bleeding onto paper.

So I am in the home stretch with applications. Finishing up personal statements, polishing and tightening up of my portfolio, and wondering (for the millionth time) what the heck am I doing? But not in a bad way, per se....more like....in a really excited, tentatively hopeful way. A not-really-believing-I-can-make-a-life-out-of-this way. I am cautiously optimistic though. Writing programs are different than many other programs. They don't put so much weight on GREs or grades. It's all about your writing. And it's subjective - it's all about who's on your committee. Someone could be accepted to Iowa Writer's Workshop (arguably the best in the country) but rejected from UC-Irvine (another excellent school). Hugely subjective. So you never really know how you are.

As we saw with applications two years ago, rejection is....not my thing. Especially from academic programs. It is very, very personal for me, because I place so much emphasis on achievement. I'm working on that; I know that I shouldn't put as much weight on that. It's hard to shake. With writing, especially....writing is intensely personal. You unpeel your skin and spill your soul onto the paper, it's there, laid bare and honest. And for someone to reject that.....ouch. As Hemingway once said, "There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed." Truer words are hard to find.

Continuing with the literary theme tonight, this is an awesome website with neat shirts. I have the Maya Angelou shirt. For each shirt you buy, they donate a book to children who need them.

Currently reading: Edith Wharton, "House of Mirth"; John Steinbeck, "East of Eden", and Keith Haring's "Journals"

Elizabeth Edwards.

Elizabeth Edwards passed away today, at the age of 61. I was lucky enough to hear her speak at the 2006 Lance Armstrong Foundation Summit on Survivorship, and she was amazing. She handled adversity with class and grace, and remained composed in the toughest of situations. While I am sad that she died, I find myself growing irritated with comments I'm reading on Facebook, about how it "shouldn't have ended this way". We can all agree that cancer takes too many lives too soon. But let me frame it another way: her doctors broke the news last week to her that further chemotherapy treatments would be unproductive. She spent the last several days pain-free, in her own home, surrounded by the people she loves, friends and family. Wouldn't we ALL like to die that way? Instead, too many people opt for painful treatments when they are not likely to work - a recent article said that patients spend the most money, treatment-wise, in the last 3 months of their lives, on invasive treatments that add little to no benefit. Elizabeth Edwards's doctors were compassionate and courageous enough to tell her that their options had run out and prevent her from going through unnecessary physical and emotional demands. They did not let ego or the relentless "fighting against disease" sway them and tell her to keep going with chemo.

Anyway...it's been a long day and my brain is exhausted, but I just needed to vent. Here's an excerpt from a message she posted on Facebook yesterday:

"The days of our lives, for all of us, are numbered. We know that. And yes, there are certainly times when we aren't able to muster as much strength and patience as we would like. It's called being human...."

dirty thirty.

In three days I will turn 30, and you know, I'm not upset about it. After all, as someone said to me yesterday, what's the alternative? No, but in all seriousness, at the beginning of 2010, I was dreading turning 30 - my own "thrisis", if you will (the new buzzword for the crisis over turning 30) - but now, I welcome it. I think...no, I know, that this decade will be a really good one. In many ways, it feels like my life is only just beginning; that child-like sense of possibility has been renewed and I am excited for what lies ahead.

The past ten years have brought a lot to my life. A college degree, two graduate degrees, a wonderful and sweet little nephew, moving to the South (and liking it, no less), and a new baby cousin. Over the past decade, I have lived in PA, FL, NY and NC. I have seen numerous people - too many people - in my life face cancer, and was reunited with my childhood goal of working in oncology. I have had three foot surgeries on my left foot and learned the lessons of patience and tenacity. I got to work at my dream job for one summer, meeting world-famous cancer researchers whom I had only previously read about. I played college rugby and found triathlon, a sport that has given me back my health and my sense of self as an athlete. The past ten years have been hard and full of struggle and disappointments, but also full of human kindness, relationships, and the work of perseverance. When I first moved to New York in 2003, someone sent me an email with this quote by Freud - "One day, in retrospect, the years of struggle will strike you as the most beautiful." While I appreciated the quote even back then, it is only now that I fully appreciate its truth.

