Posted by jessica on Jan 21, 2010 with
22 Comments
in
I Lift My Eyes Up,
Loved Ones,
Thoughts and Feelings
as
controversial comments,
God,
googly eyes,
life,
linear story,
nice,
nobody,
something,
teen mom,
time,
toast,
uproar
Tonight was a good reminder about simplicity.
The main event didn’t cost any money. It didn’t even involve going anywhere, really. And mmmmm, there was definitely toast involved. Nice crunchy, perfectly buttered toast for which you mourn the last bite but pretend not to because who gets sad over that?
Okay, so a few of us do, but who admits it?
Okay, so I do: I really like toast and it makes me sad when I finish it. There. Now that I’ve bared my soul, do you feel close to me? Because my affinity for toast is definitely the deepest thing I’ve shared here lately. Can’t wait to see the controversial comments that this garners.
But other than the toast, the thing that struck me is the way that conversation can fill a room and make life better than television. And although I like to watch Teen Mom just as much as the next person, there’s something about digging deep within yourself and then dumping it out before a trusted friend and vice versa.
And something else: it’s really empowering to tell my story. And though I hope to God that I don’t ever become a person who drones on and on about the rotten hand she was dealt back in ’09, there’s freedom that comes in talking about what’s happened. Even in relating the memories, describing the images that crowd my mind at night.
The first time I met with my counselor about all this hullabaloo (I realize that word sounds like something involving lots of brightly colored cartoons and maybe even a pair of googly eyes, but actually it can mean something quite serious. Like an upheaval. Disturbance. Uproar. So yeah, I’m gonna stick with hullabaloo), but the first time I met with my counselor, I talked for three hours straight.
He started out the session with a notepad and pen, poised and ready for action, but after about the first hour of me just describing the events that had recently darkened my sun he slowly put down his pen and simply let me talk. He’d stop me only to clarify something, since I am not always the most linear story teller, but other than that he just got out of the way as the dam within me finally began to give.
Once three hours had gone by I realized I was exhausted and I also realized something else: I had not yet been able to tell anybody what had happened in my life. This was the first time and it actually felt good. And then there was the fact that he didn’t look at me as if my life is over, that he kept telling me over and over again that God has a plan for my life and even a good one at that.
Whoa.
Okay.
But, whoa.
And so tonight my friend and I talked. We talked like words were in season and nobody was gonna run out of them anytime soon because there was always the cellar and all the extra jars of it that were stored down there; we were lavish and generous with our conversation and even managed to make fun of some of the things that suck so much.
After we cried about them first, of course.
And there we were, either in the living room or the kitchen, and nobody was bored and nobody was wondering what it was we were going to do. Because we were already doing it.
We were talking and God, it was good.
My name is Jessica and this is a nice, quiet space that I like to cram with words.
talking about it
in I Lift My Eyes Up, Loved Ones, Thoughts and Feelings
as controversial comments, God, googly eyes, life, linear story, nice, nobody, something, teen mom, time, toast, uproar
Tonight was a good reminder about simplicity.
The main event didn’t cost any money. It didn’t even involve going anywhere, really. And mmmmm, there was definitely toast involved. Nice crunchy, perfectly buttered toast for which you mourn the last bite but pretend not to because who gets sad over that?
Okay, so a few of us do, but who admits it?
Okay, so I do: I really like toast and it makes me sad when I finish it. There. Now that I’ve bared my soul, do you feel close to me? Because my affinity for toast is definitely the deepest thing I’ve shared here lately. Can’t wait to see the controversial comments that this garners.
But other than the toast, the thing that struck me is the way that conversation can fill a room and make life better than television. And although I like to watch Teen Mom just as much as the next person, there’s something about digging deep within yourself and then dumping it out before a trusted friend and vice versa.
And something else: it’s really empowering to tell my story. And though I hope to God that I don’t ever become a person who drones on and on about the rotten hand she was dealt back in ’09, there’s freedom that comes in talking about what’s happened. Even in relating the memories, describing the images that crowd my mind at night.
The first time I met with my counselor about all this hullabaloo (I realize that word sounds like something involving lots of brightly colored cartoons and maybe even a pair of googly eyes, but actually it can mean something quite serious. Like an upheaval. Disturbance. Uproar. So yeah, I’m gonna stick with hullabaloo), but the first time I met with my counselor, I talked for three hours straight.
He started out the session with a notepad and pen, poised and ready for action, but after about the first hour of me just describing the events that had recently darkened my sun he slowly put down his pen and simply let me talk. He’d stop me only to clarify something, since I am not always the most linear story teller, but other than that he just got out of the way as the dam within me finally began to give.
Once three hours had gone by I realized I was exhausted and I also realized something else: I had not yet been able to tell anybody what had happened in my life. This was the first time and it actually felt good. And then there was the fact that he didn’t look at me as if my life is over, that he kept telling me over and over again that God has a plan for my life and even a good one at that.
Whoa.
Okay.
But, whoa.
And so tonight my friend and I talked. We talked like words were in season and nobody was gonna run out of them anytime soon because there was always the cellar and all the extra jars of it that were stored down there; we were lavish and generous with our conversation and even managed to make fun of some of the things that suck so much.
After we cried about them first, of course.
And there we were, either in the living room or the kitchen, and nobody was bored and nobody was wondering what it was we were going to do. Because we were already doing it.
We were talking and God, it was good.