A Death Foreshadowed

I'm a pretty anxious person.

I used to think I wasn't, but there's no use in beating around the bush. I'm paranoid. I worry. I fret about things that cannot possibly happen. I would like to blame this on the state of the country that I live in, what with mass shootings and idiots in charge, but it's probably some actual mental imbalance too.

And that's fine. I cope. I do what I have to do to get through the day. I mean, no one's immune to being afraid of the unknown. Sometimes the unknown can bring great things, and joy, and growth. But it can also bring darkness, and my brain likes to get caught up in the possible bad things that could happen.

A few months ago, I had a conversation with a person who I love very deeply, who admitted that they think I have an old soul. Or, in translation, will not live a long life. Further translation in Jenn's head, whether or not it's what was intended, was: You Are Going To Die Young.

At the time, it was something to laugh off. I immediately told every person I know about this, because it was absurd, but it didn't really sit with me. Until I woke up one day and realized, oh, it totally did sit with me. Not that I generally put a lot of stock in things like that. But somehow that lingered, and it ate at me, and despite the fact that I tried to play it off as a joke there has been a part of me that is afraid. 

Like I said, that was months ago, back when I was planning this trip to Hawaii with my sister that I am currently on. Since then there have been a lot of things. Airplane malfunctions. Volcanic eruptions. I even met one of my favorite celebrities, which is something so joyous and out of place it felt fake.

In any TV show or movie, me dying would have been properly foreshadowed. Anyone watching the stretch that is my life would be able to rewind, say oh yeah, and then move on. Jenn's dead. She got her life high (thanks Jarod Joseph) and now it's over. Goodbye forever.

Good news, though. Life is not a movie!

Just because I am looking at my life through these particular lenses does not mean that my life is going to follow narrative sense. Which, in ways, could be scarier. But whatever.

I told all of this to my therapist at our last session last Tuesday. Her name is Allison and she's one of the coolest people I have ever met.

When I said, "I kind of feel like I'm about to die."

She said, "Well, you kind of are. Aren't you?"

Allison then went on to talk about how my life is in transition. How these old pieces of myself are going to die and I'm going to have to rebuild them. How this generalized anxiety that I had about traveling was anxiety people always have when they go on new trips, but was likely only furthered by the fact that my life here with LVC is about to end too.

When most people go through their young adult life crisis, it's right after they graduate. They're out of school, they have to find a job, etc. They don't know what's next and that brings about a certain time of fear. Mine's just hitting me a little later.

Growing up I always had the next step of my life planned, for the most part. Once I graduated high school, I was going to work at camp. Once I finished my freshman year, I was going to be an RA. Once I graduated college, I was going to do a year of service.

After that? Fuck if I know.

I am finally, after 5ish years, reaching the end of the plan that I set. There were some other things that I'd hoped for, other opportunities that flamed out for one reason or another. So more or less, I've been floundering.

I'm not ever going to return to Mar-Lu-Ridge as a staff member. Never again will I don my RA name tag and circle the halls of Tower D. And soon, the doors will close on the Ella Baker house, never to be opened by another Lutheran volunteer again. The final community in my hierarchy of communities is coming to a close.

And it's not that I'm not still part of these communities. I have a hilarious amount of group Snapchats with camp people, and various group texts. I still keep in contact with a few RAs that I worked with, as well as many residents. And just because I leave Oakland doesn't mean I'm never going to see or talk to this mismatched family again.

But that's it. I'm finally at the end. And... yeah. It feels like a death in so many ways I can't even begin to explain.

This version of Jenn that I have spent 22 long years crafting has to take pieces from everything she's been through and move on. And that's fucking terrifying.

It's not like I don't know some of what's next. I have vague plans. But it's nothing as structured as the past five years of my life has been.

Today is my 23rd birthday.

There are 61 days left of the LVC program.

After that? Well, I'm not on my own, but I'm certainly going to be out of my depths for a little bit. And that's okay. It's scary, but it's okay. It definitely doesn't mean I'm going to die, but Allison was right.

I have to say goodbye to so many things and so many people and so many layers of comfort that I've been carrying for so long. Part of me is dying.

And as cliche as it is, because it's really freaking cliche, part of me is being reborn. Every end is a new beginning. Every time a door closes, another one opens. From the ashes a phoenix rises. Insert cliche analogy here. You get what I'm saying.

So, on this wonderful birthday of mine where I hiked to an old WWII bunker with my sister, and drank a lycheetini, and laid on the beaches of Oahu one last time (for now), I've been reflecting a lot on the pieces of myself that I want to take with me into my next year of life - and the pieces that I need to let die.

That being said, life is a mystery and we never really know what's next. But there's still so much left to see and do, so many new people to meet and new communities to join - and death foreshadowed or not, I'm sticking around to see what comes next.

Thank you everyone for the birthday wishes!

Making My Bed

I've never really been much of a routine person.

In fact, if I'm anything, it's an efficiency person. I like to get things done quickly. This is not for lack of quality, necessarily, but the timeliness of things allows more time to do other things. Like, I am really bad at leisurely walks. I move too quickly for it to be enjoyable and am often told to slow down.

So that pretty much directly translates to my routines. For example, I don't really wear a lot of make-up, because if I did I'd have to wake up earlier to put it on my face. And I really value sleep. Thus, I've also never been much of a bed-maker, as that takes time that I generally don't have when I'm running to catch the bus, and if I'm just going to climb into later that night anyway then there's no point.