I have been thinking a lot about what I want to bring with me into my thirties and what I want to leave behind. I hope my thirties are about living life with no regrets, being in the moment and pursuing my heart. Hopefully I will meet my future husband and start a family of my own. And in my heart, I know that no matter what, in the next ten years, I will become a mother, whether it be with biological children or through adoption. My thirties will be about abundance, not restriction. I want to make choices based on love and hope, rather than fear or anxiety. And maybe this all seems naive and foolish, but maybe it's good to set the bar high. I look back at who and where I was at the age of 20, and really like the person I have become since then.

In Judaism, there is a blessing called the Shehechiyanu. It is typically recited on the first day of a holiday or when doing something new. This blessing thanks G-d for keeping us alive and bringing us to this moment. You can bet that on Saturday, my 30th birthday, I will be reciting the Shehechiyanu with my heart wide open.

gratitude.

Thanksgiving is this Thursday, and I am going up North tomorrow. I am excited, but also bittersweetly sad. My aunt has end-stage cancer and now weighs under 100 pounds (and is about my height, 5'6", maybe an inch or two taller), so it's not looking good. My grandparents are getting older - at my age, I am very, very lucky to have three living grandparents - and I don't get to come up North as often as I'd like. I'm excited to see my nephew, who always brings a smile to my face and joy to my heart.

This year has been an eventful year - more so than I would have hoped - but this Thanksgiving, I am very thankful for many things. I am thankful for my health. After two foot surgeries in eight months, I am finally starting to feel like my foot is going to be okay, and I am starting to walk pretty well again. I am thankful for my family, for all of their help and encouragement and support. I'm thankful that I took the risk and followed my heart, committing to writing, even though it scares the hell out of me most days. I am thankful for the family I babysit for down here, who have welcomed me into their family over the past 2 years and bring a smile to my face and make me laugh. I am thankful for friends who remind me of all the goodness out there in the world. I am thankful to all my mentors and guides on this path called life, who have encouraged my writing, believed in me, let me make my own mistakes so I could learn, and who have shown me all the possibilities for the future. I am thankful to be alive, because if anything, the past week has shown me that life is truly a gift. I am learning not to put things off until I have a "real" life, and to live in the moment without regret. This year has been hard physically, emotionally and spiritually, but as the writer Audre Lorde once wrote, "But of course it is out of Chaos that new worlds are born."

my lovely nephew, as always.

I love this picture. It was taken August 2007, right before I moved to Chapel Hill for graduate school. Trey was about 4 months old, and my heart was breaking at the prospect of leaving him. My heart still breaks every time I leave him. It may seem odd to people, how much I love him. I'm not a parent, just an aunt. But I spent so much time babysitting him after he was born, when he was a newborn and infant, that I feel a bond with him. I'm sure part of it is my biological clock in overdrive, because I love kids and want a few of my own, but right now, I am overjoyed to be an aunt.

My mom used to tell my brother and I how much my uncle loved being an uncle. He had no kids, either. When he died, there were gifts in his closet for Brad and I, labeled for different holidays and ages. As an aunt, I finally understand that. I understand the primal, uncontrollable love for a child. The urge to protect them no matter what, the joy of hearing them say your name over the phone, or their innocent, "I love you"s and the feel of their tiny hands around your neck in a bear hug. Trey can bring happiness even on the darkest, stormiest of days. I've said this before and it's still true, his heart is so big, I have no idea how it is able to be contained in his tiny body. He's a lover, not a fighter, and my heart threatens to shatter when I think of him ever experiencing pain or loss. If I could, I would protect him from the injuries of life, but I can't. No adult can do that for a child indefinitely, no matter how much we want to. Broken hearts and injuries are part of life, part of learning and living.

