A MULTI-PART EXPLORATION ON WHETHER PEOPLE CHANGE, THROUGH THE COMPLETELY UN-SYSTEMATIC ANALYSIS OF PERSONAL ITEMS FOUND IN SHANNON DEJONG’S “SPECIAL BOX” AND ASSORTED CHILDHOOD MEMORABILIA*[1]

Part II

Speaking of whether people change…

I’m about to sit down at my computer and write a post about change in perspective.

I am about to write about how I may have been feeling just a teeeeensy itty-bitty-bit restless with all this transition to the country bumpkin lifestyle away from the city, and that maybe I’m not as solidly Golden-Buddha-Monkey about not knowing exactly, perfectly, pink-ribbon-ly where my life is headed.

So sue me that I’m not the Dali Lama when it comes to life transitions. (Deep breath in, deep breath out.)

I am about to write a post about a friend of mine who came to visit me out here the boon-docks.

The post that I am about to write? It will describe a particularly moody morning, where I am questioning this whole move-from-the-city-thing (“There’s no culture here. What kind of a town doesn’t have at least one transvestite?!”)

It will tell about my lovely friend who comes to visit and reminds me that the grass in Penngrove is always greener: over lunch my friend will be so enamored with my little Sonoma County retreat — this sleepy little town complete with barns, pastures and sheep — that she will say it is her “new life goal to live here some day.”

She will go on and on about the stresses of the city and what a wonderful set-up I have, and how lucky I am to have some time to chill out with the cows.

Well, shit. I can’t very well feel restless after that. Sometimes we just need an outside perspective to help us change our own.

And so I am about to sit down to write this post for you good people, thinking it a mighty fine lesson –

But before I do this I type into the search bar of my own blog “perspective” just to check to see what else I’ve written on the topic, to avoid repeating myself, and what do I find but this post titled “Visitor” from May of last year in which I learned a similar lesson — in fact, it seems it’s a lesson I keep learning over and over:

“It was a lesson I had learned before — that perspective, not circumstance, dictates happiness.” That’s what I had written. That’s what I had learned.

And I slap myself on my forehead. Because did I remember the lesson on the next go-around? Did I remember to accommodate a new perspective when I wasn’t feeling happy with my circumstances? No, I did not.

So, speaking of whether people change…Consider this a tally mark in the column for DO NOT.

But then again — around here, we’re not supposed to be keeping score…
* * *

To be continued…Check back in later to NotKeepingScore.com for the rest of IN FLUX: DO PEOPLE CHANGE?

*[1]Quite possibly the most lengthy and self-indulgent blog posting on NKS to date

A MULTI-PART EXPLORATION ON WHETHER PEOPLE CHANGE, THROUGH THE COMPLETELY UN-SYSTEMATIC ANALYSIS OF PERSONAL ITEMS FOUND IN SHANNON DEJONG’S “SPECIAL BOX” AND ASSORTED CHILDHOOD MEMORABILIA*[1]

Part I

I know I’ve been doing all this talking about the joys of “detaching,” purging, and finding oneself as materially empty as Buddha’s wallet — but I’m doubling back to spend a moment to tout the joys of Stuff in all of its messy materialistic goodness.

“One of the advantages of being disorderly is that one is constantly making exciting discoveries” -A.A. Milne 1882-1956

Upon moving back home, I have an entire new closetful of impedimenta to go through — as a testament to just how obliging my parents are, not only have they stowed my childhood memorabilia for years (awards, fingerpaintings, macaroni “art”), they have also stored away boxes of my sentimental crap and old furniture I didn’t want to tote around from apartment to apartment.

These are very devoted parents; these are very accommodating people — (these are former elementary school teachers.) Ah.

Part of the deal of me moving home, in addition to free tech support and installation of Wi-Fi, was my promising to go through these things.

I have this “Special Box” I started as a kid in which I was allowed to keep my sentimental items, and only what would fit in the box was allowed to be kept — this is a tried and true method for any of you Secret Sentimentalites out there (go ahead and raise your hand, this is a “safe space”) to reign in your trinket collecting and prevent ending up with too many boxes of movie ticket stubs or pressed flowers from ex-boyfriends.

Yes, I’m talking to you.

I haven’t looked through mine in years, and I’m not sure if I’m excited or embarassed to report what I discovered:
1. People really don’t change all that much, and
2. People do change very much, (in that order)

HOW PEOPLE DON’T CHANGE*[2]
I joke around a lot on Not Keeping Score about my obsession with fortune cookies, the Magic 8-Ball™, and my belief in divine cosmic shenanigans. And I’ve come to enjoy these little scraps of paper a great deal –but really, I’m a pragmatic girl of rational sensabilities… right?

