Since Jon left here just two weeks ago, I feel like I have been going through a mourning process of sorts.  It took me almost a week to deflate the air mattress and wash the sheets that had stopped smelling like him, and even then it was incredibly sad.  I know it’s past the point of usage, but I still have the red wine sauce from our fake birthday dinner in my fridge.  Why dumping it down the drain is so difficult, I’m not sure.  I surround myself with things that remind me of him and our times together, like the pictures of him and us that are all throughout my apartment, but it’s like it’s not “good enough” somehow.  Every time we visit each other, I always have this fear that I won’t recognize him in the crowd of people at the airport or that I will have forgotten details about him, like which ear has the little flat spot or exactly what color his eyes are.  It’s as if I’ve been forced to develop two personas—me with Jon and me without Jon, and I am so very tired of the latter.

The past several nights before I go to sleep, I’ve been trying to remember the entire “scene” of a memory of us together.  In my hazy delirium, I also find myself thinking about our future, and that’s always what sends me pleasantly off to sleep.  Jon and I have done so many wonderful things together, but it’s just not enough for me.  And I don’t know if an entire lifetime together will be enough.  He likes me to tell him why I love him or what I love about him, and every time he asks, I tell him about a part of him that shines particularly bright at that moment.  Even in our worst moments of anger, there are still so many things about him that shine brighter than any one else.  He is the one who both compliments and completes me in all the ways I’ve been searching for.  I now join the ranks who illusively answer “I just know” when questioned about my certainty of him being “the one.”

So when I was attempting to break down my mix of emotions to my niece yesterday, her words of comfort made me laugh:  

“You don’t need to miss him because you’ll see him when he gets back!”

~ Erin Rahija, age (almost) 4

As I’ve written before, the ongoing job search has been a largely frustrating experience for me.  I have randomly applied to a few positions I was not truly interested in or enthusiastic about, convincing myself on some level that I would just have to “suffer through” these first few years to earn another line on my resume that “proves” I have professional experience beyond part-time employment.  But when people started taking chances on me, it’s really changed my point of perspective.

On Jon’s visit to Kansas a few weeks ago, he met and received the contact information of a woman who works in the mass communications industry.  On a complete whim, I e-mailed her and was floored to receive a kind and genuinely helpful reply within nearly an hour.  She gave me several pieces of advice and the contact information for another woman in an advertising agency who I contacted, but, again, I was not expecting great things.  Within two days, this woman sent my resume to the creative department and responded to my message with advice, more contact information, and the invitation to view my portfolio, as well as the offering of her time to speak on the phone.  I feel it is needless to say I stand a bit amazed.  I am very aware all of these people lead busy and at times extremely stressful lives.  But in spite of their time constraints and the fact that none of them know me, all of them have repeatedly shown their kindness and willingness to help.  Seriously amazing!

In so many ways, I feel like my nearly-four-year-old niece asking, “Why?” about everything around me right now.  And just when I start to think I should have passed this time of questioning, I wonder—do we ever stop questioning?  Should we ever stop questioning?  Questioning is the sparkle of creativity and ability to think in a new way.  Questioning is what happens when we feel enough to look beyond our current situation.  Questioning is often what moves us from Point A to Point B.  Then why do we question it so much?  (Serious inquiry, bad pun I couldn’t resist.)

My head and heart are completely filled with question after question, but so few answers.  I’m facing completely uncharted territory in nearly every aspect of my life, and I find myself uncertain of how to even take the next step.  Slow and steady, or just rip the Band Aid right off?  I live and breathe communication, yet once again, I simply cannot find the words.  What happens when we don’t even know what to say?

In the midst of “wedding season” and everyone’s endless search for perfection in love (...and their wedding, of course!  Aren't the two interchangeable?), it is truly a beautiful thing to see the reality of a lifetime of love.  This past weekend, my family and many members of the small community I grew up in gathered to celebrate a special day for my grandparents, which was much more than a small miracle and helped put so much into perspective.

For a couple in their eighties, vows made 60 years ago are still as fresh today as they were when they first began their life together.  My grandparents were married in the midst of a World War, where they were not allowed to choose their wedding colors, wedding party dress styles, or hire an expensive photographer.  They did not choose from thousands of wedding invitations or register for extravagant gifts, and perhaps the most amazing part to “Bridezillas” everywhere is neither of them harbors resentment because of it.

