Eh Tu, Gwen?

Gwen Stefani has betrayed me.

Don't get me wrong. It happened awhile ago. Nothing she's done lately could really surprise me.

It all started back in high school when Gwen introduced me to SKA as a young girl. And like any young girl with her head full of ideals, I fell in love. The "Tragic Kingdom" CD was one of the best things that ever happened to me. I loved the combination of Gwen's incredible voice and the big band sound of horns in the background. When people always asked me what my favorite kind of music was and I said SKA, they invariably asked "What?" with a confused look on their face. I always explained it to them as a mix of swing and punk rock. How could a teenager NOT love that?

When "Return of Saturn" came out I don't think I really noticed that there weren't as many horns in the background. I could tell it was a little more techno like, but it didn't really bother me because Gwen's incredible voice was still being used to good effect. I liked the CD pretty well.

And then when I was in college my dad bought me "Rock Steady."

I'm not a total idiot. I know R&B crap when I hear it.
No horns at all.

Gwen's gorgeous voice, barely utilized.

I was so disgusted I gave it to my sister so I would never have to hear it again.
What happened to the Gwen who loved SKA? The Gwen who made me fall in love with that incredible combination of instruments and amazing singing?

Gwen had betrayed me. And not just me. Punk rock and SKA lovers everywhere.

This crap with no instruments where she barely used the amazing set of pipes she had was a complete travesty. The Gwen Stefani I knew and loved was gone.

Now it's like my friend David says. Every time Gwen Stefani sings "Hella Good" somewhere a little punk rocker yells out "Oi!" and dies.

Recently I heard a Gwen Stefani song on the radio that actually had horns in the back. It reminded me of the good old days with No Doubt. Dare I hope perhaps she's repented of her evil ways and will see the light and go back to the SKA sound so many of us love?

I doubt it. She probably just wants another excuse to musically knife me in the back.

Shame on you Gwen Stefani for forgetting who you are so you can run around with rappers and cute little Japanese girls that you won't even let speak English in public.

And someone please tell her she's not black.

If she truly comes back to SKA, stops appearing with all those artists and people who are nothing like her, then and only then will I consider forgiveness. She was the one artist I thought would always stay true to her roots. She seemed like a misfit, like me and others. The pink hair, the crazy videos, they really spoke to me, and I know I'm not the only one. Sure I was in high school at the time but it hasn't changed the fact that I still love the old Gwen, and the old No Doubt music. To this day I think it's some of the best.

So I just can't help but think, et tu Gwen?

The In-depth Explanation of my Multiple Personality Disorder

(The following is a narrative I wrote last year and recently re-examined, polished up, and edited. I decided to put it down as a blog post because it is really a window into who I am. Read on if you dare.)

I’m not entirely sure how it happened, but at some point in high school it became decided that I, Jess, had multiple personalities. Being that I wanted to become a writer, I took advantage of this opportunity by shaping these personas into genuine characters I could write about. It should come as no surprise that my friends Mel and Pi gave me the grand idea of writing “plays” (in the loosest definition of the word) that stared these intricate ladies, and before I knew it, my personalities began to grow. I started with five, gradually turned into six, and by the end of my junior year had a full set of ten. At the time I thought crafting this complex troupe was just my way of laughing at the world. High school is an angsty time, and “the girls” and their misadventures served as a most welcome diversion. But now as a young adult I look back on my makeshift band and realize that each one created reflected something inherently important about my own personality and the depths of my psyche.

Oddly enough though I have been gifted with a head full of brown hair, somehow half of my personalities ended up as blondes. Perhaps it is best to try and explain those six first.

One of the earliest spin-offs from myself was Miss Pansy Faye. The name was taken from an old soap opera called “Dark Shadows” and the personality was patterned very much after the character in that show of the same name. Pansy is a can-can girl, supposedly from France (though sans the accent), who has the habit of calling everyone “love,” and the constant inclination to put herself into the spotlight. Pansy represents my desire to be an excellent performer. She is confidant enough to sing and dance in front of others and beautiful enough to show her legs in a can-can skirt. Pansy also embodies my love of dancing and singing. When I was a little girl I danced all the time, whether it was at dance classes or in the aisle ways at performances of The Nutcracker. When I was in college as a music major my first year, the only class I looked forward to was my voice lessons. When I got to middle school I made the tragic discovery that I lacked the coordination to ever be any good at dancing, and to this day few people at a club dance more like a white girl than I do. When I got to college I realized I had terrible performance anxiety. Pansy was born in my heart as a young girl of four who had never told herself that she didn’t have rhythm, believed she could sing like a Disney Princess, and who thought it would be so glamorous to be a ballet dancer or a lounge singer!

