Your Next Bold Move

I was walking down my block after yoga class and I knew.  My bike had been locked up right in front of my house and immediately I thought I needed to lock it up in back.  I took a few steps closer and felt it – I knew it was gone.  Sure enough, as I approached my house it wasn’t there.  It was the final sign for me.  It was time to leave.

I guess I started contemplating moving a few months ago.  I had wanted to change around my apartment – something wasn’t feeling right.  Then I gave up on that idea and opted to just not come home, staying out late, events, drinks with friends or yoga every night etc.  I didn’t notice much considering that it’s not rare for me to be hyper-involved in various activities until I spent the weekend at my parents’ house and my mother made me an offer.

“Yenni, why don’t you come home so you can save money and be with the family?”  She asked.  Last time she made me that offer I laughed and said, “Are you kidding?  We’d kill each other!” Yet, there I sat, considering it for the first time in ten years.  The stolen bike was the last straw. 

I think I’m actually mature enough to move back home with my family.  Odd as that sounds, I really think I had to go through some intense growth to be able to feel excited at this prospect. 

I left home at 18 years old.  My mother and I both couldn’t wait for me to leave the house.   Between college, travels, boyfriends, jobs and adventures I managed to move 10 times in the past 10 years, finally settling in Pilsen, where I’ve lived alone for the past two and a half years.

In the decade I've spent away from home, I’ve howled with wolves in New Mexico, trekked the land of my ancestors, endured heartbreak, and climbed rungs of the business ladder among other amazing things that continue to fill me with a never-ending thirst for adventure and a smile. Today, I find myself in a different phase; one where I’m seeking a quiet self-exploration, but without the solitude I used to prefer. 

I’ve been attempting to incorporate more honesty into my life, especially honesty with myself.  As difficult as it is for me to admit: I need the support of my family now more than ever.  In these past ten years, I’ve seen a headstrong, idealistic and independent teenager grow into a full grown woman that thinks it might be nice to not have to work so hard to maintain her autonomy.  I want to spend time with my family.  I want to save money for my future adventures.  I want to come home to people that love me and care about me especially as I look forward to an arduous yoga teacher training for the next six months.

I’m really excited about moving back home.  I’m looking forward to reading all those books I’ve been meaning to in the backyard shaded by trees.  I can’t wait to spend nights throwing popcorn at my brother as we watch the Lord of the Rings trilogy (extended version of course) in succession.  I don’t think I’ll mind the dog jumping on the bed every morning to wake me.  I’m excited about all the home cooked meals my mama will make and am definitely looking to have some deep philosophical conversations with my father about life on some long walks through the forest.

My favorite LoTR character.

I believe this stage, this layover, this stop, this step, whatever you choose to call it, is necessary, and like most opportunities that present themselves in my life I will come through this a better, more inspired, happier and more peaceful Jen.

I still, however, really really miss my bike.  

How To Attract Creepy and or Crazy Men

Why is it that the guys I seem to attract are crazy, creepy or just wrong altogether? I think I have identified key factors about myself that may be contributing to this:
 
How to attract crazy and creepy men:

• Talk about living with wolves.
• Be obsessed with dead baby jokes. (Although I have seriously made some progress here...)
• Go to bars by yourself just to sit and draw or write poems.
• Wear feathers in your hair.
• Talk about your passionate love for chess.
• Be slightly domineering and assertive (for some reason, crazy and creepy men love strong women).
• Be open-minded (to the point of allowing weird conversations go on way too long).
• Have crazy parents to begin with that are at fault for placing you on the path to being accustomed to crazy behavior from others. (read here for more background)

How to be a creepy and or crazy man:

• Buy me Barbies for my 27th birthday (this is never an OK thing to do for ANY adult woman’s birthday).
• Stare at me every single time I get up to go to the restroom in the hallways of my office.
• Now this particular person has graduated to saying hello. I don’t respond. No one likes to STARED at every time they go to the restroom.
• Take pictures of my apartment when I am not there.
• Ask me to kiss you after asking me if I have ecstasy pills on me.
• L.A. clubs are kind of crazy. Do I look like I have drugs? Seriously…
• Love Jesus a little too much and or think I am going to Hell. (please see here)
• Ask me to wear my hair a particular way prior to going out with you (yep, didn’t end up going out with him after that).

Sadly, all of those things mentioned above REALLY did happen to me. Even sadder is that there hasn’t been a normal instance to balance any of the creepy crazy instances out. Disillusionment and fear is settling in rather quickly.

Family Vacation Brings up Age Old Question: "Am I adopted?"

After three days on the road with your parents you start to wonder if the marketing wordsmiths behind the term “family vacation” enjoy sick little jokes or are just huge fans of oxymorons.

“Oh no! I’m not walking there.” My mother says defiantly. “We will take the trolley.”

“Norma, that defeats the purpose of coming to a nature park.” My dad retorts.

“If you think that I’m walking in this heat, you are absolutely crazy.”

We get on the trolley.

When I was younger my brother and I used to fight over which one of us was adopted.  “I’m not their kid!  You look like them waaayyy more than I do.” We’d say.  We’d ask our parents if we were indeed adopted.  Luckily, my mother loved lying to us and so she’d invent stories about how I was sold to her by Mexican gypsies in the Sonoran Desert in Mexico.  She’d wink at my dad and he’d go along for the ride.  “Yenni, I had to buy you because of your pretty black hair,” She’d say smiling.  I’d run back to my brother screaming: “I told you so!!  I AM adopted, HAH! It's you who's their real kid!”

