Can I post my musings here, my wandering, 8:30 a.m. thoughts? They don't come at this "late" hour of 9:30 p.m., but I'll transcribe them for the sake of relating my current state, dear readers.
A brush with Knoxville bicyclists this July 4 reminded me of RADICAL, beautiful beings that collect there. Now if only I could find honest work in Knoxville. To write freely and to travel — that is a goal of mine. Travel ranks pretty high up there, too, as does literary adventures. Not an assessment, pre se, but more of a reflection. Holding mirrors up to ourselves to see things we may not always want to see, as the company's personality test consultant told me last week. Yes, I had a personality assessment last week. I won't lie — it fueld a lot of reflection.
How do I get this traveling outfit together? I guess I'll need a car soon, or at least while I'm working in this job. And room for my bike — maybe a roof rack. Something reliable that needs little service and can otherwise optimize my freedom to roam. I am going to go beyond what is expected of me, and beyond what I expect of myself. These growing pains, these changes are so beautiful.
In some ways, I feel like my personality test results set me up for big things and bigger ideas.
So while I'm here, I want to become a collector:
a collector of words, stories, ideas, good writing, better boks, marketing ideas or other profitable outlets, love notes, fonts, color schemes, inspiration, a good savings account balance, and definite travel agendas.
I want to observe, to drink in the South and keep learning how to better describe places with feelings. How do I tap those emotions in others? That compelling piece? How do I grab the essence?
It is one thing to be a wordsmith; but it is far different to use the skills of a wordsmith and expand them to a breathtaking work of art. I want to instill in those around me the sense of homliness that has been instilled in me. Like my ecclectic, powerful, independent female friends and family members who NEVER cease to amaze me, the random encounters with soulful strangers, good tippers and great kissers....
I like music because it is an escape. Live, a full-body experience that overwhelms my senses and my ears. Then I dance, I sing, I jump, I shout. I don't like to read as much as I like to write, or should like to read, so who says I'll produce books? Articles may be more fitting.
I have so much to learn.
Musicians are interesting when they master their craft and when they embody the spirit of their work; it's becoming of them, and should be. These days I write something soulless that may influence someone down the road, or so I was told. How can I fine tune my low-challenge thinking to train myself to want more, to read more, to write more? And to exercise till I'm happy? Can't I substitute sensual desires for geeky skills, just for a year, and channel sexual energy into exercise? Why not?
Because I would overlook the beauty in how men and women—women and women, men and men, every combination—how PEOPLE interact. How we flirt, exhibit power struggles, fights. What makes me group of lady friends so perfect, so well matched and special? What grounds my sense of place, and from where does my sadness come? I'm begining to see that it comes from a blurred vision of my self—my definition of self.
LAURA JANE is a name. My body, my beer belly and freedom thighs, they are merely a vessel; my blue eyes merely a window, a channel for surveying the world; my body allows me an avenur to experience the world.
but me, my SELF. My self wants people to smile and feel better; my self wants to reconnect our habits with our bodies and consciousness, to close the loop and find the right peace of mind. My self wants big picture thinking, a world full of sensations and beauty. My self likes reality with a healthy dose of idealism.
My Self needs creative, established, achievable goals.
And me, my SELF, Laura Jane, needs to set them. I need a sense of worldly adventure on at least a biannual basis. I need change, and I need grounded, somewhat conservative means for getting there. I need assurance. I need to recognize that these NEEDS will only be met by ME and my self.
Funny, or not so funny, alll of my rainy weather clothes lay on the floor at the end of my bed, out of sight. I don't know if they decided collectively to gather there, or land in that specific pile, or if I had them all together at once.
I'm going to Knoxville this weekend. And I'm listening to Dixie Dirt now, loving the South, loving life, and loving the growth.
In my open embrace of lowering my caffeine consumption for optimal health, I have dropped the a.m. espresso. Yes, I did indulge in a second cup of coffee at Chattz this morning. But I feel much more stable and alert throughout the day without the peaks and valleys espresso brings to my day. Soon enough I can get back on the French press and solve all my problems.
Dad and I biked to work this morning, and it was GREAT fun. I'm glad we had that move of solidarity. This was his first ride to work all year. ONE MORE BIKER means ONE LESS CAR. And one less car means one less accident to go down.
"New South." What does that term mean to me? New South...does it embrace new ideas? Or new change? What makes it new? OK, so it plays off "Old South." I want to explore this more thoroughly. I still want to read that Old Money, New South book, as well.
On the same page, it is still 80 degrees and 90 percent humidity when we roll out the door in the a.m.