Other blonde counterparts soon followed after Pansy. Sunshine made her appearance shortly afterward. She was a confident blonde who lived in California and had gorgeous males at her beck and call. Sunshine interviewed the famous hunks I found myself crushing on as a young girl, and could summon them at a moment’s notice with a littler silver bell. In return for her excellent company, these men lavished her with expensive presents such as golden porches, private jets, and yes even a white baby grand piano. Sunshine was me at my best. She was the grand organizer, coordinating not only her interviews with the happening gorgeous males of her choice, but also all the other girls’ activities. Like a talented mother getting one child to swim practice, another to play rehearsal, the third to the doctor, and still finding time to cook a 4 course meal for her husband and look great while doing it all, Sunshine had it all together. I realize now she represented my conscious desire to have more control over my life, and she also shared my deepest crushes and infatuations with TV stars like Jason Behr, and rock stars like Johnny Rzeznick. Sunshine was incredibly talented at managing people, but the other girls sometimes made fun of her when she got too serious. They constantly reminded her that you could plan things to death, a good check on this domineering persona and a good reminder to me of the dangers of letting Sunshine run rampant.

Two stereotypical blondes also came into being, helping form the laugh track to my high school career. The first was…it pains me to admit it…a cheerleader. Her name was Blondie and she was THE California girl. She talked like a Valley Girl, she fell on her butt half the time she tried to cartwheel, and she could barely spell. The obvious conclusion that most people drew was that Blondie was my way of making fun of the cheerleaders I so fervently despised in high school. Incompetent, shallow, and stupid, Blondie made me feel better about myself by pointing out that at least I wasn’t a brainless ditz like she was. The name had stuck with me from the summer previous where too much Sun-In had turned my brown locks bright yellow and people had taken up the descriptor to tease me relentlessly until I hurriedly dyed my hair back to my usual brunette. But Blondie also represented something most people wouldn’t have seen so easily. Blondie was my deep desire to be the kind of person who was popular and accepted. In the world of my personalities the other girls teased her for being the way she was, but at my high school she would have been queen of the social hierarchy. Harder still to admit is the fact that Blondie was proof of my guilty secret-as a young girl I had wanted desperately to be a cheerleader. When my mother refused, I ended up as an Orchestra dork instead, but part of me never forgot that silly dream to be able to do fantastic flips, cartwheels, and handsprings while an enthusiastic crowd looked on and cheered. Ashamed though I am, I cannot deny the verity of this acknowledgment.

Blondie’s unwitting partner in crime was a giggly airhead known as Nurse Nancy. The “Nurse” part of her name actually came from an inside joke my friends and I created that we were running an illegal medical practice. Nurse Nancy was the unwitting head of this odd operation, and the first nurse to grace the active roster in our shady business. Nurse Nancy was also the most amazing innocent who had ever lived. She was often empty headed, but unlike Blondie’s dumbness Nancy’s lack of intelligence was due to pure ignorance and naiveté. Nurse Nancy was loved by all for being clueless, even though her friend Blondie was ridiculed for the same quality. This was because Nurse Nancy’s goofiness always made the other girls smile whether they wanted to or not. Sometimes she frustrated them by not being able to grasp the latest thing they were trying to teach her, but she was always sweet and childlike with a pristine quality to her that was amusing but difficult to understand. Nurse Nancy, despite her lack of comprehension, is critically important to me. I realized only a short time ago that she represents something precious in my nature. When I was sixteen, the first boy I had the unfortunate experience of dumping wrote me a letter after our breakup telling me that I had a blessed and prized innocence that I should never let go of. He told me that if the world had more people like me it would be a very different place, and that I should hold onto my innocence at all costs and not allow anyone or anything to take it away if I could help it. Through the years I have taken this advice, and I have done it through the character of Nurse Nancy. Her single-mindedness may be slightly irritating at times, but she is doggedly loyal to the man in her life and happily oblivious to anything else. If Nurse Nancy were the face I displayed to the world all the time the consequences would be dire indeed. But as an acknowledged and welcome part of my heart she represents something so crucial that I have promised myself never to loose. Nurse Nancy was created when I became that girl in high school who didn’t know the meaning of most of the dirty slang words her friends used, and she embodies my ability to be ridiculous and my ability to see the world at important times through the eyes of a child.

The last blonde of the set used to be Sailor V aka Mina, but she is no longer a part of the line-up of ten now, and represents little more than my high school obsession with the Japanese Anime “Sailor Moon.” Somewhere along the line my silly teenage brain found something glamorous about fighting evil in the name of love and justice while wearing a short short skirt. I’m still not certain what her exact importance is, and why she didn’t get killed off with Heidi the German oompah dancer, but instead quietly left the scene to make way for another character. (Once my number got up to ten, it became an unspoken rule that there must always be ten at all times, 5 blondes and 5 brunettes, to “maintain the balance.” Everyone needs a ridiculous plot device to fall back on sometimes.) The balance concept leads me to the personality I view as the transitionary persona between the two sets, and that is Jennifer. My “good” twin, (myself being the evil one) Jennifer originally started as the name I jokingly gave my reflection since it was what people who forgot my name always called me, but soon she became a distinct identity in her own right. Jennifer almost immediately employed herself as Sunshine’s assistant, the acknowledgment of the fact that Sunshine could not do all the things she did without some kind of help, and though my personalities were crazy it was necessary for them to be somewhat believable as real people. Jennifer made that a little more conceivable, and happily provided a cheerful foil to my own personal pessimism. Jennifer is my optimism that continues to shine out more these days. She is the balance to my occasional negativity and the representation of my frustration when I’m not memorable enough for people to get my name right. Jennifer became drastically important many months ago when Sailor V left and a new brunette persona entered, requiring some solution to the fact that it left me with only 4 blondes. As a result, Nurse Nancy and Blondie dyed poor Jennifer’s hair yellow while she was sleeping, and she has been ordered by the rest to stay that way against her will so we can all maintain our balance. I find this a funny metaphor for the fact that Jennifer’s optimism often meets its match in the face of having to give way to others more dominant than her.