Well, apparently I’ve always harbored a love for the cosmically destined: I found an entire jewelry box full of fortune cookie messages I had been hoarding since grade school. I have no recollection of having collected them, but there they were: a collection inches thick, in an envelope, in a box, in another box, in the room I had grown up in.

Honestly, I was a little embarrassed. I thought all this future forecasting was in jest; when it comes to what I really believe, I thought I looked to reason, logic–sound fact. But discovering that I had always been collecting this “horoscopic” crap…well. Perhaps there has been a little denial at work about just what faculty — head or heart — I truly operate from.

Apparently, without even knowing it, I’ve always been this little girl who secretly wishes for meaning to trump chaos in her universe.

Perhaps we all, without even knowing it, are who we always were. We just forget it sometimes, and it takes a little homecoming to remember.

* * *

And of course I found the love letters — let’s hear it for old love letters! I read through correspondence between an old boyfriend of mine I had senior year in high school, and I tell you, every single one of them — as sweet as they were (he was a bungee-jumping, gymnastic instructor that listened to Jewel and wrote me poetry) — were about how scared shitless we were to trust the other. We spent an entire 8 month relationship afraid of what eventually happened anyway: we broke up.

What a shame! I wish we could have gotten over the fearfulness, embraced the inevitable, and enjoyed each other while we had the time together, come what may. Shit — it would have been 8 months of limber, fearless Jewel-soundtracked sex! Backed with love, of course.

But reading the letters, so quaint in their fear, made me feel small and timid; although I like to think I’ve grown in my ability to open up to others and embrace fear and love, I wonder just how much more capable I am 7 years later. Aren’t I still that girl afraid of the heights of love? What sane person really jumps wholeheartedly into something so virtiginous?

Where’s that bungee cord o’ love when you need it?

* * *

I also found all my old notebooks, which were filled with pages and pages of thoughts that could have come out of my head at age 14, 22, or yesterday.

I found a note reminding myself “not worry about the future but to focus on the present, because you can never know now what you’ll know then,” and if my future self could see me now, she would just shake her head and smile at how little I knew…

…only my future self, which is my present self, was looking back, and what I was doing was shaking my head and smiling at how little I know.

Do we ever know what we think we’ll know? Or do we just keep right on not knowing what we don’t?

* * *

To be continued…Check back in later to NotKeepingScore.com for the rest of IN FLUX: DO PEOPLE CHANGE?

*[1]Quite possibly the most lengthy and self-indulgent blog posting on NKS to date
*[2] Official non-scientific findings of incredibly non-incredible results

I’m taking a conversational French class with my mother at the local junior college *[1]

We met last night for the first class, and as part of the “immersion” approach, we were all asked to “use our imaginations” as we were going to have to “pick someone to be.”

The teacher wrote on the board in front of the class:

nom:

âge:

nationalité:

profession:

famille:

personalité:

Then she said to us (in French, but I got the gist), “now, decide who you’d like to be — you can be anyone! A baker, a dancer, a doctor, anything! And you get to decide if you want to be outgoing, or friendly or shy or — just make it someone you’ll really like being, because you’ll have to play this person for the rest of the semester!”

This was serious business. This was turning into not only a French class, but an acting class as well.

I thought long and hard about the person I’d want to play. I’d have to like playing this person; this was a long time to be embodying a role.

A whole semester.

But then I started to think about the role I was already playing, and I realized I’d better like it because I’d be playing it a whole lot longer. A whole lifetime. Shit.

======
nom: Shannon Michelle DeJong

âge: 25 years

nationalité: American, with reluctance

profession: Currently pursuing dream of going in hot tub 30 consecutive days in a row and attaining Golden-Buddha-Monkey-hood as demonstrated by 17 year-old cat Patches; completely unemployed writer; freelance verbal branding consultant

famille: loving parents who are providing roof, wonderful grandparents with endless stories to share, wacky brother who is all-star board game player and sister-in-law who collects Hello Kitty, uncle who gives “Live Long and Prosper” handshake, multiple cousins who think the word “fart” is Grade A humor, and a plethora of extended life-long friends who should be considered as such.

personalité: Outgoing, wacky, spontaneous yet doggedly anxious about being practical; quirky and creative while being traditional and mediocre; can be selfish and generous; attention-seeking and self-sacrificing; inspired, bland; a pleaser, individualistic; confident and self-doubting…human.
======

Some things we have no control over. We were born under certain circumstances, such as a particular time period, geographical location, etc. But the rest we get to choose. Listening to what roles people adopted last night was fascinating — it was a reflection of the secret lives people wanted to live.