Now it’s 20 years later and I’m in the backseat praying to the universe that I don’t carry their genes half as much as I think I do.

“You know, there used to be a coffee shop here.  Years ago, things have changed so much.  I could have sworn that it was here.” My dad says.

“Well, dad, things change a lot in forty years…” I say trying not to sound exasperated.  This is about the 20^th time he mentions that things have changed in San Diego since he’s toured around there.  I’m losing the tiny amount patience I have.

Why am I here?  Why did I say yes to meeting my parents in San Diego and driving into the desert with them for three days?! My parents, who under normal circumstances (visiting once a week on weekends), drive me insane?  First, it’s my mother who ALWAYS knows better than you about how you should be living your life and of course she has no reservations about letting you know exactly what you are doing wrong whether it be boyfriends, jobs, makeup, clothes or even hairdressers.  Then she starts talking about the girl from the telenovela she just watched last night and all the bad things that happened to her because she didn’t listen to her mother, as though this is some sort of REAL point of reference or something.

Then it’s my father who is normally a very well intending individual except for the fact that he is convinced the world is out to get him and his social security checks.  He tries to take the little victories where he can. 

“Jen, put this in your purse.”

“Dad, it’s a packet of honey, we have some at the house and I’m not taking a packet of honey from the restaurant for you.”

Or by calling the hotel room phone from the lobby phone instead of your cell phone from his pocket JUST BECAUSE HE CAN.

Why have I, a reasonably logical and intelligent adult woman, decided to take this trip with my parents?

I realize that I’m very lucky to have the parents I do.  Despite all the writing material they give me, they are good loving parents.  They are also getting older and in great shape to still travel and enjoy life. So if I don’t enjoy them as an adult myself now, then when?  We get older and so wrapped up in our little worlds that we forget about the important things sometimes. 

This gratefulness unfortunately rarely extends itself to you when you’re sitting in the backseat annoyed that you were created by the two people in the front seats who are currently having their third argument of the day about how my father should have changed his shirt and how my mother needs to stop micromanaging his life while on vacation.  

No, you just take a deep breath and thank God you brought your ipod.

I love men

I love men.  I know I never talk about this except for the time when I wished I was a man, but I really truly love men.  

Feminism has nothing to do with men and everything to do with equality.  It’s much more of an egalitarian philosophy rather than a bashing of a particular sex.  I have many male friends that call themselves feminists.  Plus, I love men.  I talk about them all the time.   They are beautiful creatures.

Here are the top ten things I love about the men in my life:

1. They make me think and give me different perspectives
2. They make me laugh until I’m heaving and then make fun of me because I sound like I’m having an asthma attack.
3. They don’t sweat the small stuff and make sure I don’t either.
4. They call me to make sure I’ve checked my old car to see if it has enough oil.
5. They are supportive of my endeavors and try to help me both in my career and personally.
6. They are wonderful friends.  They really know how to listen and are sweet.
7. I’m blessed to have an amazing father and a great older brother that I know are there at the drop of a pin if I need something.
8. They keep it simple and don’t overcomplicate matters.
9. Talking business with them is fun.
10. They are just as dedicated to making the women in their life as successful as possible as I am.

So here's a thank you and I love you to all the amazing men in my life.

You're born alone and you die alone..

I’ve been reading this book called The Last Lecture.  It’s about a college professor that finds out he has a few months to live and decides to write life lessons he wishes he could share with his children.

The book is a great read even though the premise is quite depressing.  It got me thinking about my father and his lessons.  There are several but I will mention only one for now.

I was going through my first big break-up and really nervous and scared. I called my dad bawling my eyes out.  As I was sitting on my stoop, eyes red and the world ending in my 23-year-old head, he said to me the following: Jen, we are born into this world alone and we die alone.  The only one you need to hold yourself accountable to or take care of is yourself.

His white beard has been earned through wisdom!

I thought a lot about this and have always carried it with me no matter what the situation.  It’s helped me leave relationships that needed leaving, change jobs, not compromise on my ideals or who I am as a person and also, on occasion, driven me to advise people in the same manner.

One of the many instances where I was trying to help someone happened on my way to Mexico on a business trip last February.  I was sitting next to an older woman and she started some small talk with me and bought me a drink.  We were drinking those lovely miniature bottles of wine they give on planes and then she started bawling her eyes out about a daughter who I reminded her of.  Then came details of a messy divorce after 26 years of marriage and how her life was an absolute disaster and she was going to Mexico to decompress etc. 

I wanted to be sympathetic and all I could think of saying was: well, you’re born into this world alone and you die alone.

It did not come out sounding like my father’s tone of it’s okay, you’re a responsible adult, you can take on the world, you just need yourself.  Instead it came out sounding far more cynical and hopeless.

Then came the kicker.  This woman with such sorrow in her eyes said:  I wasn’t born alone, I’m a twin!

Then she started talking about how her twin sister wouldn’t talk to her either.

Here I am thinking in my head: Goddamn it, Jen!  The one time you try and make someone feel better or give some sort of advice and this happens.  Of course she’s a twin, of course the ONE time you use someone else’s line she happens to be the exception.

I bought the next round after that.