This brings me to reflect on the other five, my brunette half, who could actually be mistaken for me were they real physical personages. Long before I had multiple personalities, the first person to take shape that was almost completely like the everyday me was a tortured soul named Larissa. I used the name as my pen name in my ever-futile quest to become a writer. Larissa signed every work of fantasy, fiction, and narratives that my pen turned out, and she’s been with me from the moment my deep passion for writing first surfaced. No one ever told me it was fashionable or interesting to have a pen name, I merely decided to take one upon myself to avoid direct credit or censure for anything I created. Larissa has always been essential to me because she is my bottled up rage, angst, despair, apathy, daydreams, hope, and ideals. Larissa can say anything my soul needs to say if she can simply figure out how to put it on paper. She also represents my fear of the spotlight and my value of humility, the very antithesis of Miss Pansy Faye. I could not get on without Larissa because she is the one who loves and feels the deepest, and in who’s name I continue to pursue my greatest dream; the dream that I may someday become the author of a published work read by others.

And then there’s Roxy. A striking brunette, Roxy is the epitome of desire and passion, and her sex appeal and confidence in herself are the most powerful weapons in her arsenal. Coincidentally, Roxy has quite a conventional arsenal as well. Created as the yin to James Bond’s yang, Roxy is a female secret agent know also as 002.9 (yep, double oh two POINT nine), and the result of watching WAY too much Xena Warrior Princess and Buffy the Vampire Slayer until I was able to create the perfect femme fatale who is part Xena, part rogue slayer Faith, part female Bond, and all crazy gorgeous. Roxy is not only incredibly sexy, but she has used her stunning beauty to control any man she chooses. She packs heat, and she is a supreme martial artist. Roxy can always take care of herself, both in the ways of the heart and the ways of force. She can love ‘em and leave ‘em, and she can escape ‘em and break ‘em. She’s a strong woman and she hasn’t lost a bit of her femininity to that strength. By creating Roxy I created the uber woman; essentialy she is my superego. Roxy has all the qualities I wish most for myself but am not forward enough to develop. She exhumes sexuality and confidence, and she knows how to protect herself. Roxy can never get hurt. I created her out of a foolish desire to always want to be protected, and Roxy was made as the embodiment of the type of girl I’d often like to be, but know is silly to seriously attempt. There are moments where I am Roxy, like when I’m on the dance floor at a club with my girlfriends around me not caring who sees me or that we’re the only ones dancing and exhibiting a rare self confidence. But these moments come in short flashes and I have realized that it’s only fun to be Roxy for a little time before I miss the more quiet and demure Jess. Despite this though, Roxy has always been my favorite.

Faith is one of the newer additions, replacing the deceased and superfluous Heidi, and she has the excellent ability to take all the best qualities from the other personalities. She is sweet and sincere like Jennifer, musical like Pansy, levelheaded like Sunshine, cute like Nurse Nancy, serious like Larissa, enamoured with Johnny Rzeznick like Sunshine, noisy like Blondie, ambitious like Roxy, and looks suspiciously like me. There are no outrageous facets to Faith. She is a simple girl who plays the tambourine. Her big ambition in life is to convince the Goo Goo Dolls to let her play tambourine with the band on tour, but she fully never expects this to actually happen and is content merely playing her tambourine for the other girls. I love Faith for her simplicity, her straightforwardness, and the contentedness she inspires in me.

Vivian Fox arrived on the scene last year, forcing Jennifer to switch her identity to that of a blonde, and from the moment she’s show up she’s continued to be disruptive. Roxy’s cousin (and yes I realize it makes no sense for one of my personalities to be the “cousin” of another, but sometimes as a writer you just have to suspend disbelief for humor’s value), Vivian-or “Fox” as Roxy calls her-is a detective I created initially as a joke in a story I wrote called “The Case of the Missing Parents,” but I liked her so well she somehow convinced me to let her stay at the expense of both Sailor V’s presence, and Jennifer’s hair color. Vivian often shakes the other girls up, rising them out of their usual lethargy to think critically about whatever is going on, whether it needs critical thinking or not. Vivian represents to me the necessary practice of self-critique and analysis I find myself indulging in more and more every day. The more desperate I become to understand myself and my motives, the more I need Vivian to help me dissect it all.

