age nine

she is coming

2007-07-21T08:45:00.000-06:00

she is coming
as we all wait
wondering where and when
and at what pace

she is coming
despite our worries
of change
of labor
of our place

she is coming
and will make you a mother
will begin a new phase
our lives never the same

she is coming
and soon we won't remember
before her
so much a part of us
our hearts grown larger
to make her a space

just be

2007-07-21T08:38:00.000-06:00

overwhelm
that old familiar feeling
of too much, too quick, too fast
time whizzes past

as thing upon thing
fills up my life
shoulds
haves
could haves

how to slow down
how to break free
to stop the feelings of overwhelm
from overtaking me

break down
feeling so lost
yet glad to break free
let it all show
shout, cry, wail, scream
this isn't enough
this simply can't be
i won't let my life
be lived this way
by me

trying to please
never succeed
stop now
just stop
its time to be me

forget the appointments
cancel your plans
its time to
breathe in
and
breathe out
to
stop
and just be

round

2007-07-21T08:18:00.000-06:00

"live the questions"
rilke said
i'm coming to find
that the questions
are round
circular and cyclical
to be more exact
no such thing as
straight to the top
instead they wind you around
and then bring you right back
cycles of living, learning
and asking
finding and knowing
and then returning
recasting
what if our goals
were shaped like a sphere
the strands of a rope
wound around one another
no beginning or end
just circling together

life is like water

like moonshine

like earth

all round and all moving

in cycles it turns

connection

completeness

seems more within reach

when cycles and circles

are the shapes our lives take

"live the questions"

rilke said

"perhaps then, someday

far in the future,

you will gradually,

without even noticing it,

live your way into the answer"

grandfather

2007-07-06T06:26:00.000-06:00

my mother's father died today
my grandfather officially
in truth and fact
that's what he was to me

a man i met perhaps five times
yet never really knew
no blame to place
this absence accidental
we did the best we knew

grandfather
a lofty name
men filled with the wisdom of age
who share of themselves
to make a future better
than the time from which they came

my mother's father died today
my grandfather yet to be
perhaps he will look down
and share his wisdom
in the whispering of the trees

a simple illness

2007-07-03T06:07:00.000-06:00

fatigue strikes
sleep overtakes
time passes
painfully on
as fear grips me

how is it
a simple illness
such as this
overpowers

and how far removed
from this
is death
far, far of course
but the question still hangs

sickness and death
strung together
however far fetched this worry
some connection remains

and isn't it that
just that length of lifeline
that tenuous link
which makes me in this simple illness
all the more afraid

deep evening blue

2007-06-28T21:46:00.000-06:00

summer skies
deep evening blue
creates a backdrop like no other
soft yet stark
enveloping in its distant arc

i gaze out at the night
still but noisy
the city is alive
in midsummer glory

times seems to pass all too quickly
but this moment is perfect
and the space of it fills me

shadows cast
like memories of what's behind us
look ahead
life is now

these curving tree branches
that growling motor
the flutter of insects
and fireworks crackling

this is the moment
enveloping
deep evening blue

his hands

2007-06-26T21:37:00.000-06:00

do you find balding men attractive because of me
my father's question illicits my laughter and surprise
you know it's the whole freud thing, he counters
i've always found women who look like my mother attractive

and while i laugh off his comment
assuring him i have no special feelings for balding men
my gaze wanders down to his hands
thick and rugged yet somehow soft

i could have told him it was his hands

those hands that look built to hold an axe
the cracks filled with dirt that can never be washed off
never mind that he's baldling
he has your hands dad

those firm capable hands
that seem as though they could lift anything
including my very self
those hands with fingers so wide
it hurts to intertwine them with mine

i met a man with your hands dad
and i knew he was the one

the middle

2007-06-25T21:22:00.000-06:00

straddling the middle
always feeling in and out
who is it i am trying to be
who is it i am
being true to what
to self unknown
but known

my identity
my self
raised in a world i thought was one thing
but turned out to be another
tell your children their poor
i tell my friend
its not the being poor that hurts
its the not knowing

we're middle class but poor, right?
isn't that who we are
we were always blue collar my mother says
but how?

