When It Comes

I don’t know about you, but I always have this sense of trepidation before I go out. (Not like go out to work or school, but go OUT out. Like with people. To places.) It’s a mix of excitement and dread and anxiety and every time, every single time, I have plans (which, you know… it’s not exactly like I’m a social butterfly or anything. If I didn’t live in the 21st century I wouldn’t even be able to KNOW most of my friends), there is a moment before I leave the house when I think to myself, I don’t think I can do this.

And it’s not that I have social anxiety disorder (I don’t thiiink…), but just that there’s always a sense, when I’m about to go out, that SOMETHING COULD HAPPEN.

I don’t mean someone killing/mugging/kidnapping/raping me. Ugh. There, I just mentioned four things that I never even want to THINK ABOUT. But anyway. It’s not that stuff. It’s the stuff that happens on a regular basis, the what-ifs of life. The small dramas and happenstances that, well… happen.

Things like getting stuck with people you don’t like, having “fun” that really isn’t fun.

Things like being with people you do like but feeling left out.

Things like awkward situations where nobody knows what to say. 

Or awkward situations where EVERYONE KNOWS WHAT TO SAY BUT YOU.

Or awkward situations where you are laughed at/ignored/otherwise annoyed.

Things like getting unpleasant teenage-crisis type news from, uh, unlikely sources. 

And having to go on acting like you’re fine the rest of the night.

Stuff like that. The thing about going out is that HAPPENSTANCE HAPPENS, even if you’re just going to rent a movie with friends. Or friends of friends. And there’s never any way to predict what’s going to happen before you go out. The night could go to either extreme of awesome/amazing to awful/abysmal. You never know. You don’t know what’s going to happen, who you’ll run into, what conversations will take place.

I never actually call off my plans, but there’s always that moment when I want to, when I consider it. Maybe everyone feels like this, maybe it’s just me. But sometimes I get home, after being “out,” and I think to myself that sitting alone watching TVLand would have been preferable. Then other times I get home and think to myself that NO WAY SHOULD I HAVE GIVEN THIS NIGHT UP. And in either instance, even when the night was a colossal fail, I’m glad I went out. In either case I’m glad I found out how things turned out, discovered what happened.

And this feeling I get before going out, I’m realizing, is the same one I get about growing up.

There’s a sense of trepidation because I don’t know what’s going to happen. I don’t know what bumps I’ll face, I don’t know what out-of-the-freaking-blue surprises are waiting for me. I don’t know how others will act, how I’ll react, any of that.

I don’t know what’s going to happen.

I don’t know who I’ll meet, who I’ll run into.

I don’t know what conversations will take place.

I don’t know where I’ll end up.

And that? Scares me. I’m not a control freak exactly, but I like to have a sense of knowing. I like plans. I like thinking things out. Unfortunately life isn’t like that. It’s not exactly something you can plan for. Which is, I would argue, what makes it scary but also what makes it so amazing and so worth it.

The things that happen, both in going out, and in life, wouldn’t have the same impact if we KNEW THEY WERE COMING. That’s what makes it exciting.

So I guess my point is this:

even though growing up is scary, even though there’s always a moment I’d rather not, I’m doing it. Because whatever’s out there, whatever happens next, I WANT TO FIND OUT.

Here I come.

This is Such a Pity

So I just had this whole post written about House (well, sort of…) and I know my last post was about 100% negative, and I just had a conversation with my dad where he said he’s been noticing me getting more negative and I should basically stop it.

And he’s not the only one who’s told me this. And I was trying to stop the negativity, but I guess lately it’s been getting worse.

So I’m adding another huge goal: stop being pessimistic. Stop being negative. Be optimistic. You used to be optimistic all the time, remember?

Break My Heart

So a “blog friend” of mine had a quick post about hating the place you’re in.

A feeling I’m not altogether unfamiliar with.

I know I’ve maybe talked about The Move too much, and that maybe you’re sick of it. But oh well. I’m not sick of it and I’m not entirely done with it either.