At the celebration, my grandpa spoke briefly about his life with my grandma.  As the years have passed, both have had their share of life stresses and serious medical encounters.  Three hip and one heart valve replacements for Grandpa, several heart irregularity problems and fluid drainings for Grandma, and many other procedures for both have made all of us wonder how much longer we had with them.  But through every minute of it all, they were each other’s strength that never seemed to falter.  Just thinking about the times I watched their intimate interactions in times of deepest crisis instantly makes me tear up.  The crack in his voice when he said he couldn’t have done it without Grandma was a real life reminder of what it is the rest of us are looking for and what we hope to spend a lifetime building.  A perfectly human love.

After meeting a different couple that also shaped my views on life and love, a few years ago I decided I wanted to live to be 102.  The characteristic most prominent in both older couples is their glowing connection with their spouse.  My greatest hope is that 60 years into my relationship with my husband, I still have that special look in my eye when I see him and I still get choked up talking about him.  No matter what we accomplish in our professional careers or what kind of lifestyle we lead, it’s that enduring, beautiful connection I most long for in my future with Jon.  Everything else is just stuff.  Stuff that weathers far less gracefully than ageless faithfulness.

I’ve never really been the type to make and/or follow New Year’s Resolutions.  One year, Jon and I made a list of things we wanted to accomplish in the upcoming year, but somehow, accountability slipped and the list never managed to happen.  My first semester of my sophomore year at K-State, I tried to better myself by choosing a virtue I was struggling with and concentrate on making it a more relevant, “easier” part of my life.  I chose patience... and a few weeks later, I got West Nile Virus.  I firmly believe God has a healthy sense of humor.

Reverting back to my boy-band days, I purchased Nick Lachey’s new CD today and was pleasantly surprised by the musical merit of several of the songs.  (Laugh all you want, but I actually had a nice afternoon of singing my little lungs away!)  The last song on the CD is my favorite, despite its somewhat mournful tone.  It’s a simple piano melody of mostly chords that’s haunting, yet extremely beautiful.  The words are about the realization that our lives meet moments of undefined emptiness, and coming to terms with not knowing and taking it one day at a time is often the only way we can get through it all. 

I am a big fan of control in my life, and as Jon says, I have a hard time just “letting it happen.”  I wasn’t the child who planned how everything in my life was going to occur on a designated time table, but somehow I’ve turned into quite the organizational guru.  As certain twists in my life right now aren’t “according to plan,” this song really resonates with me.  I know God has a perfect plan for me, but my humanness takes over FAR more often than I’d like and I find myself overwhelmed by not knowing every detail.  As the song says, I need to resolve to let go and just breathe.  God’s really taking my patience exercise to the fullest.  And I’m thinking I’ll always be a work in progress in that department.

“Here’s my resolution—I’m letting go. 

All I need to learn is along this road. 

And I just wanna be the best man I can be. 

Breathe—it’s my resolution.”

Every ounce of Western culture encourages and at times demands a strong sense of self identity.  As children, we are taught to develop a healthy set of likes and dislikes, even for the most mundane and obscure objects or ideas.  As adults, our tastes place us in distinct social settings and greatly influence our inner and outer character.  The “fun” part rests in our lovely human quest to judge before we are judged, and at the same time, place a greater value on our opinion rather than our opponent’s.

Great game, huh?

Transitional times in life are ideal for philosophical pondering and rhetorical questioning (or at least a real good cry!) and lately I’ve found myself doing a bit of all three.  I was raised in a home where our personal best was expected, but when given, was fully accepted.  Granted, in any competitive situation, everyone’s “personal best” may not succeed, but rather find a spot on the group’s continuum.

The hard part, though, is finding and recognizing your spot.

In important aspects of both my professional and personal life right now, I feel like a chip on the Plinko board, bouncing around a random path at varying speeds, wondering what my final “prize earnings” will total, or if I’ll end up in the zero slot.  How do we measure success, if not by our job, our lifestyle, our relationships, and our overall acceptance?  How do we measure our personal worth if not through comparative aspects of others?  Is there a way to assign value without de-valuing something else?

As more people begin to critique my creative work and others not-so-verbally critique if I belong in specific relationships, I find myself angered when my “me-sense” is challenged.  (And ha!  “Me-sense” is my way of throwing my knowledge of speech communication theoretical terminology straight out the window!  “The self-concept” and “the looking-glass self” are so pretentious.)  I was not raised in a way to accept frivolously passed judgments or others’ degradation of me.  Nor will I begin to allow or accept it now.

