Signs of Life
These essays are meant to be read in succession this time around, because my gut says that focusing on where I’m going and connecting the dots is more important than the thoughts themselves. I hope that makes sense. I prefer to establish a goal, track and log the data, analyze it, and then decide what the next move should be based on educated analysis. But the role of Decision-Maker is mine and mine alone, because otherwise I’m denying culpability in just how this little life of mine plays out. That’s crucial. In this way, the past and the present are always equally present for me, because I am learning all the while, moving towards the next best thing and then…through it. That’s what studies have shown.
“Life is a journey”, folks say, but that particular noun is far too passive for my taste. Fuck that. My life is an Expedition. Isn’t yours? I must be proactively engaged, remaining awake, aware and present at all times in order to hear the calls of the present, and their roots are often found in the past. Therefore, this seems to be a record keeping for this present period in my life, and it feels pivotal. So, let’s talk about the data gathering. Let’s talk about the Signs.
Back in 2007, I was a stay-at-home mom of a 3- and 5-year-old who sang gigs with Conspirare, a grammy-award winning classical chamber group led by a unique and intriguing genius who would teach me more about myself than I’m sure he has any awareness or understanding of. And each Christmas season, we would sing carefully crafted and immersive concerts that seamlessly wove together music of various genres, both sacred and secular, into concerts that touched me to the core every time, changing me both musically and most profoundly…spiritually. These choral experiences were my sanctuary during those years, and I still worship at the feet of what I experienced during the rehearsals and performances- breathing with others, watching his conducting and absorbing the audience’s investment and active engagement throughout those two hours that we spent together in communion. I experienced the best of humanity in those moments, and I feel grateful that I was able to be present.
In Christmas of ‘07, he programmed a piece that he composed using the text from Derek Walcott’s poem, Love After Love, and I remember welling up with tears each and every time that I sang it. Every. Time. It simply seemed to run so deep that it scared me, but it also drew me in, beckoning me to hyper focus on every note and every word. And that transformed into the need to be surrounded by its wisdom. Strange but true, but I know there are many others who like to be surrounded by the profound and memorable too. Word art, photos, trinkets of meaningful moments. If you stepped in my Lakehouse office right now, you’d think that this was the treasure chest of Jen-ness, because yeah, that’s exactly what it is. I like to be surrounded by the best of my past, and I am charged with my own words and actions being the best representation of my present, so that’s why I decorate like I do. The room has a story. I have a story. It’s all relevant and real, and I let it both fuel me and propel me forward.
Bringing meaning to the text itself has changed throughout the last 18 years, but I can tell you that it’s been ever present in some way- always prompting me to ask myself if I love and trust who I see in the mirror every morning. It preaches self-acceptance and self-love with every hearing, but only if I play the sermon on repeat at times. “Yeah, Jen. Play it again. I’m not sure the data shows that you’ve listened properly, because the record keeps skipping and repeating the same line. Feast on your life. Feast on your life.”
If you aren’t familiar with it, I’ll include it here, because perhaps it will resonate with you and your own journey. Expedition, I mean.
The time will come
when, with elation
you will greet yourself arriving
at your own door, in your own mirror
and each will smile at the other’s welcome,
and say, sit here. Eat.
You will love again the stranger who was your self.
Give wine. Give bread. Give back your heart
to itself, to the stranger who has loved you
all your life, whom you ignored
for another, who knows you by heart.
Take down the love letters from the bookshelf,
the photographs, the desperate notes,
peel your own image from the mirror.
Sit. Feast on your life.
(“Love After Love”, Derek Walcott, 1976)
In March of 2013, I shut down my floral design business and was packing up our entire house, getting ready to move to London with my partner and all three kiddos in tow: 2, 8 and 10 years old at the time. And before I left, my best friend gave me almost every letter to be able to bring my design plan to fruition. She knew I hung on that last phrase and had painstakingly visited multiple Austin area Hobby Lobby shops to gather all the vowels and consonants to display Feast on your Life on my wall in my upcoming European digs. It was one of the most meaningful gifts that anyone has ever given me, but the plan would never be fully realized because she left the final step up to me. You see, at every store the letter F had been sold out, so with the move being within a week’s time, she chose to just give me what she had, and I packed it all away accordingly. I moved away for those two years, I never finished the search for the missing letter, and I would forget about the quest altogether. The phrase would never make it into my design scheme until I made it back from London and found myself divorced, alone and building a new life for myself and the kids in my new home. That day, I found those letters, laid them all out and realized what revelation had been hidden away all those years in between. “East on your lie”.
And that’s what I had done. I had gone East on a Lie- a lie that I supported by ignoring all the signs and denying my instinct that something was rotten in Denmark and would easily catch up to me if I crossed those Atlantic waters. I had not listened to my gut, and I had given another human being more power than my own heart and brain in my own understanding of who I am and what is good and healthy for both my life and for the lives of my children. Perhaps a bit dramatic, but that’s how I see it now. That’s what the stats show.
