Ten Things That Make Me Really Happy

A few things before we get started this morning:

1) Yesterday I found two major, glaring punctuation errors in my last post. I about had a panic attack. Two misspelled words just chillin' there, like they had a right to be among the other perfectly spelled words. The nerve.

Please know, you guys, that you are always welcome to tell me about misspelled words, improper grammar, or misplaced punctuation in my posts. I try to give you no opportunity to do so, but it cannot be helped in an imperfect world, most unfortunately. As a disclaimer, please know that I may challenge you if I think you are wrong, but it will all be in good fun.

2) Eric has a new job. This is wonderful, wonderful news. However, this week is a little bit crazy, with new schedules and a few overlapping commitments from his old job, and only one car. I do not know how this will affect JenEric for the time being, but I promise any absence will be very short-lived.

3) If you care at all to read my beauty column on Lydia, my last three articles are as follows: the intro, dry shampoo and my face wash routine.

Okay, and now moving on to the post I should have posted yesterday: Ten things that make me happy.

1) Spell-checking an email and finding no spelling errors.

2) Having something to look forward to. Whether it is going out to my favorite restaurant, or an upcoming trip, knowing I have something pleasant awaiting me in the future makes me happy.

3) Mornings. I am not always in the best mood at night, but I am perfectly content in the mornings. I don't know what it is about them, but I love waking up alive and knowing that anything can happen that day. I also love my daily coffee made with grass-fed butter and coconut oil. Mmmm.

4) My family, and being with them. Not to be partial, but especially my little nieces and nephew. They make me so happy.

5) Walking around D.C., especially at night. I don't know why D.C. has such an affect on me, but it does. Maybe it's the nastalgia of family vacations and college trips with wide eyes, and now it's my home. Darn it D.C., you're getting me all emotional.

6) Traveling. The feeling of being completely liberated from all responsibility. It makes me breathe easy and smile constantly.

7) Listening to live music. Pretty much any kind, really. I think the happiest, most joyful, most ecstatic, I have ever been listening to live music was when I saw two different performances of Handel's Messiah in the same season. One at the Kennedy Center, and one at the National Cathedral. Combine The Messiah (which I am already obsessed with), the fact that it was live, and the historic venues they were played in...I was in a zone, you guys. A heavenly zone from which I did not wish to ever be awoken. 

8) Ice cream.

9) Picnics with friends. Enjoying good food with friends is always lovely, but outside in a laid back environment with wine and good conversation makes me feel like all is right with the world.

10) Knowing I am loved, and loving others. Not to get all corny on you, but really...who needs stuff when you have people who love you, and people to love, in your life?

Everybody's Favorite Thing: unsolicited advice

Today's topic: A piece of advice you have for others.

I almost skipped today's topic. I rarely feel comfortable giving advice, even when solicited. It usually makes me feel like a hypocrite. But then, no one keeps even their best advice perfectly, right?

And then I thought of something. I thought of something I have been living by for a few years now, and it doesn't seem to have done me any harm. So I'm doing it. I'm giving you advice, whether you want it or not. Ready?

Sit in the front row.

Or otherwise translated: do what you are afraid to do. 

When I was in college, there were a few classes I was afraid of taking. I was worried an A wouldn't come easily to me, or that I would be with a bunch of upperclassmen, or the professor would be the kind of person who randomly called on students (my worst nightmare is to be unprepared for any situation), or there would be no one I knew, etc. One day though, I read a study that said that students who wore glasses and sat on the front row were more likely to get higher grades: simply because it caused a subconscious association with being a bright student in a professor's mind. 

It has been a life long sorrow of mine that, as a pretty-much-nerd, I have 20/20 vision. What's up with that? So, while I couldn't wear glasses I could sit on the front row. From that point on, if the class was going to be challenging, or if I was afraid of it for any reason, I sat on the front row. I faced my fear of being possibly vulnerable in a public place.

I sat on the front row, made frequent eye-contact with my professors, and was never once called on simply to see if I was paying attention. I don't think my work in ancient Greek philosophy was particularly brilliant, but I got an A and I really do feel it was because I showed up, and always sat in the front row. I sat in the front row of Latin, Scandinavian history, Public Law and Private Rights, and other philosophy classes. It just became my thing, and it worked for me. A surprising result was that it gave me a little extra confidence as I pretended to be the confident smart kid who deserved to sit in the front row.

I am not in college anymore, but this rule applies to lots of things outside of college: like work meetings. Or simply meeting important or intimidating people (hey, I'm the kid who sat in the front row, and I'm going to act like it). It applies to every area of life where you are put outside of your comfort zone. It's not about your line up in a row of chairs, as much as it is about pretending to be one step ahead of yourself, and making yourself meet your own small challenges on a consistent basis. 