Finally there’s me-Jess Phillips. I’m the tenth personality. Although really, I’m the first. Before any of the other girls, I was there, and if all the others fade away, I’ll still be me. But who is "me", really? Well, essentially “they” are. I am Faith, Roxy, Jennifer, Larissa, Vivian, Nurse Nancy, Blondie, Sunshine, and Pansy. All these “personalities” are characters I made up, one by one, who each have a piece of me in them. Some like Larissa and Faith are largely similar to me. Others like Roxy are far out of reach and there are only mere snippets where I feel I have anything in common with them. But I have realized that when I shamelessly seduce my husband, there’s Roxy proving she’s part of me. When I giggle for the sake of giggling, there’s Nurse Nancy helping me feel alive. When I cry for the sake of crying, Larissa is helping me express the innermost emotions of my heart. When I successfully complete a 25-page research paper and then get an A on it, there are those qualities of Sunshine that I can’t get on without. And when I sing without caring who hears I know that Pansy has somehow broken through for a moment. When I was in high school there was a Disney song I liked very much called “Reflection.” The chorus went like this-

“Who is that girl I see,
staring straight back at me?
Why is my reflection
someone I don’t know?
I won’ t pretend that I’m,
Someone else, for all time,
When will my reflection show,
Who I am inside?”

I used to think my personalities were my way of pretending to be someone I’m not. These girls all started out as a joke, a simple amusement. But in reality they are so much more than that. They are all a part of me, and I could not exist without what each of them provides. My “personalities” are my personality. By turning them into characters I have been able to learn more about who I am. When I look in the mirror now, they’re all there starting straight back at me. My reflection is not just Jess. My reflection is Jess, Pansy, Sunshine, Blondie, Nurse Nancy, Jennifer, Larissa, Vivian, Roxy, and Faith. Each one is important, and each one is a part of my heart. Some days I feel like Roxy, some days I feel like Sunshine, and some days I just feel like Jess. But I need each and every one of them in order to just be Jess.

Medical Musings or Thoughts on Being Healthy

Okay I lied. I have one more thing to say and I was afraid to say it at first, but I'm just going to get it out because this has been such a wonderful week of discovery and self-awareness that I don't want to let it go just yet.

Since I was 17 I have always struggled with personal feelings about my health. When I was diagnosed with depression, part of what drove me to it in the first place (and there were certainly other factors but this is a very large one) is the fact that I had come down with constant headaches that there seemed to be no solution to curing. I went to countless doctors, got numerous tests run, and to this day the diagnosis is still that they were caused by tension. That never did me much good to make me feel better.

This is something I truly struggle with. I know it's ungrateful, but it really gets me down to feel bad for so long. I wouldn't mind so much if I just constantly got sick with things like colds and viruses that just hang on for a few weeks and then go away. But what I always end up with is conditions. First there were my "tension" headaches, then I got over them briefly to turn around and be diagnosed with IBS, and recently I have developed a sinus problem that the doctor has been trying to figure out how to help for the past several months. This really weighs on me. I know there are people out there who suffer way more than I do, and I know I am so lucky to not have some kind of terminal illness. I have the appearance of pretty good health truth be told and I should probably be more grateful for that. But I still really struggle with the fact that I have these conditions, things that while not debilitating, never really go away either. I get so tired of having sinus headaches all the time but not really being able to do anything about it. And it drives me crazy that if I don't eat frequently enough during the day, my IBS infliction sends horrible pains to my stomach that only get worse with movement and can't be gotten rid of without medicine, food, and prolonged laying down. It's so grumbling to say it, but I get sick of dealing with this in my life.

A few months ago I was thinking about how in the Bible God offered King Solomon any gift he wanted and he chose wisdom. I had fun asking a couple of friends what they would have picked had God extended such a choice to them, but it had taken next to no time for me to decide what I would choose if God ever offered it. It's entirely selfish of me but I know the thing I would choose would be to be in perfect health for the rest of my life.

Feeling bad physically has the ability to get me more upset and frustrated and depressed than most anything else that has challenged me. I've always felt like a weak person. I was a shy, quiet, and insecure person as long as I can remember. Having these physical disadvantages just seems to add insult to injury.

But if I think about it I can see some good things from it. My depression taught me to understand myself in a way I probably couldn't have otherwise. I learned to recognize those emotionally taxing spells in my life when they started coming, and to deal with them so that I could never be plunged into those depths of despair again. And by often feeling physically weak and delicate, I have developed strengths in other areas to compensate for it. I have an incredible emotional strength that I rely on to get me through day to day life. Yes I still cry at the drop of a hat. But the crying is actually very therapeutic, and instead of threatening my peace of mind, it actually helps contribute to it. I know how to handle tragedies and if I do cry I still get back up on my feet and go at things again, feeling stronger than I did the first time. I've slowly been laying down layers of steel in my soul and it's good to know they're there when I need them.

I've prayed and prayed and had others pray for me to get better, and it just doesn't seem to be in the cards. But I've never been angry at God. Yes sometimes I get a little down or frustrated with it, but never at the Lord. I've tried to turn it into a strength and believe that "what doesn't kill me makes me stronger" and even if I don't understand why the Lord isn't bestowing the blessing of healing on me, I'm okay with that deep down, because I know it must mean he's helping prepare me for something. God knows how tough I'm going to need to be, and whether I understand entirely or not, I'm sure this is his way of helping me get there.

