Thursday, August 20, 2009

You Can Pick Your Nose...

...but you can't pick your family. Or, is it you can't pick your friends? Wait, no, I think it's actually something about not being able to pick your friend's nose (a policy that I think we can all agree should stay firmly in place). Whatever the old adage is, it is true that we don't get choices about our biological acquaintances. It's also true that every family has its own set of issues. At 27 years old, I've finally figured out how to truly appreciate and value my family. When I really look closely, I see the amazing qualities that each and every member of my family possesses. My dad's ability to communicate and elicit cooperation from people, my mother's zany creativity and child-like joy, the amazing way my sister can paint pictures with her written stories; then there are my brothers, who keep me constantly laughing but also surprise me frequently with their integrity and willingness to do the right thing - even when it hurts. And my husband and daughter... they could have a separate blog altogether. Wes is the best daddy I have ever seen. It sometimes literally brings tears to my eyes to watch him with Ellie and see his love for her and the tenderness with which he handles her. I could go on forever gushing about them.



This epiphone of sorts has allowed me to finally ditch the childhood baggage that seemed to manifest as a giant chip on my shoulder starting when I was about 14. Admittedly, I had an easy childhood, for the most part. I had two parents who stayed married (and in love, which is even more rare) and raised the four of us kids to be responsible and have integrity. But, let's face it, even people who are products of the cushiest childhoods have issues with their parents. Maybe one offhand remark your father made sticks out in your mind, or you remember being punished excessively for something that wasn't really that heinous of a crime. Perhaps your parents were more strict than any of your friends', and you've now grown up to watch your younger siblings who still live at home get away with everything.



Be that as it may, I've learned that the difficult part of being open-minded is usually accepting the fact that people have radically different beliefs, opinions, etc, even if you don't accept the views themselves. Additionally, people change. Their rules for self-governance change as new information comes about. This is true for pretty much anything or anyone.

No parent is perfect, and today I can only imagine what kind of issues we will give Ellie as she grows up. But my parents worked damn hard for us, and any kid would have been lucky to have them. We don't always agree on everything, but I love my family, and I accept all of them - parents, brothers, sister, grandparents - as they are.

Wednesday, August 19, 2009

You're Never Too Old to Be Embarrassed

There really is nothing quite like the feeling you get when you realize you've coasted through six hours of your day with a giant chunk of food in your teeth. Of course, the intensity of that embarrassment is proportional to the sum of how many people you've interacted with during that time, how often you have shown your big "toothy" smile, and the percentage of how confident you are that there is absolutely nothing amiss about your appearance.

After a long stretch of carefree, nothing-in-my-teeth days, I arrived home yesterday after a particularly tiring day of work and class. As I walked into the bathroom to take my jewelry off and put it away, Wes said something funny - which made me laugh - and I happened to catch a glimpse of my teeth in the mirror. My heart sank; there it was. A huge. Piece. Of parsley.

I immediately became embarrassed as I reflected on all of the day's wide-mouth grins and belly-laughs that caused me to unwittingly display this stray chunk of vegetation lurking in a crevass between two of my front teeth. I have to admit, I was a little angry. After all, I had been in close proximity to co-workers, fellow students, and strangers wandering the halls of OSU-Tulsa; yet, not a single person bothered to alert me to the parsley's presence. Surely, someone must have seen it! That got me thinking.

This experience raises an interesting question about social protocol. Should we, as good citizens, give another person the courtesy of cluing them in when they are unknowingly in a potentially embarrassing situation? Or, would it be better to avoid what will likely be a painfully awkward moment by keeping mum?

Here's my philosophy:
Sure, it can be uncomfortable when someone tells you that something about your appearance is out of place - you have a brown stain on the seat of your pants, you have food in your teeth, there's a foreign object dangling from your nose, a stream of toilet paper is stuck to your foot, and so on. However, wouldn't it be better to encounter that discomfort with one person rather than with every person you see for the entire day because you are blissfully unaware that people are wondering if you have mold growing between your teeth? The former seems much more sufferable than the latter.

So, committ a random act of kindness - give someone the memo when they are subject to humiliation by means of something that could be completely avoided. Wouldn't you want it done for you?

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Tuesday, August 18, 2009

In case you were curious...

This is my first blog post - I'm almost nervous about doing this! However, I started this blog for a few reasons. Firstly and most importantly, it gives me an outlet to air my opinions and observations to the benefit of my closest friends and family, who are normally victimized by my incessant ranting. Another reason is simply that I love to write.

Finally, I started this blog as part of The Wesley King Project.

I'm writing a book, for which I have picked a title but am not yet announcing, which is a memoir that covers the most traumatic, terrifying, and tumultuous year in my life. One day I was a hard-working, extremely energetic, self-centered, newly pregnant newlywed, and seemingly overnight I transitioned into the sobbing, sickly, emotionally drained, helpless wife of a brain-injured husband, holding his hand as he lay in a coma. I nearly lost everything that makes my life worth living in a very short amount of time.

The book, as I will call it until I announce the title, chronicles the ups and downs, the funny moments and the tragic ones, and the laughter and tears that took place during the worst parts of my family's (particularly my husband's) struggles. I am writing it in sort of a journal-entry format, in real time, as the events are happening. I chose that voice because I want the reader to feel what I'm feeling on the same timeline that I endured. It also allows me to describe my thoughts, feelings, and observations, with astounding clarity; more so than if I were to say, "And then, this happened... and then, that happened..." You get the idea.

In an effort to find out if there would be any interest in my story, I decided to start an online book critique group. I wanted to elicit the opinions of the people who matter most - regular, everyday people who read. I began by sending a campus-wide email to every student at OSU-Tulsa (where I attend school), giving a summary of my story and asking anyone interested in reading the book to email me. The process was this: I would add everyone's name to a distribution list, then send out the chapters via email as they were written. The group would then read the chapters, and send me an email describing what they thought. I specifically asked for group members to avoid editing spelling, grammar, punctuation, etc. All I wanted was a big-picture thought about my work. Is the story interesting? Is it clear? Can you tell what's happening? Would you read more? Those are all questions I was seeking to answer.

The initial response I received was amazing - literally more than forty replies in ten minutes. Not only did I find that there was a widespread interest in the story, but complete strangers began sharing their stories with me about hard times they had faced. It made me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. Eventually, I established an online presence for the group by creating The Wesley King Project on Facebook. Even more people showed interest; in fact, I soon had so many members that I had to stop sending the chapters through email because it was considered spam. That's when I started the website, where I posted all of the chapters, interviews, and other relevant materials.

As of today, there are well over 200 members in The Wesley King project. However, many of them don't really know anything about me beyond the fact that I'm writing a book and that I had a really awful summer last year. I feel that if I start talking about who I am now, if I let people get to know me, they might be more likely to want to read my book. The story is uplifting, inspirational, funny, sad, heartwarming and soul shattering. To this day, there are moments that still make me cry when I think of them (for example, my husband having no idea who I was when he was brought out of his coma).

I hope you will join my group; but if you're not interested, that's okay too. Maybe you will find some kind of enjoyment from reading my blog; if you don't enjoy it, then I wasn't talking to you, anyway!

Until next time,
Jess