People chose to be actresses and salsa dancers and spies — my mother, God bless her heart — chose to be a Tahitian princess.

And it made me wonder if we aren’t all capable of, aside from choosing certain things like nationality, living these imaginary roles. Aren’t we just as capable of choosing what role we’d like to play for life as we are for the semester?

And I was happy with this Shannon character I’d chosen. She was all right.

But then I realized the teacher probably meant we should be someone different for the class, so I ended up deciding to be Carlotta Rosana Maria Consula, a 76-year-old chicken-raising grandmother who used to be an aid to Fidel Castro.

I figured that could be très fun, too.

*[1] this is what happens when you move home, people — your social life begins to involve your parents, the dude at the video store, and your cat. Your city friends and that guy you were “quasi-dating”? It’s a fact that the busy-ness of their schedules are directly related to your proximity to the city — the further away you are, the more often they have to wash their hair.

Living at home with my folks has afforded me a newfound appreciation of them.

Today, while getting a ride to the bus stop to catch an express bus into the city for a meeting with my boss, I discovered that my dad is not only devoted father, adored teacher, loving husband, and has so much to teach me about hard work, patience, simplicity, and quiet persistance – but the man’s also poet! (and he don’t even know it…)

Found Poem: Spoken by David DeJong
at the corner of Old Redwood Hwy East Cotati Ave.
6:20AM Jan. 12, 2007

Proposed Title: Life’s Streetlight

“This is such a stupid light
there’s no one in sight
to the left or right

and finally someone’s there -
and it turns yellow”

[Scene: A country house that sits in an idyllic setting. Shannon, a woman in her mid-twenties, rises from her slumbers. She stretches with smile upon her cherub face, Edvard Grieg's "Morning" playing in her head. She places her palms against the windowsill and gazes at the redwood trees beyond. There are small birds perched in the branches, singing.]

Shannon: Good morning, my fine feathered friends!

[She slides her sleepy toes into her slippers, wraps her happy body with a robe and tip toes down stairs. Her parents, Kathryn and David and sitting at the table.]

Shannon: Why, hello, mother; hello, father.

Kathryn & David [in unison]: Hello, dearest daughter.

Shannon: What a glorious morning this day hath brought to us.

Kathryn & David: This day is glorious, verily. What doth this day bring for you, oh sweet daughter of ours?

Shannon: Well, oh kind and unceasingly generous parents of mine, I did have it in mind that upon this most beauteous morn of the first Monday of 2007 I would awaken with the birds and, after watching the frost melt off the fingers of the redwoods and listen to the sheep begin to nibble upon the green backsides of the hills that stretch like the expanses of my dreams — all while sitting in the rejuvenating comfort of the hot tub — I would make myself a pot of green tea and write a “Welcome to 2007!” post to Not Keeping Score. This, my dearest of dear parents, would truly ring in the new year proper, for although I have resolved to make no resolutions, and am trying to be contented with my life “As Is” (no trip to the gym, the therapist’s office, or The Container Store necessary) old habits die hard and this one here [Shannon points to herself enthusiastically] likes to feel the thrill of pro-ac-tivity. You can take the girl out of the city, but you can’t take the city out of the girl…

[Shannon kisses each of her parents on the forehead and begins to walk away. David and Kathryn exchange glances.]

Kathryn: Shannon dearest?

Shannon: Yes, mother, Oh Light of my Life?

Kathryn: Darling daughter, your father and I commend you on your ambitious plans for the day. It is truly honorable that you should, despite being unemployed and with absolutely no life plan whatsoever of which to speak, you have so asserted yourself as to, in one single day, plan to take a dip in the hot tub, make yourself green tea, gaze at the countryside, write a blog post. This is truly an amazing feat. We only halt you in your quest to remind you that today is actually the second Monday of 2007 — it is January 8th, you spent the last 7 days sleeping, and generally replicating the behavior of a banana slug, remember?

David: — and it’s nearly noon.

Kathryn: –but we wish you all the luck in your endeavor.

[Shannon takes pause. A shadow of confusion washes over her face as she processes this information. Suddenly, her brow furrows and she looks pained. Suddenly, in a huff she stomps up stairs and turns up Yo-Yo Ma to an obscene volume. A moment later she returns to the hallway and yells downstairs.

Shannon: Oh yeah? Well, let's see who's a banana slug now! Just to prove how motivated I am, I'm going to read my entire e.e. cummings collection! And not just the smaller anthologies -- my whole collection! And then I might even write a poem of my own! What do you have to say about that, huh? Who's unemployed now, eh? Eh?!

[David and Kathryn look at each other, smile, and shrug their shoulders, magnanimous in their silence]

[for M&D, who truly are magnanimous]