Doing what you are afraid to do in small things, leads to bravery in bigger things. It didn't kill me to sit on the front row, even if it was a little scary at first. I'm going to go one step further than "what doesn't kill you makes you stronger" and say: seek out what won't kill you, and chase it. It might make you look stupid. And you will learn that everyone survives looking stupid. That's catchy, right? 

And here is what I meant about not particularly enjoying giving advice: sometimes, on occasion, I give myself a break and sit on the back row. Sometimes it's stress-relieving to pretend you're the bad kid who hates learning and promoting yourself in any way. So take everything I just said with a grain of salt, uhkay? 

P.S. If unsolicited marriage advice is your thing, I have that for you, too: here. It's advice someone gave to me, by the way, lest you judge prematurely after I just told you I don't like giving advice.

What I Do

Today's topic is, "If you couldn't answer with your job, how would 

you answer the question, 'what do you do'"?

To be honest, I would probably curl my hair behind my ear, look off to the right (or is that the direction you look when you are lying? I guess it depends if I am going to tell you what I do, or what it is I imagine that I do), open my mouth to speak and then pause. 

"Hmm. I write." I would tell you. But you know that. "I read." Obviously. "No, but I read all the time. Not just books, but articles, ideas, blogs and other people's thoughts on my latest health question. And when I say "write" I don't just mean blog, but journal, and send novel-like emails to my friends and family, and I write everything down in a little notebook I carry with at all times: random thoughts I momentarily think are brilliant but inevitably fail to impress me upon further readings. Grocery lists. A Bible verse that is precisely what I need to remember all the time, when I am feeling just that way. Lists of things I need to do, things I need to remember to buy, gifts to purchase, and it continues. Et cetera, as some would say.

So, you know that I write and read. I also tend to over-analyze to the point of twisting myself into a giant knot that makes me feel like I have to find a solution before I can breathe again, and then I remember "I" am not the answer and the giant knot is an illusion I have created. 

I'm getting better at that. 

I laugh at myself. That's one good thing that keeps the overly analytical part of myself from self-destructing.

I edit. I love grammar. And I love the power of punctuation. It. Is. Powerful. And punchy!

I edit every post I write approximately 543,031.3 times. Really. I read and re-arrange, and re-arrange, and re-write, and sometimes--get ready for this--I start over. Which is painful. But, as a character in L.M. Montgomery's Emily of New Moon series taught me: editing is simply the process of taking out what you love the most about your writing, and surprising yourself by doing something better the second time around. Or just leaving it out altogether. It hurts. Because it hurts to stretch. But stretching has wonderful benefits. 

I also edit my thoughts. And I categorize and give them homes in the filing cabinets of my brain. If I don't I tend to be overly-analytical; reading too much overwhelms me, and I get stuck when I sit down to write. And that's about it. That's what I "do" when you get down to it.

P.S. A while back, I wrote about the question "what do you do for a living?" when I compared DC with Oklahoma. 

Things that make me uncomfortable

1) That Peep, for starters. ^

2) Talking on the phone while riding pubic transportation. People do it all the time, I know. But I cannot bring myself to speak out loud into a piece of plastic, for anything other than an emergency. I have been known to hang up on people calling me while riding the bus or Metro, and then texting them to apologize and tell them I will call them back as soon as I enter the great outdoors.

3) Not being able to help complete strangers. I have this tattoo on my forehead that says, "talk to me, I can help". It is really frustrating because I can't always help. One time, when visiting the Lincoln Memorial with a friend who has a matching tattoo, we got a double dose of "uncomfortable" when a man approached us and asked what he should do about the fact that his wife just left him. Should he go after her? I wanted to help so badly. And I couldn't think of anything to say to him to make the situation any better. 

Another time, a woman approached me while walking in Georgetown, and told me that she was hungry and pregnant with twins. I offered to buy her lunch. Whatever she wanted from any establishment in our line of vision. She changed her mind. She decided she was, after all, "good". I really wanted to help feed a starving pregnant person, but I began to have a sneaking suspician that she was not, after all, hungry (or pregnant). These occasions take me a while to shake off.

4) Ice breakers in group settings. Forced conversation, in any setting for any reason, is not cool. Being asked to share something interesting about myself in a group setting is equally as sweaty-palm-inducing. One time my answer to this question was, "I have a dog." Which blew everyone's minds, as you can imagine.

5) Sitting on the Metro with people who talk to themselves. I don't mind the actual people--they are usually pretty amusing--but ignoring them makes me feel awkward. Twice now, I have ridden to work in the same Metro car as a man who has done the following: clapped long and hard for a train passing outside the window, talked into an imaginary cell phone about government conspiracies, and smiled at me.

6) Kissing in public. Nope. No thanks. One time, Eric (very dramatically, I might add) kissed me randomly while at the mall, and I turned red as a beat. He thinks it is awkward too, but I guess my embarrassment outweighed his own feelings. Being around anyone else who does more than a little peck makes me highly uncomfortable. I would assume that this makes everyone uncomfortable, but those people kissing disprove my hypothesis.