I feel like I have embraced when I deemed "isolation" a few weeks ago as another cycle of self discovery. It's time to re-examine how I treat relationships, and the new ones I allow in my life. Beyond that, the ones I let FLOURISH, the ones I actively feed and nourish in my life. It's beautiful to think about and consider...that I go months and years without seeing some of my dear friends, yet we still catch up and mark our personal growth, share our latest stories and pains, new jobs and old boyfriends.
To consider, a few months later, how sad and stuck I felt, how stagnant I felt for that brief stint in Oregon... is bizarre to me. It's a complete 180 degrees from where I stand now. I'm finally able to visit Knoxville with the appropriate amount of appreciation and love. I look forward to catching up with my family and dearies there, and participating in some events that --coughcough-- haven't quite infiltrated Chattanooga culture.
I'm so tired tonight, and I can rest easy without my morning espresso and afternoon cup o joe. I must hold out tomorrow morning, too.
I've reflected on this job transition LOTS, just typically on paper, in the morning with said coffee. I shy away from my laptop after work where spend 8 hours on the old iMac at work -- she's a slow one compared to this little whiz kid. Soon to complement my music collection: an iPod Nano! Then I can listen to my music without lugging the laptop everywhere. And I want a purple one. Purple or yellow.
I sat on the front porch and tried to notice a pattern in the fireflies' flashes in the yard, but I couldn't pick one up. Their flashes were too scattered, my attention span too short. I've been thinking a lot of the mystical Northwest. A year ago I was gearing up to take my trip out with Amy and Tommy. A little less than a year ago I met Shane. And two months ago I moved back to the South after a rainy, cold season in Portland.
But it's like I'm cruising right now. Or rather, there is a collective calm in my daily activities that is so peaceful. I've been reflecting on long-term goals, short-term realities, folks I like talking to. I find it eases the nostalgia, which never seems to be a healthy thing for me.
hum drum
Knoxville this weekend and next, if I can manage. Which I can. Cause baby, it's summertime.
You know, I posted a few blogs in the "regular" font size with the intentions of fewer folks having to squint while reading. Then I realized, you know what Laura Jane, no one reads this that doesn't mind the occasional squint. Maybe in the next step of my personal branding campaign I can find an ideal blog font size, too.
This weekend was incredible. I hit the ground RUNNING AND SCREAMING after my first, short week of work, which I will get into later. I skipped out the door and, of course, hit Happy Hour, ate a hot dog, grumbled about Critical Mass before taking off around town on my own with my friend Howell, beer, beer, more beer, whiskey, music, backporch grumbling. And then I fell asleep at the studio.
The heavenly sleep situation led to beautiful things Saturday morning...and somewhat of a hangover, but I know how to tackle those. I rolled over to the GLife to slurp down lots of coffee, watch YogaMoms from NorthshoreYoga sit around and chatter in their expensive yoga outfits, and otherwise gaze at Northshore happenings with my shades on, still comprehending what happened Friday night. This is pretty typical; what happened next, however, was so fortuitous.
I made a few phone calls to catch up with people I hadn't spoken to all week. Sequatchie Cove Farms distributed its beautiful produce to shareholders or subscribers, and I spotted an old friend. He filled me in on a choice ghost from my past -- I say ghost because we really did share an encounter, but I doubt I will ever, EVER see that person again -- who was in town that particular day. Said ghost had moved to California soon after I moved to/from Portland. Funny how people cycle through times of their lives....and how those cycles overlap. Chance encounters, I suppose, aren't really left up to chance.
That was the first one. I said hello to a new painter friend who works at the orchid farm up on Signal Mountain. I've seen his stuff before, and I wanted to call one of the paintings "bike porn." This sprouted a whole different chain of thoughts in my head about having a bike porn store, what that would entail and exactly what customer/artist that would attract. Anyways, I digress. I rolled around Frazier feeling somewhat accomplished on my hungover morning; I bought some T-shirts and realized I looked absolutely terrible. I headed up the hill.
Just as my heart started pouding, my breath sounded like a freight train and my legs started to burn, I spotted a yard sale. Sweet relief, I say. Sure enough, this chica was having a HUGE sale before moving to Caifornia. Sure enough, she was selling loads of cute, professional-ish clothes. Sure enough, we were about the same size. Almost an hour later, I had three bags of nice clothes, a coffee grinder, a few plates and a yoga mat ready to go to my home. After a trip to the ATM, where I stumbled into yet another friend, my pops rolled down the hill and threw my yard-sale jackpot winnings + me + bike in the truck. I never would have made it up the hill, even without the loot.
Thus began my weekend on the boat. A few beers and no less than 15 coats of sunscreen later and I was about to fall asleep around seven Saturday evening. It was heavenly. Knowing me, I pushed it a little bit further and decided to roll down the hill. STRAIGHT down the hill, over the Market Street bridge and down on Main to eat with Keith. Two tamales later and I was fixin to fall asleep again. I had some emotional baggage to be claimed from the evening before, so the evening rounded up with that, and lots of laughs at the tuxedoed, drunk fucks trying to hoard their skanky girlfriends into vehicles. There was a lot going on last night, apparently.