I am so excited to see my nephew in a little more than a week. I can't wait to get off the plane in Philadelphia and have he and my mom pick me up, and see the huge smile on his face because Aunt JJ is home. In that moment, I never want to leave him. To see him grow and get older has been such a treat, and I feel honored to be a part of his life. We are truly the lucky ones, and I am forever grateful that Trey is in our lives.

tomorrow.

A wise teacher in high school once told my class that "No one ever promised us tomorrow." This has stuck with me through the years, because it is something so simple, it seems instinctive, but it is something we all tend to forget, or ignore, or don't believe. But it's true. Tomorrow is not a given for any of us, which is why we should live in the moment and pursue our happiness (as long as it does not hurt others). This isn't always easy to follow - believe me, I know. Daily I am consumed with anxiety, wondering if I made the right decision in following my heart to writing, wondering whether I will be able to make a different with my writing or teaching, and wondering how the heck my finances will turn out. Deep in my heart, I know I have made the right decision and am happier than I've been in a while, but in my head, I don't always remember that.

A friend of mine passed away on Friday night from cancer. He was first diagnosed in 2003, and suffered multiple recurrences, and each time, they amputated further up on the arm, until January, when he had no more arm to amputate and the cancer metastasized to his spine. Despite radiation and chemo, the cancer spread to his liver and lungs, and he and his wife decided to opt for pain management rather than treatment. It was a good choice. They went on trips together, had professional photographs taken of the two of them, and lived life out in the world, instead of in a hospital or chemo waiting room. They have memories of trips and togetherness and laughter. He was 33.

Despite the fact that we all knew he would die from the disease, I don't think any of us were prepared. You can never be "prepared" for that. I remember thinking the same thing about my grandfather. When he died from lung cancer, we knew it was coming; his death was painfully protracted and I had just visited him the previous week and knew death was imminent. But it was still shocking in its own strange way, because how do we prepare for death? Are we ever fully "prepared", those of us still alive? I'm not sure we are.

Death reminds us that it's true, no one did promise us tomorrow. There is no guarantee for any of us. The best we can do is try and be in the moment, love and appreciate those in our lives, and pursue our passions and happiness. When I find myself doubting every decision I have been making, I think to myself, if you were to die tomorrow, would you be happy? And I would be, I think. Would you? Do you make decisions out of fear (which we all do at numerous points in our lives)? Are you willing to make decisions from your heart, despite the anxiety that might cause? Because this is your life. This is it. At the (almost) age of 30, I am tired of thinking "oh, I've always wanted to..." or "I wish I could..." Because none of us know what will happen. None of us know our fates.

It's scary. It's scary as hell, living the lives we want to lead. But what is the alternative?

books and books and books

It's hard to believe that it's mid-November (almost). The days here in Chapel Hill are, for the most part, temperate, with only a fleece vest needed. Today is a beautiful, cloudless day, high of about 65 degrees. If I leave NC I will miss this.

I took the GRE on Wednesday....I did not do as well as I would have hoped, and this was my only chance to take it in time so that the schools would receive the scores by the application deadline. Really, the only school that needed it was UNC's PhD in journalism....I am hoping I didn't shoot myself in the foot with my scores. After all, it's pretty established that standardized test scores like the GRE and SAT don't predict success. I'm hoping my Master's thesis wows them. *fingers crossed*. Other than that, I've been writing for work a lot, trying to find time to work on personal statements and my nonfiction portfolio, and read more books. Every program wants a list of recent books you've read, and again, I'm consumed with the fear of not reading books that are "literary" enough. So now I'm reading Edith Wharton's "The House of Mirth", and working my way through some classics that I haven't read yet, like more of Virginia Woolf's books and maybe some James Joyce thrown in there. And I love, love, love Carson McCullers. And Joan Didion. And Jerome Groopman. And Jhumpa Lahiri (whom I got to see in person at Barnard!). So....maybe I can convince them I am literary after all.