And for all my griping about not feeling good, it is undeniable how God has blessed my life in so many other wonderful ways. The people that surround me are all so incredible and provide me with so much that I need. My parents have always been a strong example to me, both of how to treat others, (my mom teaching me so much about tolerance) and how to stay together even when things are tough, and to try working things out before giving up and giving into the culture of divorce. My dad especially hammered that lesson into me that you always need to try, and that anything worth having requires lots of effort but is worth the hard work. And then there are my wonderful sisters who drove me absolutely bonkers when we were all living at home, but who I've now formed solid friendships with and who I'm delighted to see growing into real people in their own rights, even if I cringe to see them make any of the same mistakes I did (luckily they usually don't.) I know sometimes they are infuriated that I haven't given them nieces and nephews yet, but I hope they know that it's partially because I'm not ready to give up our relationships as they are right now to a changed one involving children. And my wonderful in-laws who have never been the stereotypical difficult people most married women complain about, but who have always been loving, supportive, and unobtrusive. My father-in-law is always ready to provide corny humor, my mother-in-law is like a wonderful friend that I can talk to for good advice, (not to mention she gave me back the gift of sight by paying for me to have laser eye surgery as a graduation gift) and my husband's grandma who is the most generous woman I've known and has taken me on trips to Ireland and Alaska, and given Steve and I money for our wedding and enough to go on a dream honeymoon to Hawaii. I could never afford to travel in such a luxurious way before and she has opened up such a wonderful source of new delight to me.

And God really has blessed me with some of the most incredible friends, people who knew how to help me deal with things like not always feeling healthy. There's my dear Justin, the person in high school who held my hand at times while I wandered through the murky swamp of depression, and who always had a hug and never made me feel judged, even if I knew he didn't entirely understand what was going on with me. There's my sweet Claire and Kari, my orchestra friends who always had a smile for me and always lived as excellent examples to how a person should behave. I think they're two of the best people I know. And of course Kim and her sweet, ornery husband Phil who have always gave and gave their love unconditionally and without question. And I know God sent Jenni my way, to help me form my political opinions, challenge the accepted wisdom, and enable me to not feel so alone, and give me the comfort that there was someone else out there who gets my wacky humor. And even in the tragedy of a friend's separation, he used that event to help me become closer to my Amanda, someone who has always been there for me when I felt like no one else had my back or if I needed validation and couldn't explain why. Not only that, but she is the best sounding board I've ever had for when I feel irrational. When I have a problem, she gives me the most impartial advice and enables me to distance myself from my emotions and see things more clearly. If I'm irrational, she tells me, and if there are feelings and concerns that really are valid she helps me see that. Just recently, God blessed me with Kate as well, and gave me as she says a "mirror" to help me see into my soul and understand myself in a way I couldn't before, while feeling simultaneously that I was able to help her as I helped myself. I used to think I was a freak for feeling the way I did and having the scars I had from the experiences I'd gone through, but I don't feel that way since sharing my thoughts with Kate and seeing how near identitcal her feelings are to mine. Now I feel normal.

Finally the Lord has blessed with with the most wonderful soul mate and best friend I could ask for. My husband Steve is my greatest source of strength. He pushes me to do things I think are hard, gets me outside my comfort zone, and builds up my self confidence everyday. I could never believe I met someone so perfect for me by chance. I know God brought us together, and helped us overcome what seemed like giant hurdles in our relationship when we were dating to bring us to the day when we finally got married.

Wow. I started this post telling you all how ungrateful I am and somehow it ended with me realizing I am one of the luckiest people on Earth. Thanks for listening. I needed to gripe for a minute. I still hate that I often don't feel well. But in the scheme of things, it's not really that significant. When I put it into the perspective of all the things I've got, it kinda fades into the background. And I think that's the healthiest thing for me.