The fact is that I didn’t want to move. And I know no kid ever wants to move. But with me it was kind of… more than just being resistant to change. For years my life had been ruled by doctor visits, surgeries, and health precautions. Sixth grade was spent in and out of hospitals for visits and surgeries, the summer after that was spent with another surgery, evacuating from fires six days after coming home from that surgery, and taking cousins in when their family fell apart. Seventh grade was spent in a back brace, devouring every book that had anything to do with bipolar, and spending half the year homeschooled because of some crazy extreme dizziness I had every day. 

But then eighth grade came and things were better. There were friends and there was laughter and there was  a couple of crush-boy-friends. Ninth grade followed with more of the same and it was as close to bliss as we get in this world. I felt as if the past couple of years had been wiped away: for the first time in recent history I wasn’t missing entire chunks of school because of health and I wasn’t being looked at as the sick girl and I didn’t have to wear shirts with necklines practically up to my neck to cover up a back brace. I was in all the classes I wanted and the future, for the first time, was in sight. I could see tomorrow and it was a nice one.

I was in heaven.

Until the move became a reality and I crashed back down.

At first I didn’t like it because it wasn’t home. But then things happened. Events, people, days passed. The point where I was supposed to “bounce back” came and went.

And instead of bouncing back I merely adjusted. I learned to drive on the freeways. I accepted my role as the girl who wasn’t into fashion and makeup and traditional girly stuff like that. I forged my own path and went after my own interests. I wrote, I got published, I KEPT WRITING.

But I lived in my own world. A world where my family existed and where I existed, but where everyone and everything else was slightly off-stage. Even the people I knew and, sometimes, hung out with, existed more as stories in my journal than players in my life. In my nearly-nonexistant life.

I cried because I missed home. I cried because this wasn’t home. I did my hair and I did my makeup and I thought if I looked the part I could be the part. I started listening to Ashlee Simpson with the express thought that if I did this then I would have something, AT LEAST ONE THING, to talk about with the other girls I knew. I tried to be a friend, tried to listen to others and be there for them. I hung out with people when they invited me and thought if I was there I could really be THERE.

But it didn’t work. None of it. I was not at home. I was not at ease. I was still walking on eggshells, trying to make myself fit in this strange new world. 

And you know what? It never happened. I never got that far. I went to New York on a weekend trip for the Red book and suddenly a proverbial lightning bolt hit me: California is NEVER going to be my home, I realized, and I am so dog-tired of beating myself up over that fact or feeling like it’s my fault, like I’m not good enough, like I’m not trying hard enough. I’m GOOD, goshdarnit; I’ve TRIED, dagblasted!

Then I thought… and I’m done trying. I’m done. 

So I gave up. I released, or tried to release, the guilt I had from not fitting in, from not feeling at home. I attempted to let myself be different from how I felt I was supposed to be.

Since then?

Well since then I still have one friend. I still have visions of taking off away from here. I still can’t even think about how much longer I have to be in school because it means I WILL BE HERE FOREVER. I still take note of every time I have a perfect afternoon with my sister because it is one of the only things that anchors me here, one of the only things I would miss if I left.

Here is a confession, speaking of missing: When I leave, as far away as that date is, there’s really only two people (besides my family, of course) that I will truly miss, and of those people only one of them will miss me back.

I think maybe there comes a point when you cannot try anymore. When you have given so much of yourself that you have to stop giving to save yourself, to protect what little bit of you there is left. There is a point when it’s not worth it anymore and the smart thing to do is to cut your losses.

Or maybe that’s just what I tell myself to convince me that it’s not my fault things didn’t work out.

California, I’m officially breaking up with you. You can keep the sunshine and the beach. I’ll just get my education and then leave as if I were never here. You won’t even notice I’m gone.

Carry On Dancing

So something bad happened today. Not to me, but to a friend. A friend I met through dealing with Red book stuff, a friend I know very well yet have never actually met in real life. 

Anyway, it happens like this.

I’m sitting in English class. The professor is discussing the Puritan work ethic and people are talking about their bad job experiences when my phone lights up.

