If you know me more than just the casual knowings of a person, there are a few things you could probably say about me with confidence. I’m a camp person, I never shut up about the place. I get annoyed when people ask me to choose between cats and dogs. I collect mugs, I drink a lot of coffee, I like to spend my time writing stories, etc. etc. etc.
Another Fan Favorite Fact about Jenn is: I’m a very picky eater.
It’s embarrassing.
I’ve been a picky eater since I was young, and when I say picky I mean it. I really like chicken nuggets and mac and cheese (actually, most things with cheese) and almost all the carbs ever. It’s like, seriously embarrassing. I’m 22! I should really be able to go to a restaurant and order something other than, well, the chicken strips.
One of the big things about this year with LVC is that I’m living in an intentional community. In an intentional community, you cook food for each other. And you eat the food that others cook. Around a dinner table. Together.
(Thus, no sneaking off and shoving my face full of pasta.)
No matter what, whenever I talk to my parents, they always ask me the same question. What are you eating there?! Because my pickiness, it’s that bad that it must be mentioned in every phone call. And when I tell them? Nothing but laughter.
I made sure to let my housemates know right away. But I also told them, and I meant it, that I wanted this year to be a year of food-growth for me. So maybe I won’t be 23 and still ordering chicken strips. (But also, chicken strips are so good, what the heck.) They’ve been wonderful thus far, not just like--staring at me as I lift a spoon to my lips and sample these new things. Which is great! Because like I said, it’s embarrassing that I am the way that I am.
Anyway, into our next segment I’ve titled--
Jenn Tries New Food
Rules to this segment.
- Save your judgement for someone who cares.
- Spoiler alert: that person is not me. I’m well aware that I’m a pretty big failure of a human when it comes to using my tastebuds.
Here’s a complete list of the new foods that I’ve tried since the beginning of this program, along with my honest thoughts about each:
- Salad
- SALAD IS JUST LEAVES I DON’T UNDERSTAND THE APPEAL
- But I’ve had a few different kinds (because apparently there’s infinite ways to eat leaves) and whatever, it’s pretty okay. I don’t see myself going to a restaurant and ordering LEAVES but maybe over time when I learn how to like, fancify it more and make it filling.
- Some things in the salad include like, peppers? Those were good. Carrots are orange and also pretty good. Cheese in salad? Well, we know I like cheese.
- Couscous
- I had to Google how to spell this.
- My roommate also made cinnamon rolls because she was worried I wouldn’t eat it. BUT I DID EAT IT. It was pretty good. It’s been like, a week now so I don’t remember the exact details of this? But I ate it and was filled. Which is like, the purpose of food.
- I think there was other stuff in it? Vegetables? Everyone here loves vegetables. Vegetables are okay.
- I’m sure there’s more to the like, makings of this, but I don’t know. I didn’t make it. Would definitely eat again though.
- Fried Rice
- But like, it wasn’t complete? Maybe we didn’t have soy sauce or something? I really do not remember. I need to start taking vivid notes of every meal that we eat so I can update the masses who clearly care so much.
- Also delicious. Rice is so good, that’s not a surprise. It’s the like, variety I was worried about. I’m a child I get it, blah blah blah.
- Had broccoli in it? I normally love broccoli but preferred the like, peas. Which is a shock to me, mostly.
- Again, would consume another time.
- Sweet Potato Chili
- My dad makes chili all the time at home and I’ve never eaten it because I’M A WUSS so I felt 1) really nervous to consume this food and 2) kind of bad for not consuming my dad’s chili before this chili.
- THIS WAS SO GOOD. I added so much cheddar cheese (again, cheese, y’all) and we had warm cornbread and just. Oh man.
- Beans are weird. Not what I expected? Why are they mushy like that?
- Would definitely eat again, preferably in the near future, seeing as I had seconds and was still ready for more.
I have yet to cook for the house, and they’re being patient with me again in the sense that I have very little experience with cooking things. A lot of them used cooking in their families as a bonding thing, and I just… can’t relate. My parents both cooked, I guess, but it wasn’t something we all did at the same time. When they split, I just sort of made mac and cheese all the time. It’s not that they never, like, offered to teach me? It just never came up.