My Art

I think Kate has given me so many new insights into my life, that I could probably write blog entries for days. But today I'll just do one more, and then mull over if any others are blog worthy for another day.
All my life I have been surrounded by people I consider artists. My mother draws excellently, and often made her own birthday cards for my dad by copying down characters and inserting her own brand of humor. As a I child I liked to color, but even then I knew I wasn't as good at it as the other kids. On top of that, craft projects had tormented me from a very early age. I distinctly remember being in kindergarten, trying to make a construction paper witch, and not being able to do as well as the other kids because I couldn't cut my triangle to look right since the right handed scissors I had been given didn't work correctly for my left-handed self. Of course when I was little I didn't realize this wasn't my fault. I thought there was something wrong that I couldn't make the scissors work like the other kids could (it looked so easy when they did it!) So from a very early age I had trouble believing I could ever have any artistic talent.
My friend Kim started showing exceptional drawing talent in about 4th grade. She could draw the prettiest horses I'd ever seen, and she started doing pictures of mythical beasts that just amazed me. Kim taught me to draw a pretty good looking horse (for a 4th grader) but it often frustrated me to watch her give visual birth to the flights of fancy in her head while I, equally enamored with fantasy and with plenty of creatures and characters of my own kicking around in my head, couldn't give equal treatment on paper to what I wanted to see become real before my eyes.
I started playing piano when I was 6, and for many years it was just something I did. I practiced, I did okay, but at my first or second recital I realized that I had terrible performance anxiety. Yet another venue of being an artist seemed closed to me.
In high school I learned that on top of my friend Kim, my friends Justin, Thomas, and Maria were also quite talented at drawing. They would all make beautiful pictures for me and I would sigh over the talent I envied but didn't possess. Many times I tried to make myself learn to draw but I never got very far. It just wasn't my gift.
When I graduated from high school I realized that my largest strength seemed to be music from the 12 years of piano lessons and 7 years of orchestra I had gone through. And I really loved music, but I got far more delight out of listening or playing in a group, than individual performing. Still, I had no idea what I wanted to do in college and it was the only thing I really had to go off of, so I decided to go to Otterbein and be a music major.
This turned out to be the hardest blow to my self-esteem as an aspiring artist, and almost cemented my belief that I could never achieve that dream. At Otterbein in a way I never had before, I was surrounded by musicians and art and dance students with whom we shared the building. Everywhere around me were people who could sing so beautifully it broke your heart, play songs on an instrument without music, dance with breathtaking rhytmn, or draw, paint, or sculpt things the likes of which I had never dreamed. The person I became closest to then was my friend Jenni, and she had incredible talent as well at painting and photography. All around there was so much to admire, and sometimes it made me sad that I couldn't feel like I was a part of any of that.
It was so frustrating for me because I felt that I had an artistic soul. Although I didn't understand a lot of what people meant when they talked about art, I was interested in most mediums and loved to watch and listen and admire whatever anyone talented created. Before I got to college I kept thinking I could find a way to be an artist, but Otterbein shattered that. I got to take voice lessons for the first time, and loved to sing, but there were so many others who were so much better and I realized I would need years of formal training to take the raw love and basic proficiency and turn it into something more. And as my piano juries ground in deeper and deeper, my performance anxiety had become almost crippling. I had memory blanks when performing for the faculty as part of my grade.
On top of that almost all the singers and instrumentalists I knew were so daggone arrogant. They thought they were all going to be God's next gift to the world of music and that just didn't fit at all with my quiet, self-deprecating persona.
The next year I switched majors and colleges, to study political science, history, and geography at OSU. Gone now were my dreams of being an artist. I thought maybe I'd be a teacher or something else instead. After all, performance had proved to not be for me, and to be surrounded by so many with such amazing gifts was just too overwhelming. I had taken a line from the book "Little Women" to heart-"Talent isn't genius and no amount of hard work can make it so." I tried to find another way in life for myself.
I graduated from college with my social studies degree and absolutely no idea what I wanted to do in life anymore. I had developed a deep love for politics and political discussion, but there were no careers in that field that seemed suitable to me. Married and very happy with my situation, with no pressure to immediately employ myself thanks to my wonderful husband, I started to try and find myself again. I eventually took up flower arranging under the instruction of a florist, thanks to my wonderful friend Amanda who pushed me to try and do something I'd always thought about but never been brave enough to try. I was surprised to find for the first that I felt I was good at something that seemed so arts and crafty, and I enjoyed flowers as a new hobby. I started to feel like maybe I could be a little artistic.
And then my beautiful friend Kate opened up an insight to me that I can't believe I have been missing for so long. You see, I am already an artist. I have been since I was 14.
Writing is my art.
I had never before thought of writing as an artistic medium. For years I filled up notebooks with fantasy, fan fic, and narratives, without ever considering it to be anything impressive or important. It was just a silly hobby I had. I knew I felt compelled to write continuously, and so I did, but I never stopped to examine why.
What Kate helped me see is that my writing has always been my true artistic outlet. I write because I need to. It's the only way I can truly get out all the dreams and thoughts and feelings in my head and heart. No, I can't draw or paint beautiful pictures showing the things I imagine inside my head. But I can use words and the wonderful power of adjectives to describe what I see in my brain and give everyone the opportunity to paint their own picture and enjoy it in their own way. I've always been amazed at the power of words, and the wonderful places a good description can take you. I think that's part of the reason why I love playing the game "Apples to Apples" so much. It's a constant exercise in using words to convey images, impressions, and even humor to people. Playing with words has always been one of my chief joys.
Writing is just as much a outlet for me as painting is for people like Kate or drawing is for people like Kim and Justin, or any kind of music is for people like the talented students at Otterbein I left behind.
I used to think writing was just a dumb hobby I had. I never fully understood why when I first started, if I went long periods without writing anything, I would get depressed and sad and feel frustrated without knowing why. Now I know it was my artistic outlet, my way to express all the important things running through my head that would stifle me if I didn't allow them to come out on paper and help me come to terms with whatever I was struggling with.
Like happens in art and music, not all of my writing is very good. I don't always or even often produce gems. When I first started my blog, after the first several posts, I went a long time without writing anything because I felt I couldn't think of a clever way to say what I was thinking, and it got me really down until one day my post "Falling in Love With Love" burst out of me and I saw that even though it was technically unimpressive, it was so relieving to get out what I'd been needing to say all this time! Kate has taught me to see that what's most important isn't quality, but just doing it for the sake of giving your thoughts, feelings, and soul the outlet it needs.
And it makes sense for writing to be my medium, because it's the least performance related of arts that I can think of. I can do my writing on my own time and choose not to show it to anyone until I think it's ready. I don't have to memorize, and the final product can be loved by one person and hated by another. I don't need a room full of people clapping or admiring my words. Just knowing that even one person likes my writing, or that what I wrote meant something to someone, has always been enough for me. Writing is the perfect artistic expression for me.
Thanks Kate for helping me find my art. I'm so much happier for it.