And today, I awoke feeling refreshed, replenished and all around amazing. We spent a solid five hours out on the lake, me somewhat avoiding the sun with a giant hat and gobs of 'screen, and I helped pops start peeling the old name off his boat. A big dinner later and I'm ready to collapse...
...only to prepare for the deuxieme semaine at my pub job! I had such a good first week: I think I'll get the hang of the process quickly and be speedier in no time. I work with some happenin folks, in a happenin place, where I believe I can balance my life/passion with my work. And no, they don't have to be the same thing. I could wax poetic and get into the metacommunication of this all, but hey, it's only week two. Who knows what will become of it/me.
My sheets make me feel a bit dizzy, I have sea legs/head from boating all weekend, my sun avoidance worked good enough so I don't have a burn, I have planned for this week: potluck, friends, Lookouts game, boat at Riverbend, biking to work... at least TWO days.
Aaaand... SLEEP.
I think this Monday build-up is far more nerve-wracking than the first day of school. The feelings and anticipation surrounding my first day of work mirrors those late August days before school. The summer had ended, afternoons on the lake and big thunderstorms subsided to a regular schedule. I realize the summer has yet to begin; my season off work, however, is ending.
It's a significant change in my life. Working at the newspaper, I often felt that a full-time job never was part of my future. Of course it would be fun and "neat," I always thought, especially after my short, full-time stint at HGTV. I also clung to an ideal that I had to LOVE what I did to make money, and that work would become my main passion. I can even see it in the cynicism and negativity I harbored against my employers and the bureaucracy that enraged me. This seems like a pretty typical response for a fresh J-school grad though.
So I packed up my few belongings and skipped across the country, looking for that ideal job, that ideal city with those ideal bike lanes. Portland is "so cool," according to...everybody, apparently. It was cool, but it wasn't for me. Not yet at least. Living 3,500 miles away from my dearest family and best friends helped me realize the loves of my life. I like the challenges still apparent and on-going in the South, the ones that once enraged me and drove me so far away. Portland was full of passionate people. The environment there, the volcanoes and other seismic activity, and the culture attracted folks of all colors, backgrounds, and with different interests. Portland made me feel a little apathetic and a little more moderate than I had imagined. My passions lie elsewhere.
In the meantime, though, to complete my exploratory mission v. 2009, I road the rails across the country. I was still chasing some dream, which for two seconds was to teach little people. I met lots of young kids who were on a similar adventure, retired couples who were vacationing, folks who were laid off and taking time off, farmers, mothers, babies. I saw beautiful landscapes, incredible mountains and the great plains. I rolled into Chicago, and a few hours later landed in the homeland of New Orleans where two precious friends awaited my arrival.
Somewhere in the mix of all this talk, travel and living, I realized it is not what I do to keep the lights on that makes me passionate. I am fortunate enough to have landed a position that will help me be the best writer, another fear I've held since J-school. And I'm passionate about writing and publications, something I lose sight of at times. But it's the Chattanooga visionary efforts, the music scene, the great friends and conversations and renegade bike rides that make me feel complete. The main stuff. The celebrations, the reunions, the cycles and patterns and folks who swirl in and out of my life and mirror what is going on in my own. That is the change I look forward to and the change I embrace on this Memorial Day, May 25, 2009, the day before I re-enter the workforce as a copywriter in downtown Chattanooga, Tenn.
So break out the style book! Round up your favorite pens, and lay out your outfit for tomorrow, Laura Jane. It is a new day, and my Tuesday will be filled with new faces, lots of names, a new building with history, more early mornings, more battling wrist issues.
It's a cloudy, overcast Saturday here in the Chattanoogie, and I'm about to head to the northshore for Hip Fest (?) and Who-Fest, which I know is an arts event in Renaissance park. Furthermore, Greenlife is having a beer n brats tasting and sale. The G is def. one of my priorities on this lovely, grill-friendly holiday weekend.
This week I've had my idealism dashed in the sand, shared great conversation over wine with a friend, gotten the party and pizzaz out of my system*, found a lead on a house off N. Market Street, and pulled together a somewhat-professional wardrobe for my fancy new job. I address and mailed some necessary thank-yous, twittered probably more than I should have and indulged in my favorite time of day, the Happiest Hour.
Best of all though, I was reminded of a post I wrote a few weeks ago. Regardless of what folks do, say or think about the ChattanoogaSTAND initiative, an group of volunteers who ask questions and enable and engage folks in conversation is A GOOD THING.
*for the next 45 minutes!
