From a short story, a sweet romantic adventure called THE OFFSHORE PIRATE, by F. Scott Fitzgerald (written in 1920):
And courage to me meant ploughing through that dull gray mist that comes down on life--not only overriding people and circumstances but overriding the bleakness of living. A sort of insistence on the value of life and the worth of transient things.
Sunday, July 31, 2011
Thursday, July 28, 2011
Writing on Thursday
Three Lives
(a repost: originally appeared in November of 2009)
It occurred to me with certain clarity this week that I live three lives. Three. All from this one body.
They're separate, but pieces of them overlap. Each is carried out by real parts of me.
Life in the Flesh
I am living, breathing, my body holds a spirit. I primp and present my physical self, nourish my person without regularly exercising it, drive an automatic SUV, read aloud, sing aloud, stir breakfast--and sometimes dinner--with my favorite wooden spatula, lose myself to folding laundry, loathe putting it away. I wince when the phone rings, but love to give hugs. My mind wanders while I'm in church, and I mutter ridiculous things to the family dog. I find solace and happiness and frustation and doubt in the act of writing, can't get enough kisses from my daughters, am never sated. This is real life. The one I've lived for thirty-[two] years, with emotion and experience and depth. Real time. Tangible existence.
Virtual Life
I am a presence. With pictures, sometimes, but most often with words. My thoughts and essence are on display, whether through blog posts or online statuses. I give of myself through a filter, the filter of this internet that is not my physical location, just designed representation. It's me, too, but with time delay. With edits. Smooth, composed. Confident. I banter, I share, I feel, I learn and love. Virtually.
Life through Fiction
I am what my mind creates. My characters are extensions of me, their stories fill me. New experiences, lived vicariously. Papered emotions, felt as if real and raw. People as real to me as the Postmaster, my daughters' teachers, the person driving behind me, my best friend's mother, because they are real, in some other place, even if only by manuscript or in Word document. Entirely made up, but true, honest at the same time. I exist so that they can exist. And because they exist.
These three Jannas, they feel individual, so different, so distinct. But I reconcile one with the others. Aren't I all of them? My three lives. Defining one existence.
What about yours?
(a repost: originally appeared in November of 2009)
It occurred to me with certain clarity this week that I live three lives. Three. All from this one body.
They're separate, but pieces of them overlap. Each is carried out by real parts of me.
Life in the Flesh
I am living, breathing, my body holds a spirit. I primp and present my physical self, nourish my person without regularly exercising it, drive an automatic SUV, read aloud, sing aloud, stir breakfast--and sometimes dinner--with my favorite wooden spatula, lose myself to folding laundry, loathe putting it away. I wince when the phone rings, but love to give hugs. My mind wanders while I'm in church, and I mutter ridiculous things to the family dog. I find solace and happiness and frustation and doubt in the act of writing, can't get enough kisses from my daughters, am never sated. This is real life. The one I've lived for thirty-[two] years, with emotion and experience and depth. Real time. Tangible existence.
Virtual Life
I am a presence. With pictures, sometimes, but most often with words. My thoughts and essence are on display, whether through blog posts or online statuses. I give of myself through a filter, the filter of this internet that is not my physical location, just designed representation. It's me, too, but with time delay. With edits. Smooth, composed. Confident. I banter, I share, I feel, I learn and love. Virtually.
Life through Fiction
I am what my mind creates. My characters are extensions of me, their stories fill me. New experiences, lived vicariously. Papered emotions, felt as if real and raw. People as real to me as the Postmaster, my daughters' teachers, the person driving behind me, my best friend's mother, because they are real, in some other place, even if only by manuscript or in Word document. Entirely made up, but true, honest at the same time. I exist so that they can exist. And because they exist.
These three Jannas, they feel individual, so different, so distinct. But I reconcile one with the others. Aren't I all of them? My three lives. Defining one existence.
What about yours?
Tuesday, July 26, 2011
Keep It Real Tuesday
Independence
It means everything falls to me now.
If the sink has the dastardly nerve to leak, I figure out if it's something easily fixable, or whether a professional (ie. apartment maintenance) needs to be notified.
It's my job to keep up on my car's fluids. And not to forget to check tire pressure. Wash the whole thing, too.
Money? It's what I earn, and only what I earn.
There is no one else to make business-type phone calls. (And I hate making business-type phone calls.)
The hanging of pictures and wall things falls to me, even though I'm not good with measuring and centering and leveling. (I am quite good with a hammer and various tools, though, I'll give me that.)
When I end up with 1-ply toilet paper (dangitall), I have no one to blame but myself.
And lots of little things I'm learning about living on my own.
But. But.
Independence means I'm learning how to take charge.
Make decisions.
Grow up.
I'm learning it's okay to go with my first instinct, no second-guessing, because it is whatever I want, and right now a lot is all about me.
I can listen to the radio, and, when my kids are with their dad, sing the unedited versions of the songs, if I want.
I can have chocolate ice cream for breakfast. Or a toasted turkey sandwich. And make whatever it is that sounds good to not-picky-me for dinner. It's totally my call.
I can stay up until 1 AM, first watching a movie (KILLERS with Ashton Kutcher and Katherine Heigl is adorable), and then reading a book that makes me cry like an eediot.
I can rebel and not brush my teeth, because I'm a free-thinking grown-up. (Even if I decide to do it anyway, because I do like having a clean and pretty mouth.)
I can come and go as I please. Lollygag. Walk around naked. Leave dirty dishes in the sink. Because there is no one to answer to but me.
Independence means lots of little things I'm learning about living on my own.
It means everything falls to me now.
If the sink has the dastardly nerve to leak, I figure out if it's something easily fixable, or whether a professional (ie. apartment maintenance) needs to be notified.
It's my job to keep up on my car's fluids. And not to forget to check tire pressure. Wash the whole thing, too.
Money? It's what I earn, and only what I earn.
There is no one else to make business-type phone calls. (And I hate making business-type phone calls.)
The hanging of pictures and wall things falls to me, even though I'm not good with measuring and centering and leveling. (I am quite good with a hammer and various tools, though, I'll give me that.)
When I end up with 1-ply toilet paper (dangitall), I have no one to blame but myself.
And lots of little things I'm learning about living on my own.
But. But.
Independence means I'm learning how to take charge.
Make decisions.
Grow up.
I'm learning it's okay to go with my first instinct, no second-guessing, because it is whatever I want, and right now a lot is all about me.
I can listen to the radio, and, when my kids are with their dad, sing the unedited versions of the songs, if I want.
I can have chocolate ice cream for breakfast. Or a toasted turkey sandwich. And make whatever it is that sounds good to not-picky-me for dinner. It's totally my call.
I can stay up until 1 AM, first watching a movie (KILLERS with Ashton Kutcher and Katherine Heigl is adorable), and then reading a book that makes me cry like an eediot.
I can rebel and not brush my teeth, because I'm a free-thinking grown-up. (Even if I decide to do it anyway, because I do like having a clean and pretty mouth.)
I can come and go as I please. Lollygag. Walk around naked. Leave dirty dishes in the sink. Because there is no one to answer to but me.
Independence means lots of little things I'm learning about living on my own.
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