Validation

This was originally a note on my Facebook page but it was so important to me and cathartic to write that I wanted to put it here as well.
Two nights ago I had the epiphany that almost my entire life has been one continuous search for validation. I always knew that I needed a lot of approval from those most important in my life, (and to be honest I've always basked in approval from strangers or casual acquaintances as well.) But it was sitting in a Chinese restaurant with a beautiful woman named Kate (who is one of the best friends I have ever made) that I suddenly had the key to seeing my whole life for what it was. Why this miracle? I've certainly talked about my entire life with my husband many times over and never had a breakthrough to understanding myself like this before. So why now? It's funny, but I think it's because instead of just telling Kate about things I'd been through and wondering if she could know what it was like, as I would with most people, I discovered that I didn't even HAVE to tell Kate most of the time, because she'd had the same personality forming experiences, and had reacted to/taken away the same things from them. It was like she knew me even better than I knew myself. If I could have had the same conversation with myself, I still don't think I would have come to the conclusions I did. It took someone sitting across from me who wasn't me, someone that I respected and looked up to as a person of intelligence, artisticness, (I know that's not a word but I don't know how else to say it) and beauty to make me feel like for the first time, it was really okay to feel the way I feel and be the person I am.
Why the desperate need for validation? Ever since I was little, I craved the approval of my parents, particularly my mother who I felt like I could never entirely please. In my first serious relationship, this need was magnified ten fold, with disastrous consequences. I eventually plunged into depression and found myself questioning everything about myself, and more so than usual. By the time I was 16, any chance I had at self confidence had been shot-by not being able to live up to all of my mother's standards no matter how hard I tried, by kids who had been my friends in elementary school and kids I didn't even know suddenly teasing me mercilessly when I got to middle school (I had one real friend in Middle School. Seriously. God bless you Kari), and finally by friends who gave up on me when I got depressed because it scared them and they didn't want to deal with it, and by a boyfriend who I relied on desperately to define my own self worth, but who wasn't someone I should have still been in a relationship with. I always used to think I was a freak, because there were other kids who never felt the way I did, or who never let the same things bother them, or even happen to them in the first place. Some of them appeared beautiful and talented, and I could see why they didn't have a crisis of self-confidence like I did. But some of them were more like me, nerdy and out of place, and had a much clearer and healthier sense of self than I knew how to develop.
When I met Steve things started to get better. He was always complimenting me, always telling me how wonderful he thought I was, and I could tell that his feelings were genuine and that he wasn't just saying those things to try and get into my pants. After we got married it got even better. Just knowing that one person believed that much in me did so much for my self confidence. I became often bubbly around other people, and thrived in certain groups as a happy conversationalist. But the problems of inadequacy didn't go away entirely. No matter how hard my husband tried, he alone could not entirely restore my self confidence. I was still very nervous in certain groups. Whenever we were with Steve's college friends, I was plunged into uncertainty and uncomfortableness, because I had felt from the get go that they didn't like me, and I can't ever fully believe now that they do. Even with my own friends too, I still go through periodic bouts of doubt, wondering if they really like me, or if they were just humoring me, or just spending time with me because like me they enjoyed the attention from my charismatic husband, who has the ability to make everybody feel special, loved, and included. The jist of it is that I've never really learned how to be sure of myself. Being self-critical is who I am. I'm defined by my lack of self-confidence and it will never go away in its entirety. I may be able to act exciting and interesting at a party, but the entire time I am I'm wondering if people find me annoying or if I'm coming off as obnoxious. I don't doubt my husband's belief in me. But I'll always doubt myself to some extent.
So I find myself constantly reaching out for validation. I went crazy with Facebook because I need that constant human contact so often, need to feel like I have friends. I can tell myself that if people I admire like me, that can't make me all bad.
I've always loved dogs, because they are a source of unconditional love I've never had to doubt. You can always count on a dog to give you validation, and you don't ever have to worry it doesn't secretly dislike you. Dogs don't even know how to be critical, only loving. They're the perfect pet for someone who has no self-confidence. Having Fancy here with me this week has been a blessing-she gives me so much constant approval!
I find myself always expecting the worse outcome because that way it will hopefully stave off the disappointment if it's as bad as I think. And it's hardly ever as bad as I think. But sometimes it's worse than I think, and that makes it all the more difficult for me to have faith in myself.
When I went out to dinner with Kate I was paranoid she wouldn't like me, or that I wouldn't be able to be an interesting enough conversationalist to captivate someone like her who was so smart and savvy. Without my husband, I find it difficult sometimes to be with other people because his charisma isn't transferable, just immitatable. I can only give people what I have, and I don't always have as much as Steve does to give them. My strongest point is my emotions and my empathy, and when I give people everything I have in that respect, I always wonder if it's enough. But what I found with Kate was something I never would have expected in a million years. The person sitting across from me was still the elegant, creative, intelligent person I'd got the impression she was, but she also turned out to be someone who understood me more than anyone I've ever known.
So now I know that I'm desperate for validation. And I know why. But for the first time I don't feel like a freak about it. I just feel happy to be me. Even if I don't think I'm so cool. I finally feel normal. That alone is validation I'd never achieved before.