i have grown up straddling two worlds
i have known privilege
white skin
blond hair
a last name i never have to spell or pronounce

and perhaps it is this privilege
that landed me in this place
this middle ground of the middle class
a suburban landscape
not meant for the sweat of back breaking laborers
not planned for the lives of children with one parent

a working class girl in a middle class culture
so thick it chokes me
so invisible i can't determine if it's real at all
perhaps i am just like them
and it's just a personal failing
the awkwardness of teenage life
expands and enlarges as my disadvantage shows
my clothes, my hair, never quite right
reveal our lack

but now in my life
the life i have made on my own
chose for myself
they read me as middle class
suburban girl
their college preparatory public high school
left its mark

my dream of college came true
but only after a year taken off
to battle the forms and dare myself to take the ACT
i have learned their language
their games
their rules
and now where

where do i belong
what do i want to become

the reality of dad

2007-02-25T12:58:00.000-06:00

my parents were married for 22 years. from my perspective as their daughter their marriage was never great. there were times that were better than others, but mostly it was a relationship of neccessity. they loved each other, but were not in love.

this set of circumstances effected my life in many ways. one of the ways i've only recently come to understand though is to what degree it impacted my perspective on my dad.

my childhood was saturated with my mom's opinions, feelings and ideas of who my dad was. and who he was in relationship to us kids. i swallowed many of these ideas whole. believed them, internatilized them, knew nothing other than them.

they weren't horrible ideas, but they reflect my mom's discouragement and hopelessnes about my dad and their relationship.

lately, i've been mining my memories for the reality of my dad. who was my dad really when i was growing up. and who is he now?

as i've been exploring these new perspectives, i've noticed that almost every thought that naturally pops into my head about my dad is my mom's thinking - not mine. it's refreshing to question whether or not i actually agree.

what i'm noticing thus far is that my dad is funny, playful, creative and kind. he is an unassuming guy who is liked by many people. he is a great conversationalist - we can easily talk for hours about anything and nothing at all.

i don't know where all these explorations will lead me, but thus far the reality looks good. for me and my dad.

the future

2007-02-07T08:20:00.000-06:00

somehow i don't remember thinking much about the future at age nine. a friend recently asked me if i had ideas of what i wanted my wedding to be like when i was a little girl. nope. nor do i remember having ideas about what i wanted my partner, house, or life in general to be like.

the only future i remember thinking about was going to college. that's it. life beyond that - well that seemed too far to think.

i do remember my first day of third grade. sitting in my desk in the front row. i was at a new school, in an actual school buidling. our tiny christian church school had merged with maranatha academy. even the name sounded fancy. i sat there in my desk and thought: "wow, third grade, i'm really growing up."

and perhaps in someways i was already becoming an adult in third grade, i was certainly already taking on many responsibilities that in retrospect seem awfully adult-like for a nine year old. and while i don't like to think that my mind was so focused on survival that i didn't have time to dream about the future - i think that may have been the case.

and maybe survival is a strong word. kids do a much better job of living in the present moment than adults. so whatever the reason, it seems that my life in that present moment was all i could think about. and looking back now as i am truly becoming an adult - i'm glad.

it's kind of scary to venture into these new realms of existence. to think about how i want to live this long stretch of my life called adulthood. but i'm glad it's not all decided for me. that i didn't pre-plan it from my nine year old perspective on the world. my lack of planning just means that now as it was then i have to live in the present moment, deciding what to do now.

-kmj

red owl grocery store

2007-01-29T07:49:00.000-06:00

standing in the entryway to the mall you could see into the grocery store. the checkout lines leading out into the common space of the mall. rectangular shopping carts with their flip up baskets lined the hallway. and the big smiling red owl on the sign above.

looking in you could see the freezer section and the wire bin of inflated plastic balls. the tall shelves reaching up into the ceiling. it was somewhat dingy with it's flourescent lights and old lineolum floors, but it was homey too.

at the end of the line of registers was always a large display - perhaps watermelons or boxed cereal - it stood visible to all in the mall beckoning for the shoppers to come. just behind it was the part of the grocery store with coloring books and small plastic toys - where children showed their wanting unabashed.

one time when i was maybe five or six i got lost in the grocery store. interested in some food item or other person i lost track of my mother and soon was completely separated from her. immediate panic set in. i don't even recall trying to look for her - i just began to sob. as it turned out this tatic worked. a friendly adult arrived and soon so did my mother.

that experience gave the red owl grocery store added meaning for me. it was as if i'd climbed a mountain there - i had been faced with hardship and fear and i had made it. in amidst the bakery cases and the toilet paper, the red owl grocery had a hidden air of adventure.