Text message. From Becca. We’re the type of people who text when we’re bored or have nothing else to do, so I fully expect a message simply saying, “hey.”

I don’t expect that she’s gotten into a car wreck. “I’m okay,” she tells me. She means physically; she means she’s not dead or bleeding and she doesn’t have whiplash or a broken leg. She does NOT mean okay in the actual sense of the word.

The first thing I think when I read her message is, What? Are you kidding me?

And then the next thing is, What is WITH all the cars being against Becca?

There’s got to be a way to lighten this, but I don’t know how. Becca’s essay in the Red book was about one of her best friends dying in a car wreck. Last month she told me another girl she graduated with was killed in a car wreck recently.

And it just doesn’t seem fair, and not in the oh honey, who said life was fair? way, but more of an wow this really sucks type way. 

So Becca, I hope you’re okay. And REALLY okay, not just physically okay. I don’t know what else to say and those words seem to fall short, but still… I hope you’re alright.

And for the rest of you, be careful driving! Also climbing on houses because you could fall off the roof. Um… yeah.

PS. Becca knows that the title of this post is entirely appropriate though it doesn’t make much sense.

Secret Love

Confession: I happen to be addicted to postsecret.

Also, this weekend (was it this weekend? YES, it was Friday…) I discovered that my friend ALSO loves postsecret. So that was cool.

But as I was saying, I’m a bit addicted to it. (Other addictions include: music, books, blogging, the internets.) And now, because I want to post but really am too lazy to think (either that or it’s too early), here’s a few of the secrets I’ve saved on my computer over the weeks.

 

This one scared me.

 

And this one was just awesome.

 

Edit

There is this secret inside of me, and the secret is that I said the wrong thing. I had the chance to say just what I felt and just what I had been thinking for months, hoping I would get a chance to let him know… and instead I just said “okay.”

True, I was fourteen. And yeah, it was surprising to get the chance. But I shouldn’t have let it pass me by.

What I should have said, and what I knew I wanted to say even as the “okay” was leaving my mouth, was this, which isn’t really something you say in real life, but something maybe you should:

You are completely remarkable. And I have watched you, have seen this drama unfolding, and most in your place would have given up long ago. You are braver and stronger and smarter than people know and than you realize. I know I’m just the girl sitting in the seat in front of you but I’m also the girl who wants you to succeed, the girl who has been praying for you, the girl who believes you can rise above this but isn’t sure that you believe you can.

In any case, I’m glad for you and I’m here for you.

I didn’t say that. 

I said, “okay.”

And I have always, always regretted it, and always been trying to remember it in my everyday life. Because maybe saying what I meant wouldn’t have made that much of a difference; maybe what I thought didn’t matter to him. But then again maybe the words would have mattered and maybe my thoughts could have mattered.

So this is what I’ve always been trying to do, and probably a large part of the reason I’m so “refreshing blunt” (as a friend put it): say what I want to say, say what I mean to say. Not lose a chance because the only word I can think of is a filler than means nothing. Say something and risk everything falling apart, but also take the chance that it might do some good.

Warning Sign

I am writing this post to say that I want to write a post (a few of them actually, and on various subjects) but that I also want to shower, sleep, and possibly get some homework done.

A Wish For Something More

Wow. Here’s some news for you, in case you were in the mood for news: attempting to talk to someone that you’ve awkwardly not spoken to for pretty much the last year is fairly difficult, even if you think, hey maybe we could kinda sorta not be complete strangers anymore. Erasing time and awkwardness just doesn’t happen so quickly.

Thought I’d share that.

And now, transition.

Over the years, since leaving Radiator Springs, my life has ceased to be one fluid state, in one place. There are now aspects of my life, people in my life, sprinkled throughout the country. Connecticut, North Carolina, Florida, Texas, Arizona, California. And none of them really know anything about the other parts. And it’s not just places either; it’s actual pieces of my life. School, home, meetings. A Venn diagram that really only I get to see.

I feel as if I am separating from everything, like my life is no longer contained in the confines of this house and this family and this little bubble I’m in. I find myself telling the people in my life – parents and friends alike – the barest details of things. 

