office, these are just people who believe in stuff and note their thoughts in print or by taking a stance outside a building, collecting money or raising awareness. Okay, there are some who use words aggressively and get “in my face.” Not such a big fan of those. I was always told you catch more flies with honey than vinegar and choose a gentler way to express my thoughts. But, they have words to say too. I just might opt to steer a little clear of them.

But then, with all the words flowing, do we listen? I’ve read that "we have two ears and one mouth, so we should listen more than we say.” (Never knew that is an actual statement made by Diogenes Laertius ... just thought it was a saying my mom used with me.) But, if I’m honest, I recognize that I’m much better at speaking than hearing. The other day I was hanging out with a friend. He was speaking. Before I knew it, I cut him off. He smiled politely, nodded and listened. Truly listened. I could see in his eyes that he was truly focused on my words and that gave me pause … That discovery made me look a little closer at myself. I need to become a better listener.

If people have words to say, they deserve to be heard. Not cut off or interrupted. Not redirected. Not brushed aside or deleted. Not abused for the difference of their opinion. We won’t always agree. Debates may ensue. But listening to each other shows a respect that seems to be neglected as we bash people or delete Facebook comments that conflict with our own.

Ernest Hemingway stated “When people talk, listen completely. Most people never listen.” Such an interesting and sad thought. Better still is Stephen Covey’s observation that “Most people do not listen with the intent to understand; they listen with the intent to reply.” 

Lauren Oliver, in her book Delirium, wrote “I've learned to get really good at this - say one thing when I'm thinking about something else, act like I'm listening when I'm not, pretend to be calm and happy when I'm really freaking out. It's one of the skills you perfect as you get older.”  

I can do that. Smile and be thinking something else. Talking on the phone and typing on my computer. But then I’m not really present for the other person. I’m not honoring the words they have to say.  If I want people to honor mine, the least I can do is honor what they put out there. And, I kinda wanna do better than just phone it in.

I guess I’m discovering that I selected the people who surround me for the intriguing people they are … for the uniqueness they offer whether I agree with everything they say, believe in or do or only a little bit of it. I assume that by honoring their thoughts and listening to what they have to say that I might become wiser through that experience.  Listening is an attitude that comes from the heart … an authentic desire to share with another human being.

So Yes, I have Words To Say … but I want to hear the Words You Have To Say, too.

So ………….. ?????

                                                                                                                        -- Jenni

Ticket to Ride ... When I Read ...

I have a book that fascinates me. I want to devour it. But ... at the same time ... I don't want to read it too fast. Instead, I savor each and every morsel and digest both the hidden and direct messages. From the very first words of the very first sentence, I was drawn in.

It takes place in Africa -- a place that has long held me in its thrall. When I read it, I'm there. Walking the plains. Feeling the long grass. Watching the golden sunrise sink into the lake in a burst of red fire. Smoothing the red dust from my skin. Climbing onto the veranda and gazing out into the landscape stretching out warm and wild before me.

In the book, I can become the heroine ... be she innocent or femme fatale. I can imagine the supporting cast and picture unique and familiar faces in the roles written for them. It becomes very personal as I journey into the pages. The real world fades around me.

The landscape and setting of this particular book captivates me ... drawing me deeper and deeper into the pages. There are times I'm convinced that I'll just disappear into a book someday. That my children will walk out onto the sun-porch looking for me but find only an open book where I once sat.

I'm grateful that a book can take me on an adventure ... on a journey that I've long wanted to take. Not every book can do that, but there are some that truly transport me. The images in my mind are strong ... the book seems to call my name and beckon me to open its pages. To return to it.

I've heard it said that a book can be a Passport to people, places, ideas and experiences. New ones. Familiar ones. Characters on the pages become friends that beckon me to follow them. Quotes from characters litter the pages of my journal and influence conversations and essays. Become fuel for my curious and busy mind. Books are inviting, using nothing but my mind as the transportation device, exercising my imagination and senses. For a few dollars -- or with a waive of my Library Card -- I discover myself taking the most magnificent journeys ... experiencing fascinating and magical places.

Movies can't do that. TV shows can't do that. Those mediums specifically show me how to imagine something. Define the character visually. Tell me what he or she sounds like. My imagination takes a holiday.

But with my book, I imagine the scenery with only the words as the catalyst. With my book, I pack up only the people or items I wish -- or leave them all behind -- and experience Africa.

 

Wanna go with me? ... pick up a book. I'll find you ...

                                                                                                                        -- Jenni