-kmj

vivid memories

2007-01-29T07:44:00.000-06:00

in the past couple years i began having vivid memories of places from my childhood.

rooms, buildings, houses.

there are almost never people in these memories - just the backdrops of my memories. they flash into my mind at the most inexplicable times. with no connection to the present moment - they appear.

i've decided to start writing them down. we'll see what they create.

-kmj

the quest

2007-01-19T19:59:00.000-06:00

“You can end your quest”, he said. “What quest?” I laughed as I asked. “The quest for external proof of your goodness,” he replied plainly.

As a small girl I looked out at the world, not through rose colored glasses, but through lenses of goodness. My world was shaped by the stark contrast of right and wrong, good and evil. I sought goodness – in myself, in others and in the world. This seeking was not a sometimes endeavor, an occasional interest – it was the basis of my forward movement in the world. It was my quest.

Looking up at my mother, I would question where she stood in this world of goodness. Who was she in her inner world, the world of thoughts and ideas? Was her world anything like mine? And each time I looked I would note that there was something about my mother that seemed quite straightforwardly – bad. She was mysterious in her adulthood. Clearly compromised – in that unavoidable way that being human for any length of time entails. My lack of years had left me with fewer mysteries, fewer occasions for losing integrity, giving up hope, or being led astray.

What was clear to me as I looked at my mother was that just as I was forming this judgment of her, she was judging me. Goodness seemed to lie outside of our reach – to exist only in the minds of others, a construct formed out of their sense of us. I believed this and I didn’t. Somewhere deep inside I believed that I was good, great in fact, amazing, exquisite, delightful. But the quest propelled me nonetheless – the quest to know what they thought, to please and impress them.

As I grew my seeking was only encouraged. Parents are always pleased when their children are liked by others. And since adulthood seems not to rid us of our combination of fear & awe in the face of authorities – parents especially like when their children are seen as good by teachers, pastors and community elders. And I was good. I sought, found and had my goodness confirmed by those around me.

Finding goodness with my peers was a whole different – and often vexing process. I wanted it, their liking, approval, validation – and yet goodness only sometimes intersected with these things. More often it resulted in the title of ‘goody two shoes’ which did not lend itself to what I sought. And even so I could not pull myself from my seeking. Even as my seeking pulled me away from my desire I sought goodness.

In adulthood my questing often replaced my judgment. I would unthinkingly move toward what seemed good. Boxed in by my need to be good, I wrote off whole parts of the world.

End my quest, I thought. What might that be like? My seeking had so long ago become a part of me that leaving it behind felt like shedding my skin. I laughed at his reference to my quest not because it was funny, but because considering it was so far outside of my reality that he may as well have suggested living underwater or learning to fly.

And yet in that moment I knew. My laughter, while inspired by disbelief, meant my seeking was already ending. I would give up my quest. My glasses of goodness discarded and my vision crisp and clear I would begin a very different journey.

-kmj

defining a new space

2007-01-18T18:53:00.000-06:00

this new blog is still taking shape.

i have gone back and forth on what to include in my posts here. while not intending this to be journal, i also don't foresee it being a sequential story with a clear beginning, middle and end.

instead i am hoping that this can be a place to explore and discover using the many voices my writing can take.

after all, i came to this new blog with one primary goal: that it be for me.

so here goes.