I never thought I was creative before. I don't see myself as an "artist", I see myself as a writer. But I was told writers are artists, in their own ways. I don't see myself that way at all. Looking back, I guess the signs were really there all along....in high school, I would write poems during Biology and Chemistry classes. While registering for freshman year classes for college, I actually asked for permission to register for a senior seminar on the writings of Sylvia Plath. I was denied, but the professor met with me that semester to discuss Plath's writings. That was an awesome thing for a busy professor to do. My "Literary Marketplace" class with Dr.Coppa...that was maybe the one class I REALLY looked forward to. She was a hyper-caffeinated, hyper-intelligent version of Janeane Garofalo, from NYC, dressed all in black and super hip. She wore these kick ass black leather boots, her hair was always disheveled, she talked a mile a minute and it was wonderful. I still can't walk through a Barnes & Noble without remembering learning about what makes some books get featured, or placed with their covers facing outward (yeah, it's not random). I also loved my "American Writers" class, in which my professor, who, in his flannel shirts, Wranglers and scruffy beard looked more like the janitor than a PhD, taught us how to be kids again when he took us on the college's front lawn and had us make and fly paper airplanes. My "African-American Literature" class introduced me to Alice Walker, bell hooks and Toni Morrison. For one of my psychology classes, we had to pick someone famous to evaluate....and I chose the poet Anne Sexton.

I do wish I had sat down with someone back then and learned about all the different career options in writing and English. Part of me does wish I had listened to my heart about majoring in English and being a writer, but I don't regret going the way I did. I've learned a lot and had great experiences along the way. And everything I've done has brought me to this moment, right here. How could I regret that?

free at last....thank God, free at last

I got my boot off on Monday! Yay!! This year, in 2010, I have been in a boot/air cast for nearly half the year, thanks to my 2 foot surgeries. This means half a year of figuring out how to tuck my pants into the boot, limping and walking funny, and only wearing one shoe. Needless to say, it gets old. Fast. So I got x-rays on Monday and my foot looks great. The x-ray tech actually came out from the little lair they stay in, and goes, "Wow, you certainly have quite the hardware assortment in your foot!" I explained that yup, I had foot surgery. She asked if I broke my foot and I explained the whole bunion and failed surgery thing, and she just kept talking about the 6 screws and plate in my foot. Yup, that's me. Bionic foot girl. I guess it's fitting, since I WAS named after Jaime Sommers, the Bionic Woman.

One thing I wasn't prepared for, however, was the pain/discomfort when putting on and taking off shoes. Think about it - when you put your shoes on, your big toe flexes and bends. Mine doesn't. That was the whole point of the surgery, to fuse it so it won't bend. I literally started crying in the doctor's office because I could not figure out how to put my sneakers on. Even now, I dread putting my shoes on and taking them off. I grit my teeth and do it quickly, like ripping off a Band-aid. I walk slowly, and my foot does hurt, but that is to be expected, I'm told. I'm not allowed to swim or run yet, but I can bike.

So yeah, that was my big excitement this week. Other than that, I've been writing articles, working on personal statements and my writing portfolio, and studying for my GREs, which I take next Tuesday. I hate the GREs.

Saturn return.

So, as mentioned before, I turn 30 in December. I don't know how many of you are familiar with the phenomenon known as the Saturn Return? I'm not usually one for astrology, but hear me out. Approximately every 30 years (29.5, actually), Saturn returns to the spot where it was when you were born. It is said that between the ages of 27 and 30, individuals usually start experiencing life upheavals, especially as they get closer to 30. The Saturn Return is about finding out your true life path - it typically turns worlds upside down. Major life changes, etc. So let's think about this. When did I decide to focus on writing? June? hmmm. 29.5 years old. All the upheaval the past few years....yup, 27-30. I don't know. There may be something to this.

I've heard many women say they really came into their own in their 30s, and I think they're right. I think I am looking forward to this next decade; I think it will be a good one, with lots of promise ahead.

it's anything but a fairytale, girls.