This past summer, Mike and I spent 3 weeks in Mexico and Belize at a time when I had stepped down from my sales and marketing position where I had been engulfed in data, processes and reporting for the last two years. And I came back with a whole separate suitcase full of art, handmade jewelry, trinkets, clothing and photos taken. Many of them surround me now. To be forthcoming, 2024 was a terribly difficult year with two overlapping cancer scares for my daughter and the uncertainty of choosing to do private consulting work which only carried short-term contracts at best, so it was questionable if I could calm all the fears and appreciate any moment whatsoever. I mean, really. I had already decided that I didn’t like the destabilization that came from relying on contract work and had even thought that following through with the trip itself might be irresponsible at best. But because Mike knew that we needed it, we went anyway, so I did my best at what I like to call…positive compartmentalization. It was required, because otherwise, I wouldn’t have experienced the transformation that was to come. How pivoting to the present and using creativity can and will move me toward greater things and greater happiness. This, I believe.
Those beauty-searching weeks turned into a soul-searching summer of deciding what to do next with my career and the understanding that it’s up to me to put all the pieces together. No more questioning myself or looking for outside validation of my ideas or my work product. No more keeping creativity reserved for music or decorating. No more playing out old personal wounds in a professional setting. No more holding back the sometimes-unusual approach that I take in my work life, because I needn’t be apologetic for my “atypical pedigree”. It brings a unique perspective, and I’ll only get the things I want when I decide that all my skills and experience are worthy of stature.
It must all come from me. I must advocate for myself. And grand ideas should be fleshed out, even if they end up failing. Creativity, Music, Recovery, Connection, Mental Health Advocacy, Sales, Marketing, and above all else- gut instinct that comes only after deep thought and reflection. So that’s when I started thinking about writing again and stopped listening to the doubt that still accompanied me to work each day. Therefore, the current happenings are not by accident. It is all part of a plan where I’m working through the same self-acceptance and self-love that bubbled to the surface 18 years ago as that young mom. I’ve just finally made it further into the poem itself.
This morning, I pulled up the album on Spotify and listened to the piece again. I can even hear my voice as part of some of the more soaring melodies in my favorite sections of this through-composed piece. If you don’t know what that means, it means the music is continuous, non-sectional and non-repetitive, where each new stanza of lyrics is set to different music. And appropriately so, you go on an expedition as a listener, never returning to any chorus but forced to let each sentence and melody move through you and take you to. Take you to... Well, you must decide that for yourself, right? It’s different for everyone, so your next step must be determined by allowing the music and lyrics to inspire what thoughts or actions come after.
In the middle section, you hear tonal confirmation that “you will love again the stranger who was your self”. Profound and revelatory. Yeah, I’m getting better and better at that every day. I am now 51, so the Summer of Self-love may have been a mid-life crisis. That’s always possible. But it’s more likely that I’ve taken another crucial step in claiming all that I’ve experienced and all the gifts I have within that have brought me to this current moment in time. I have no more shame, and I know I’m smart, kind and capable of great things. Some ventures will fail, some will not. But when an idea or thought keeps bubbling to the surface, I will heed the call and let it carry me towards the great unknown. I’ll have faith that both pain and profound beauty has gotten me here, and this unique perspective is worthy of merit.
So, for the past two weeks that I haven’t written here, I’ve been deep diving into a new venture. It’s safe to say that I’ve been running hot for a significant portion of that, so a lot of my mornings have been spent fleshing out a plan of sorts, sometimes rising at 2:00am and finally crashing for a morning nap around 6:00am and rising again to work at 8:00am. Some days I was exhausted by noon, but it all feels destined in some way, so I had to work to pace myself so that I kept balance while the research and exploration phase was taking place. An Up is great to float on, but I know that it always has an end, and I must trust that IF the idea is meant to be realized, it will return again and again, beckoning to be played on repeat, if you will.
I’ve always liked and appreciated funny people who have lived colorful lives and speak openly about it all. Those are the folks that I usually make instant connections with, and it hit me the other day that I Am One of Those People. Meaning, if I met me on the street, it would be highly likely that I’d want to be my friend. It may seem silly, but I was struck by the simplistic thought. That I would like…well, ME.
Pretty cool, right? I suppose it also shows that I had never had that thought in the first 51 years, so it’s really about time.
Much has brought me here, and much will happen in the coming years. We’re being molded by our experiences and thoughts all the time, so this is simply a record of the now. Personal accountability in some ways but also a public naming of the gifts within, and I’m grateful I can stand in them now. They have been my sustenance during the difficult years, but I’m ready for the next course, please.
It’s time to feast, ya’ll. Feast on your Life.