I was an RA for three years so my meals were taken care of, I didn’t have to cook anything then either. And over the summer I was at camp where Chef Tim blessed us literally every day so it wasn’t something I needed to worry about.
But we’ll make do. We always do.
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One of the things that really keeps LVC going is donations from wonderful humans like you, whoever you are who is reading this, who are invested in my story and my growth. The other day we had the Head Money Guy of LVC reach out to us so we can start reaching out to those we know for fundraising purposes.
So! If you think LVC is cool, which it is, and you think I’m cool, which is debatable, I hope you’ll consider donating to the cause. We do some good work and we do some hard work, and anything you have to offer would be greatly appreciated.
I’m gonna be dropping that guy down at the bottom of my blog posts from here on out, so if you can’t donate now but would like to donate later, that’s cool too. Or if you want to donate now and can’t later, also cool. Or if you’re living on a stipend, like me, or can’t donate due to various reasons I totally get that too. No pressure!
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Most people grow up pretty much knowing how their life is going to play out.
If you grow up with a lot of money, living comfortably, doing whatever the hell you want, chances are your life will remain that way. Can’t relate, but I’m sure there’s someone out there with that experience. If you’re like me, you grow up not… poor, necessarily, but frugal enough to cut the cable bill when you know you can’t afford it. You stop looking at out of state schools because it’ll cost too much. You rarely ask your parents for things unless you absolutely need it. Even then, you typically always offer to pay them back even when they refuse. The idea of traveling anywhere is 99% out of the question, save for maybe a trip to Disney every five years or so.
But then you grow up.
You turn 22 and you say, “Fuck it, I’m joining a service corps.” And your parents say, “Oh yeah? What’ll you do in that service corps?” And you answer, “I’m going to fucking California.”
Not literally. I don’t think I ever actually said “I’m going to fucking California.” But you catch my drift.
That’s obviously not the only reason you join a service corps, though some might think so. You’ve had a few individuals who you admire and respect do the same thing, and you want to be like them. You also just got a degree in Family and Human Services so working for a non-profit is probably a great way to go.
Okay, enough second person POV, that’s getting weird.
I joined LVC because some of the coolest people I know did LVC and they loved it. And I’m a Lutheran. And I wanted to do a year of service. And I got to go to California.
To be fair, I also applied for places in Washington (both Seattle and Tacoma) and the Twin Cities, but California called to me and I answered. My thought process was somewhere along the lines of: if I’m going to be doing a year of service, might as well go somewhere new you’ll probably never get to go again.
This past weekend, I saw the Pacific Ocean.
I had reached a point in my life where things were very stagnant, and it made me afraid. I was afraid I would never leave the East Coast, that I’d never get out of my small town where you can’t even go to Target without seeing someone you know. I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to take any major steps toward something bigger, something greater. I was afraid I would fall into a routine and stick with it instead of doing something new.
And then suddenly, I was standing on the edge of the biggest cliff I’ve ever climbed, staring out into the vast greatness of the Pacific Ocean. There are really, truly no words to describe it. I can’t possibly figure out how to word it for you, whoever you are that’s reading this, to understand how I felt. Unstoppable isn’t strong enough. Invincible isn’t strong enough. Miraculous isn’t strong enough. There just aren’t words.
The sun wasn’t even shining, fucking overcast Californian skies, and I had never felt brighter.
We had been stupid tourists at that point, assuming the weather in Oakland would be the same in San Francisco, so I didn’t even have a jacket. I stood with my arms outstretched on the top of this hill, gazing west and west and west, and the wind cut straight to my core. Goosebumps crawled over my arms and the wind threatened to topple me and still I stood, overwhelmed and breathless and bright.
I will never, ever, feel that way again.
I’m just sitting here, days later, trying to figure out what I can say to get you, again, whoever you are reading this, to really understand what it was like standing there, but I just can’t. There really truly are no words. I don’t think I’ve smiled that much in years. I’m smiling just thinking about it.
There is something so magical about standing on the edge of the world with no one there to stop you. It sizzles in the air and climbs into your heart and it doesn’t even matter that the Golden Gate Bridge is literally right there, because the ocean is telling you that you have finally, finally made it.
It feels a little bit like coming home.
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