7) Being out to dinner, having a very private conversation, and suddenly the table very close to you has a lull in their conversation. I just know they are judging everything being said at my table from that point forward.

What I have just gathered from all of this: apparently I am a very private person. Makes total sense that I would have a blog. On that note, I guess I could add:

8) Telling people in real life about my blog. I am getting better about this, actually. A lot better.

What makes you uncomfortable? 

My abridged life, two ways

For the month of May, I will be participating in Jenni's "blog every day in May challenge". I am taking up the challenge because she has a prompt for every day. Praise be! I do think there is hope for daily posting around here with a little prompt to trigger the imagination. I plan on breaking a few rules already, though. I might not stick to the prompt every day, and if we are honest here, I won't be posting every single day this month.

So basically, this challenge is more of a loose guideline. As an adult, I get to make that decision for myself. Isn't it fun being all grown up? I sure do love staying up all night long and eating as many oreos as I want...

Anyway, the prompt for today is "your life in 250 words or less". The first thing that comes to mind upon reading that are these words from my favorite fictional character, Anne Shirley: "Well, it really isn't worth telling, Mrs. Cadbury... but if you let me tell you what I imagine about myself you'd find it a lot more interesting."

^ being really cool in college

So here it is, my life in 250 words or less (actually, 264):

Jenny was born and raised in the great state of Oklahoma. Her family moved from the city to a small farm house on a large plot of land when she was ten years old. She spent many hours roaming the surrounding woods with her siblings under the delusion that they were in fact, the Ingalls family. As a homeschooler, she tried to make people feel uncomfortable by spending her remaining time reading, and nerdishly carrying around Latin flash cards and a pocket Constitution wherever she went. To blend in with other children, she dedicated herself to eleven years of classical ballet training which she was forced to abandon upon entering college. Never one to break a rule growing up, she once turned in $12 she found on a public stairwell to the nearest adult. She was nineteen years old at the time. In college, she continued to alienate herself from the cool crowd by becoming the president of a campus political club. But despite all her efforts, college normalized her and made her a little bit braver. Believing it to be her life’s purpose to change the world to some degree, she moved to Washington, D.C. to work for Congress. Once she realized that Congress and the Circus are not mutually exclusive (nay, they are one in the same), she decided that shenanigans were not in the cards for her. She safely married a man with a stable job and an unfulfilled dream, to perfectly balance the predictable and the unknown, and currently lives on the edge as much as her conscience will allow.

And in case you are interested in the part I imagine about myself (which is a lot more interesting)...

Jenny was brought into this world by two loving parents, poor and unassuming. They lived in a tiny log house which, tragically, was set aflame by Jenny at the tender age of two, when she confused a book of matches for a sleeve of hair pins. Jenny managed to escape the burning house after providentially rolling down the stairs and out the front door. The fact that she was unable to save the lives of her parents scarred her for life (figuratively). Despite her humble and tragic beginnings, however, Jenny managed to raise herself, against all odds and against the intuitions of all her harshest critics (namely, her extended family who refused to adopt her) and grew up to be the successful author of her very own blog. Earning enough money to buy one or two cups of coffee a month, she learned to survive (nay, thrive) on scraps and caffeine. Today, she spends her time blogging and soaking in the sympathy of everyone with whom she crosses paths. Who knows what lies ahead?

escape

“No live organism can continue for long to exist sanely under conditions of absolute reality.” 

― Shirley Jackson

It's a rainy day here. Rained all day yesterday. It's supposed to rain tomorrow, too. 

I've found the riposte, though. While I'm stuck in a stuffy office, I've sent the paper (and better-proportioned, thinner, paler) version of myself on a trek across the European continent. Everyone should have a paper version of themselves. They have nothing to tie them down. They don't have jobs, they don't pay rent, they don't experience bad weather, they don't get sick, they don't struggle with bouts of insanity, they don't have hormones, they don't have stress dreams about not having enough time to plan a proper trip to Europe, and they can eat as much ice cream as they like.

However, the downside is that they aren't really prepared for the real world. Now that I think about it, I hope Paper Jenny comes back alive...

Paris

Salzburg

Cinque Terre

If this post looks familiar...

Jen+Eric gets new clothes

What started out as a simple desire for a sidebar collage this morning, turned into 14 hours of blog re-design! For real. I love a good html challenge (as long as it is really basic...), and once I started this morning, I couldn't stop. 9:00pm is a great time for dinner, right?

I am very pleased with how everything turned out, and I hope this new design proves to be a little more navigable. I hate that old posts just kind of disappear if you do not secure them a visible place in a menu of some kind, so I am thrilled that I now have categories for all of my older posts to be (hopefully) easily located!

I am still working on linking up all the posts to their proper category, so bear with me on that. But if you do click around, let me know if you spot any major errors!

Happy weekend, friends! I'm going to give my poor eyes a break now. And my right hand. My right hand is going to fall off from navigating the touchpad on my laptop all day.