The quotation I used on my graduation announcement has become my mantra these past few months.  (And the fact that it’s on the Akeelah and the Bee movie preview seriously makes me a little teary every time!)  I only hope my “worth” and my “me-self” are as powerful as Ms. Williamson’s words are to me.

“Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. 

Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. 

It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us. 

We ask ourselves,

‘Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous?’ 

Actually, who are you not to be? 

You are a child of God. 

Your playing small does not serve the world. 

There is nothing enlightened about shrinking

so that other people won't feel insecure around you. 

We are all meant to shine, as children do. 

We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. 

It is not just in some of us; it is in everyone. 

And as we let our own light shine,

we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. 

As we are liberated from our own fear,

our presence automatically liberates others.”

~ Marianne Williamson

  ~ Paul Velery

Since I was a little girl, I’ve imagined how being in love would “work” and oh how magical it would all be.  I just knew my dreamy man would take me wonderful places and romance me to the end of time.  Even when I moved to college, I bought artsy posters of kissing couples to decorate my living spaces, nearly positive that was the life I was getting ready to lead.

Funny how realism kicks in, huh?

This past weekend I visited Jon in the Arizona desert, which is pretty if you’ve never seen it before, yet insanely desolate after only a short while… and by no means the French countryside.  On my last night there, he took me to a look-out point he’d discovered so we could watch the sunset together.  As we were walking around and taking pictures, the entire scene was so clichéd that both of us couldn’t help but laugh.  The colors in the sky deepened, and we just started laughing more, taking in the pristine postcard view every travel magazine dreams of capturing.  The perfect mountain silhouette against the faded pink, orange, yellow and blue skyline was beautiful, but apparently too nice for us, as we could only make jokes about the entire situation.  (It didn’t help that we were the only ones at this place and I was snuggled in one of his sweatshirts.  Seriously, it could have been a moment from a bad romantic movie.)

When we left to go back to his apartment, I was so incredibly content.  Our entire relationship has been a continual series of odd events that rarely adheres to convention, but always gives us memories to smile about.  I find myself happiest just sitting by his side, my hand on his leg, doing really nothing at all.  The little-girl romantic in me never dreamed stupid jokes, grinding teeth when I’m trying to sleep, and unnaturally bad timing would grab my heart.  It’s the un-shined parts of the fairy tale no one talks about that actually makes the story work. 

I keep thinking at some point things will change, but I have proven once again that procrastination is, in fact, not dead, but rather, running rampantly through my life.  As final tasks of my last semester at K-State pile up before their deadlines and my planner becomes a tedious mix of scribbled pen and pencil (note: importance ranks permanence), I’m kind of beginning to wonder what happened over the past four years.  I used to be uber concerned with finishing everything as soon as I received the assignment (what a good little student I was!), but as I wrote a supposed semester-long paper in a matter of hours last night, I laughed inside at the stark contrast from then-me to now-me.  This past weekend I filled out an evaluation of the school I’m graduating from and I realized how little I’ve been pushed and challenged in a vast majority of my classes.  In all honesty, I can count the classes I feel have helped me grow academically and creatively on one hand.  That’s sad.  I don’t know why it is so daunting for instructors to demand great things from their students, and actually fail those who do not rise to meet the standards.  (I’m a woman of action, not just threats.  I guess that means I’d be one big jerk of a teacher!)  I don’t want to go so far as to say my entire college education has been a disappointment, but I will say with certainty it has not been what I expected.  And even though there’s a supposed office pool of when I will enter graduate school (my academic advisor's apparently betting on 2008), I’m not really sure why they think I’d complete further schooling through their department.  That’s a thinker.

With one more research paper, a comedy analysis assignment, a portfolio presentation and one last final left to tick off my “to do” list, I’m interested to see what the piece of paper I receive next Saturday will actually be worth.  (Well, I’ll actually receive that precious piece of paper six weeks from next Saturday.  Technicalities.)  As a side note, for anyone with “business opportunities,” I am for hire… but if you’re with Starbucks, I’m not available.  Starbucks is where failed advertising creatives go to “take some time off” or “find themselves.”  I’m not lost, I just need a job.