To my mom, “School was fine; lots of homework.”

To my friend, “I’m thinking about where I’ll go when I’m done with school. Maybe Colorado.”

To my sister, “I don’t really have friends at school, just people I talk to in classes.”

To my dad, “Life is overwhelming me.”

And none of that tell the whole story. They are just fragments of a larger whole, a story I don’t know how to tell anyone unless they are really (really REALLY) willing to listen. And not think I’m being dumb, or emotional, and not judge. And, even if they can’t understand it, don’t laugh, please not that. I’m finding though, that it’s a difficult thing for people to do, to accept you as you are and accept your life as is. To not try to change you. To just be for you.

I’m not sure how to bring all the aspects of my life together. My relationships, my family, my school and future career, my homesickness for Arizona, my everything-else-that-matters. 

I don’t know how to say that actually, no, I don’t know what the heck I’m doing. I’m pretty much just making it up as I go.

I don’t know how to say that actually, yeah, I do care for people even when they don’t care for me. And it makes me feel stupid sometimes to be quite honest.

I don’t know how to say that yes, actually, sometimes I am jealous of the girls with the boyfriends. Even though I don’t even realistically want a boyfriend right now so it makes no sense. 

I don’t know how to say that as much as I feel like I should already be in my 20s, I’m still really just twelve years old. Or seven. (I mean, I did subscribe to Sesame Street video podcasts. Because they are amazingly great.)

I don’t know how to say that as overwhelming as figuring this “life” thing out sometimes is, and as much as it occasionally makes me cry/want to crawl in a hole/run away to Australia, I’m actually still really excited.

I don’t know how to say any of this, and so much more, and if I’m sometimes crabby or crappy or cranky or crummy-acting, it’s not because I’m mad at you. It’s not because I don’t like you. It’s not on purpose and yes, I do feel like crud about it. It’s just because I’m trying to figure out so much all at once and it’s too much, even for Supergirl Jordyn.

I Saw It On Your Keyboard

You guys, the Jordyn is tired.

And there are all these thoughts in my head, swarming around. I don’t know what to do with them. I don’t know how to get them out into the open.

So what have I been doing? Writing six word memoirs over at SMITHTeens. It is so fun. And freeing.

Here are a few of my favorites by other teens. They reminded me either of myself, others, or I just liked them.

 

Statistics say I’ll probably die soon.

I understand how rejected Pluto feels.

I LIE because of my INSECURITIES.

I thought we could be something.

Hate summer, love winter. Considered outsider.

They hate, I see the best.

HATE is easy; LOVE takes courage.

I don’t know how to be.

 

And a few that I wrote, about various things. (I think I’m becoming addicted to summing things up in six words.)

 

Still miss Podunk hometown; can’t explain.

You know me before and after.

Born abnormal. Parents scared. Sister perfect.

Still alive; proof he answers prayers.

How do we stop this distance?

Want friendship, not more, from him.

Because it’s fun? Not a reason.

 

So what are the six-word stories of your life? Feel free to share.

Here’s My Hello

While in the car today I realized something. I realized that I am fine. I am doing good. I no longer feel like I need anyone to pick me up and carry me, metaphorically speaking of course. 

I can stand on my own two feet.

I am saving myself.

I am doing all those things I wanted to do and I am doing them well. I’m succeeding even if nobody else sees it.

No, I’m not one hundred percent happy all the time, but this is what comes from living in such an imperfect world – there will always be things that get me down and reasons to be sad. But I am adding up all the reasons to be happy and finding them bigger and badder than the reasons to cry.

No, I’m not in love with this place; I won’t ever be, but it will do for now. It isn’t my city, it isn’t my home, but it is where I’ve been planted for the time being. When it happens I will uproot myself (amazingly simple to do considering the sparse roots I have put down) and find a place that is mine.

So this is it. Me. Feeling a bit fearless and a bit happy and a bit like this is a realization I’ve been growing towards for a while but it only really hit me just today as I was thinking about how different things are from how they were last year. And by “things” I don’t just mean situation and circumstance – I mean me and how I feel.