I mean, that's how I used to think.

I've started making my bed. I'm an adult now and that feels like an adult thing that I should be doing. And it is, easily, one of the best decisions I've made in my life.

I started making my bed around a month ago. The first time I did it was mostly on a whim. I wasn't doing so well in the brain and was down in a lot of ways. But one morning I was awake before I normally am, so I had extra time, and I made my bed.

It takes like, a minute.

I just stand up, transfer all of the things on my bed (like my phone, or books, or clothes I decided not to wear) to my side table, and then shake out my sheets. First is my top sheet (which I have decided I am VERY pro-top sheet, and if you don't have one you need to be washing your other blankets regularly. so many germs, people!!), and then the green blanket I stole from the closet on the first night we moved into our house, and then the cheap but warm Amazon blanket I bought that I pretend is a comforter.

After that if I have to transfer stuff back to my bed, I do. If I don't, though, my bed is nice and made and waiting for me to return to after a long day. A few weeks ago we were out doing something (a baseball game, maybe?) and I'd forgotten that I made my bed and the literal physical joy that I felt upon returning home to see it made was overwhelming. Never in my life did I think making my bed would make me feel so good.

I started doing a lot of little self-care things, actually, so that was just the start.

Sometimes if I'm up early enough I'll read my tarot cards. I know there's a lot of opinions out there regarding the use of tarot cards, but I'm not using them to predict my future or anything. Instead I use them as a meditative and reflective tool to look within myself and see what it is I need to be focusing on. My go-to question when I read my own cards is "What is it I need to be thinking about today?" and then I go from there.

I also have started waking up earlier in general. While I no longer get to silently commute with Carly (once we were on the bus and it was barely 8am and she tried to ask me my opinion on the US prison systems, like I could form a response???), I kind of enjoy commuting by myself. That way if I want to change seats I don't feel bad about it, and I get to wake up and listen to music without the pressure to communicate. Along with that there are WAY less people on the 7:45 bart than on the 8:15 bart. So waking up earlier and commuting earlier gets me in the office earlier, closer to 8am, which gives me a lot of silence to get some early work done. Which is helpful, because my brain starts to give out in the afternoon, so it's nice to have that chance to be in the office alone and be focused.

I've also taken another crack at my novel. My New Year's resolution was to finish it before the end of the year, which is still my goal, but I also would like to have the first draft complete by the end of my service year. Which may not happen, as July is apparently quickly approaching, but I'm trying. I don't know if I've in depth talked about it but my novel's about a summer camp (shocker) and I really love the characters a lot. They've been in my head for literally years after I wrote a short-story for one of my creative writing classes Sophomore year about a prank war and they continue to linger. It makes me feel warm when I return to my writing and see these characters that I love, that are full of pieces of real people that I know and love. I just sent my mom the first chapter for Mother's Day and she immediately started bothering me for more, so I take it that she likes it. And I like when people like it! I created this thing and other people who exist outside of my own head look at the thing I created and are like, neat. And it is neat! So that's been good.

And, like mentioned in a previous post, I'm trying to work on myself spiritually as well.

The good news is that I have a great support system, and the better news is that spirituality is something that is always shifting and changing and growing.

AKA - a lot of the small acts of self-love that I've been participating in have been really good for me in a spiritual sense. You can make anything spiritual. I think a lot of my own personal spiritual struggles have been because I don't really have a spiritual self. So without going into a lot of detail, I'm working on it. And I think I feel more grounded than I have in a while.

Not like, roots in grounded. But at least I can feel it beneath my feet.

I also tend to be a big believer in how your thoughts shape the world around you. This means when I put a lot of good energy into making my bed or reading my cards or writing my book, I feel good. I've framed my thoughts about these things to be encouraging and rewarding, and so I am encouraged and feel rewarded once I partake in them.

Another thing I'm working hard to shape good thoughts around is my community.

Last night as spirituality night I got a little emotional. To be fair I'd had some wine and also a bit of a long day, but those feelings were genuine and sincere. There's a path in my life that I could've been on that would've led me away from this place, and as devastating as it was then (and sometimes remains to be), I wouldn't be where I am now had life not happened the way it happened.

The Ella Baker house, God bless us, can be a bit of a mess sometimes. While we all have connections that we can make and have made with one another, we're Vastly Different People. I mean, that's what happens when you throw seven strangers in a house together. But last night when I was thinking about our house and talking about our house I started tearing up, because I really do think we're in a good space right now. I know maybe not everyone in my house feels that way, and that's okay! Maybe they're reading this shaking their head at me for being oblivious or something.

But the bottom line in all of this is that I live in a community where I feel like I can express my needs and my values and my concerns and feel heard. And even if others in the house don't understand or relate, I trust that they will give me that space anyway. But the thing that makes this important is how hard we've worked for it. We have our bumps now, and I hope I don't upset anyone by saying this, but the house used to be tense. We were all coming at things from our own lens, including myself. But I really truly genuinely believe that we all own a pair of glasses now that contains lens from everyone, and while maybe we get frustrated at X Y or Z, it's nothing like it used to be.

I like our messy, eclectic house filled with people who make me laugh when I least expect it. I like coming home to a bed that's been made. I like browsing Pinterest for hours to create character boards for these things that live inside my head.

I never thought I'd be a routine kind of person. But I think I really like it.