No Place for a Princess

I love poofy dresses.
My problem stems from the fact that I watched so many Disney Princess movies growing up, I became obsessed (there's that trouble again!) with the idea of dancing in a big flowing dress!
Prom was the greatest excuse in the world to buy a dress with a big poofy skirt. You couldn't get away with it for homecoming, but for prom it was a golden opportunity.
Unfortunately when I got to high school age, I wasn't able to afford any of those kind of dresses. I was so desperate to get to wear a poofy dress, I went back to my Polish ex-boyfriend's high school prom (he was a year younger than me) with him and my best friend JUST so I could wear a big blue poofy dress I had finally been able to afford.
I made sure when I got married to have a dress made with a big skirt, and wore my first crinoline ever. I felt like such a princess that day with my fancy white dress and my huge dance floor at the reception.
So my question is now that why as adults are there not more events we can wear these kind of dresses to???
The only chance we usually get is if we get picked to be bridesmaids for our friends. I got to wear the most gorgeous red dress I've ever seen to my friend Kim's wedding as her matron of honor, but opportunities like that don't come along everyday. Half the time you don't even get to pick the dress out, and girls nowadays usually tend to favor the slim evening gown style for their attendants. And eventually all my friends will be married and then what chance do I have? There just aren't any occasions for wearing the kind of dresses I adore. Do the rich class have charity balls and the like where they can wear these kind of dresses? Not that it matters, I'll probably never be rich.
So I guess I'm stuck hoping the fashions will change and I'll be able to wear big poofy dresses to events that it previously made no sense to wear such attire to. It's sad, but I really love to wear dresses that much.
But in reality, probably the only thing left for me is when I have children, and can dress my little girls up in poofy dresses to try and live vicariously through them.
They'll probably hate it.

They Don't Have a Group for This

I've discovered that though I've never fallen prey to the classic addictions- drugs, cigarettes, alcohol, etc.- I still develop my very own special and equally disturbing addictions that interfere with my life.
The last one I told you about was the Harry Potter Books on Tape, but now I have a new, less excusable one.
Facebook.
I resisted Facebook and the less impressive MySpace for years. I've never been very technologically savvy, so I figured it just wasn't for me. I only decided to get a blog so I could practice writing narratives. But I vowed I would never give into the self-obsessed internet culture represented by the MySpace crowd. Most of the people I knew who used these kind of web pages were my sister's friends that had them as online diaries so their friends could all get ticked at each other when they read about the nasty things the other person had said about them.
Less than a year ago I remember one of my classmates in political science, a girl I didn't even know, looking at me like an alien when after asking me if I was on Facebook, I informed her that not only was I not on it, but I didn't even know what it was. That alone was enough to convince me that I didn't need to find out anything about it. If it was something popular that all the other kids at OSU were doing, odds were I probably wouldn't like it. After all, they all went to keggers and were nuts about football, and I'd never gotten on those bandwagons.
But then a few days ago my friend Kim decided to throw a party, and she put her invitation up on Facebook. I wanted to comment on the page about whether I was coming or not, but I realized that I couldn't unless I had a Facebook page.
So I thought, ah what the heck, I'll never use it so why not just make one so I can RSVP to Kim.
And then it sucked me in.
The next thing I knew I was obsessed with posting pictures, putting up quotes, and looking for people.
I found so many people I hadn't talked to in years, people who I honestly had wished I hadn't fallen out of touch with. And I discovered that almost all my best friends were on Facebook as well. I sent out friend requests to a whole slew of individuals.
And now here I am checking my Facebook page every two minutes, desperate to know who's said what and what's new with everyone. Why do I feel like I'm in high school again? Only instead of talking about who's going with who to prom or who got in a fight with whoever, now we all talk about what we're studying in school or what kind of jobs we're trying to find.
I really honestly love knowing what's going on with everyone. I love feeling like I'm a part of a group that I can constantly comment on and be involved with whenever I want. The joiner deep inside of me is jumping for joy.
And I keep thinking about increasingly more clever things to put on my profile that will epitomize what I am all about. When did I suddenly become so self absorbed?
I should probably get help. But they just don't have a group for this.
And besides, I'm having way too much fun. ;)