I will be 30 in December. I am single. Normally, this does not bother me. But I do feel some pressure to find someone and "settle down" and start having kids. After all, my brother already had a kid. Although I'm not sure the family could take another child out of wedlock. I would rather be single than settle, and I would definitely rather be single than be with a bum, a loser, or someone who really doesn't love me. I am a headstrong, independent fireball who likes to challenge and be challenged, and the man I end up with will complement this. I want an intellectual equal and a homebody. I want to marry someone who is not only the love of my life, but my best friend. And I haven't found him yet. My friend Lauren found her girlfriend on a certain dating website, and I was like, hey, okay, maybe I can find a guy here. So I joined. Yes, I've met some NJB's (nice Jewish boys); in fact, one asked me out for coffee (although I'd like to email a bit more first). But I've also been met with a whole host of...umm...interesting candidates. I am telling you, I couldn't make this shit up if I tried.

There was the guy last week, even though my preferred age range is 27-37 (and 27 is even pushing it; ideally I'd like an older guy), this 22 year old emailed me, telling me he's "attracted to older women." I'm sorry, was that supposed to attract me? No woman likes to be told she's the "older woman", especially at the age of (almost)30. Delete. Then there was the guy who had the numbers "69" in his screen name, and his profile picture was his pale white, hairless, not-so-toned chest. I'm sorry, but first, get a tan. Second, don't put naked shots of ANYTHING on your profile picture. Lastly, if you do put naked pics up, at least have the body to back it up. And, really? Are we in high school? Drop the "69" from your screen name. NOT cute. Delete. Then, there was the Jewish guy who seemed smart and funny. His profile was him and a little kid, and I'm a sucker for boys with babies. Although I'd prefer a potential boyfriend not have any kids or ex-wives, I'm open. So I'm reading his profile - his email was nice - and it turns out that he is, in fact, in a committed relationship but they are "polyamorous" and it's an open relationship. I kid you not. First of all, this is not Utah. Second, I'm not doing the Sister Wives thing. I was like, really? REALLY??

This week alone has brought guys to remember. There was Buttfister. Yes, I swear on a stack of Bibles (preferably Old Testament) that his screen name was Buttfister. And he was straight, looking for women. He is studying pharmacy. Ah, the future of medicine and science, right there. I'm sorry, but a mature woman - or any woman, for that matter - isn't interested in a guy whose screen name was Buttfister. And yet this is who I attract, apparently. Then - ah, yes - THEN there was a guy whose email promised me a "night to remember" because of his "huge....personality", and how he promised to make me "laugh, scream, and enjoy myself". And he promised not to "ask to video cam". And he closed it by saying if, for some "unknown reason", I'm not attracted to him, to let him know. There was more, I just can't think of all of the obnoxiousness. I nicely wrote back and said that mature women usually are looking for more than a "night to remember", and I'm sure his "personality" only looked huge from his vantage point. And then I blocked him.

And I can't even tell you how many guys email with horrible spelling, incorrect grammar - not a minor mistake or two, I mean, hello, did you go to grade school types of bad grammar. Not a good sign for me if you can't spell basic words. Or how many guys send a one-line email like, hey sexy, what up? or hey cutie. First, even IN a relationship, I don't want to be called "babe", "cutie", hon, or anything like that. I just don't go for it. And if I don't even KNOW you, I kind of take offense to that. How many women really go around emailing guys with, "hey sexy" or "hey stud". Not many, I'm sure.

Where are the guys who see my book and music list and appreciate the books I read? Or the music that's on my iPod? Where are the guys who have the decency to say, hey, I think you're really pretty AND I saw you're a writer, tell me more about that? Or even just a hi, how are you?

It's really discouraging. And in the South, it's especially hard to find a Jewish guy. I'm amazed with how many agnostic and athiest guys are out there. But I'm putting myself out there, and hoping for the best.

At the very least, I'm being entertained in the process.