-kmj

the job hunt

2007-01-17T19:14:00.000-06:00

my dad is a working class guy through and through. when he decided to go to school to learn computers he did so still clinging to the promise he'd made himself long ago - to never get a job that required a suit or a cubicle.

i've never asked my dad point blank if he enjoyed the work he learned to do as a programmer, if he regrets not finding that long sought after job, but he didn't seem nearly as discouraged as my mom when his hopes were extinguished by pure financial necessity.

my dad's promise to himself is something i've thought about many times. he was also a draft dodger my dad. got himself hypnotized into believing he had high blood pressure and as a result failed his physical. something about the way my dad took a stand for things really inspired me. the decisions he made may not always have seemed logical to those around him, but he stuck to them.

it was strange having my dad at home so much of the time during his unemployment. it was like being in a foreign country - the daytime with my dad. he was distant, quiet and serious during those days, and i later found out that when the food was running low he was eating the least of it.

little did i know that this would be the beginning of the daytime with my dad becoming the status quo. the job he ended up getting, which he holds to this day, has him working the second shift.

-kmj

the year i turned nine

2007-01-07T06:28:00.000-06:00

the year i turned nine years old my family lost our house. my dad owned his own roofing business and failed to pay his taxes resulting in the IRS claiming our house to cover the debt. we rented a house in a different city about 10 minutes away and moved there just before i started the 4th grade.

this year was one of the most difficult of my childhood. and i have more vivid memories of it than almost any other.

strangely, amidst this jumble of memories are almost none of moving. i don't remember packing up our house or seeing it empty. and i only vaguely remember moving into our new home. but the year that would follow i remember well.

our new home was an average size house with a tuck under garage. it was red and was on a hill. the back yard had a chain link fence and lilac bushes. down the block and just around the corner was a fina gas station and a tom thumb convenience store where my brothers and i made it a habit of visiting almost every day the year we lived there.

also down the block was nine mile creek. the creek, which ran through our neighborhood, became the center of many of our adventures.

it's funny how we experience things differently than the adults around us. i remember feeling that in some way i should be ashamed of our move to our new home. it was clear my parents were. after all, we had lost our house due to tax evasion. but in many ways this was one of the most exciting things i'd ever experienced. a new house, new neighborhood, new friends - secretly i felt some pleasure at being in this new place.

of course, during this time my dad was out of work. so the heavy feelings i avoided about why we moved weren't the only ones vying for my attention. my dad had recently completed a computer training school and was looking to get out of roofing and get a job as a programmer. he applied for job after job with no luck. he'd don his gray suit and head off to an interview, returning hopeful but resigned he'd resume his post sitting at the dining room table pouring over the newspaper want ads.

eventually we ran out of money, and had to get on public assistance. at this point, i think my dad's pride and sense of responsibility took over, and to my mom's dismay he stopped looking for the new career and just started looking for a job.

-kmj

to my mom

2007-01-04T22:33:00.000-06:00

before i begin to write here i want to write a note to my mom (and my dad if he somehow happend upon this)

the memories and words i share here are mine, and therefore in some way they are true. they may not seem true to you as you experienced them differently. sharing memories of the good and bad of childhood always involves the risk of making your parents feel as though they failed you. you did not fail me. the writing of these stories is for me, to express , to heal, to discover.

whatever they seem, i want you to know that i love you and that i would not be here were it not for your love and dedication. my solid and unwavering love for myself is a gift you gave me that is more important than anything else i have been or will be given.

i love you,
kmj

new space

2007-01-01T14:58:00.000-06:00

it's been nearly six months since i've posted to a blog. i love my former blog. it gave me a reason to write, a motivation to write, and a venue to do it. but as time passed i began to feel i said what i had to say, and as the focus of my life and my work began to shift i stopped posting.

since then i've often missed blogging, missed the regularity, the community. but i couldn't see myself picking it up again at dream big. i felt the need for a new space. a new place to share my thoughts. finally, today i decided to go for it. it seems fitting to start a new blog on the first day of a new year. a new space to write, to remember and to dream.

this blog has no real connection to my past blog, beyond the fact that it is written by me. dream big was a blog for others, while it certainly fed my soul, i created it as a space to inspire, to share hope and to encourage others to dream. i'm creating this blog for me. so that i can write. it exists for that reason and that reason alone.

with that said, i welcome all of my readers. this blog may not be for you, but just as dream big fed my soul perhaps this will feed yours.

happy new year,
kmj